For such a small country —
the same land mass as Vancouver Island — Holland has produced
an abundance of original music over the past four decades. For many
years it has been one of my favorite countries, starting with my
first visit in the summer of 1967, about which I wrote in Coda Magazine:
"For the state of exquisite quiescence, a silent peace prevailing
on the mind, Amsterdam's natural water divided beauty provides the
sanctum for anybody. Musicians like Ben Webster, Benny Bailey, Jeanne
Lee and others passing to and fro, have discovered the peaceful
solitude, an environment to settle, to live and forget the other
life that exists. The waters, their canals, transpose into one's
life the reflections of the changing ripple lights. They form a
levelness, a calm, that it would seem wrong to disturb with music.
And for all this I chose Amsterdam to be my sanctuary for several
weeks." In retrospect a somewhat romantic and sentimental notion,
although my interest in Dutch music was piqued enough for me to
write the following review two years later.
Willem Breuker & Han Bennink
New Acoustic Swing Duo
Bill Smith photo
Music, or jazz music to be most specific, is defined in the Oxford
Dictionary as the following: "Music and Dance of U.S. Negro
origin with characteristic harmony and ragtime rhythms; noisy or
grotesque proceedings". So temporarily accepting this premise
of good knowledge, I continue and review the above-listed record
confident enough not to refer to it as jazz and/or music.
Willem Breuker (various reed instruments) and Han Bennink (various
percussion), have discovered many individual powers of exercise
(see communicate Oxford Dictionary). By relating these finds with
each other's psyche they are able to merge their inner forces and
motions into continuing patterns of sound and rhythmic intervals.
To what purpose other than to create a centre of communicated ideas
I am not sure, but the result allows one to experience almost anything
one's mind will allow it to believe.
Side one is dedicated, in a series of short essays, to a number
of persons they know and with whom, with the exception of John Tchicai,
I am completely unfamiliar. This however makes the sound game even
more interesting, for the images I am able to create mentally from
the sounds, as with Ingmar Bergman's no where peoples, may not be
what is in fact the reality. Man is blessed with many senses and
this type of experiment in sound is the opportunity to allow himself
to extend past the propaganda entertainment he is subjected to,
daily. Side two is titled "Gamut for 21 min. 16 sec.".
Gamut in definition is the lowest note on the medieval scale = modern
G on the lowest line of the bass clef. And so it begins and almost
ends. But between is the continued wonderment of sound.
As you can tell I am already enthralled by this "new acoustic
swing music", and will spend the rest of my life investigating
its form. One of the Dutch players to venture into North America
was Willem Breuker, and ten years after my initial discovery of
Dutch music, the following interview with him was conducted, giving
us a perspective of the history and context in which their wonderful
music has developed. According to Kevin Whitehead, in his excellent
book "New Dutch Swing", it was …"Willem's first
major or otherwise interview in the Americas…". and three
paragraphs later he wrote — "Smith had fingered their
export appeal: the Kollektief sound Dutch, right off, even if North
Americans had never wondered before how Dutch jazz might sound."
It took place in the early morning hours of December 19,1977, after
The Willem Breuker Kollektief had finished one of its few North
American concerts, at The Tralfamadore Cafe in Buffalo, New York.
BILL SMITH: Near Dam Square in Amsterdam is an
old man with a barrel-organ, And I thought that some of the music
tonight sounded a bit like some of the music that comes out of that
barrel-organ. Do you feel that's true?
WILLEM BREUKER: Well, I am very familiar with
barrel-organs. They're a part of my musical background. When I was
a kid barrel-organs were very common in Amsterdam so I heard them
very often. In 1967 I made a record with barrel-organs and later
on I wrote a lot of arrangements for barrel-organs. It has given
me a lot of fun; it's an instrument that fits very well in the streets;
it belongs to Holland — it belongs to everybody. What made
you think of it tonight?
Bill: When the trombones and the saxophones rotate cycles like that,
the barrel-organ sound appears. Is barrel-organ music Dutch music?
Willem: No, it's also English music, Belgian, as far as I know a
little bit German, and also in Switzerland they have barrel-organs.
But I don't know exactly what the history is of the barrel-organ;
all I really knew was that the instrument was there in the street
and I was always interested in it. So I asked the guys who were
in the streets with the instruments how they worked. They didn't
know; so I went to the shop of the guy who rented the barrel organs
to them and he told me exactly what to do.
Bill: For you, the history of improvised music
in Holland goes back a long way?
Willem: In the 'thirties Coleman Hawkins came to Europe and he wanted
to work in Germany. But Germany wouldn't allow a Negro to enter
the country; it was already in Hitler's time. So he stayed in Holland;
he played with The Ramblers, a well-known dance orchestra. He still
wanted to go to Germany to make money and do bigger things, but
in the meantime he stayed in Holland. He played with everybody;
so Coleman Hawkins influenced a lot of the music in the 'thirties.
Then we had the war; and after the war nothing was happening. We
had some guys like Nedley Elstak, he was the first guy I think who
played Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker-type music.
Then in the fifties we had Wessel Ilcken, and he and all the other
cats were imitating American music like Art Pepper, Shorty Rogers,
Warne Marsh, Lee Konitz — not really that, even, but more
like Bob Cooper — cool music. That went on until I think 1964
and then other things started to happen. At that time Misha Mengelberg
was already doing some very important work in Holland; he was playing
a very Monk-influenced music, and he was studying at a conservatory
in The Hague; so all the "bop" musicians accepted him
because he knew a lot about music. So when they told him, "Monk
is shit music", he could tell them exactly what Monk was doing
and what they were doing and so on. So he was respected among the
younger musicians. We came after that, in 1964, '65. I was playing
in some contests at that time, school things, but there was really
no judging at all because even then there was something being played
that the judges couldn't understand. Even before I heard Ornette
Coleman I was already playing a type of free music, because when
I was studying clarinet and I had to turn a page in the lesson book,
I would just play on on my own and turn the page later; so already
something was in me to play for my own. So I tried to find friends
who would want to make music with me, which was very difficult,
and is still difficult.
Bill: Were the friends people like Han Bennink?
Bill Smith photo
Willem: No, they were still playing bebop-type music at that time.
Misha Mengelberg, and Piet Noordijk, a very fantastic saxophone
player, they were still playing a kind of post-bop style.
In 1966 I formed my first real group, a 23 piece band, and played
at a contest in Loosdrecht, at the yearly festival there, and all
the new young people showed up there to play, and it became a big
sensation at that time; I was on the front pages of all the Dutch
papers and the whole group was on television, because they always
showed the ones who won the first three prizes, who were the best.
At the same time we had the Provo-time in Amsterdam [editor's note:
The Provos were a radical political young peoples' group that existed
in Holland in the mid-sixties], and I was involved with that as
well, so there was a big scandal. I came in second or third, I don't
remember exactly, because there were people who gave me ten points
and there were people who gave me one point. It was fantastic, everybody
was screaming at each other.
Bill: Did people like Pim Jacobs and Rita Reyes
win the contest?
Willem: No, on the other side of the street they already had a club,
a very sophisticated and expensive club. Even at that time they
had nothing to do with jazz anymore. They had already become established.
Han Bennink often played with them at that time.
Bill: Were Philips and the other big record companies
interested in the new Dutch movement?
Willem: No, not at all. So I made my first record for a label called
Relax. There was a millionaire in Holland, and he didn't know what
to do with his money, so he set up a label to record classical music
and made a lot of classical recordings, but some people told him
he should be recording "progressive music". So we did
a record for him but I think he didn't understand it at all; so
it sold maybe a thousand copies and then it was over. They sold
it to Germany, to Wergo. I got, I think, a hundred dollars for the
whole thing — then after they sold it to Wergo… that's
the way it goes, you know.
So we tried again; but nobody wanted to have us so in 1967 we set
up the Instant Composers' Pool. Han Bennink and I were very close
at that time and some people we knew sponsored us — put up
the money, and when we sold the records we paid the money back to
them. A very well-known reviewer, Rudy Koopmans, gave us a thousand
Guilders to do it. Han Bennink and I did the first recording (New
Acoustic Swing Duo, ICP 001). Misha joined us at the same time;
he was the inventor of the name Instant Composers' Pool.
So Han Bennink and myself, and Misha Mengelberg, started ICP. Afterwards
other musicians joined us, but they were not accepted at all. So
that was the point that I left ICP, in 1973 I think, because I had
no chance anymore to go on with my thing, because Leo Cuypers and
Willem van Manen and all the other cats who were playing, were not
accepted by Han Bennink and Misha Mengelberg. They were second-rate
musicians for them.
I had started to form my bigger groups at the end of the sixties
with Leo and the rest. We had groups with two piano players, Misha
Mengelberg and Leo Cuypers, and sometimes Rob du Bois was also in
the group. But we never got the chance to go on with it. Also we
had a lot of financial problems at that time, regarding the organization
We wanted to go over the border, we had chances to play in Germany
and elsewhere for instance. But afterwards I heard from people who
had asked ICP about getting me and Leo to do concerts, but they
were told, "Oh, they don't play anymore, they make a little
theatre music and sometimes improvise, but they are not interested
anymore." It was very strange afterwards to hear that from
these people. So when I left ICP, it was completely new and open
for me. What we are doing now, we built up in the last two or three
years. Which in a way is a pity, because if we'd had the chance
to start in 1970 or so, it would be that much better now.
Bill: Did players like Ornette Coleman and Albert
Ayler and Cecil Taylor and Coltrane influence your music on a very
Willem: Oh yes, of course. But also Gustav Mahler, Brahms, Stravinsky…
and we learned a lot from Albert Ayler and Shepp and Coltrane as
Bill: The music that we heard tonight, for example,
sounds very unlike American improvised music to me. It sounds very
Willem: But I don't know what Dutch music is.
Bill: I don't either — but there's a lot
of theatre involved, a lot of humour…
Willem: But we did a very small thing tonight. We had no possibilities
to do anything on this stage because it was so small, we were all
packed together like sardines. So it was on a very small scale.
Bill: Do you think it's important that people
see your music as well as hear it?
Willem: Both are important. When you're in the audience you're just
sitting there, still you're not blind, so we give you not only the
music but other things. But I think it's still very important that
you can just listen to it by itself, with closed eyes.
Bill: In America The Art Ensemble of Chicago and
Sun Ra also work along these kinds of lines.
Willem: Yes, I know them, I've seen them. But I didn't see them
until quite recently. I've always just done the things I thought
I had to do. But they do a completely different thing to what we
are doing; they are involved with religious things about Africa,
they paint themselves and so on. And sometimes they give some comment
on society, musical society. And Sun Ra, that's a completely different
thing, that's to do with… what's there, I don't know what's
there. I like the music of Sun Ra, also of the Art Ensemble. But
I think that it's completely different to what we are doing.
Boy Raaymakers: I think that things are happening,
coming from the music, so that the music invites the other things
Bill: As an outsider, I don't really know this,
but I feel that there's some kind of Dutch theatre tradition involved
in what you're doing.
Willem: We have no Dutch theatre tradition. We have some theatre
writers, but that has nothing to do with what we are doing. But
this is my opinion, I don't know, perhaps other people could tell
you something about this. But I don't feel influenced by Dutch theatre.
Once we were a little bit involved with a mime group. For instance
I did some things with a mime group in Leonersloot, but that was
just one time. I wrote some music for that and we played it. It
was Maarten van Regteren Altena and Peter Bennink and Willem van
Manen. Maybe you know that record, the blue one, (ICP 009) but it
was just occasionally. There's no tradition at all.
But I'm often invited by different people to write music for them.
And when that happens perhaps I'll put improvised music into that
situation and the chocolate-box record you were talking about (ICP
007, 008), that's an example of different things I do, but most
of them didn't really have much to do with improvised music really,
or just music by itself on stage, they had to do with film sometimes
Bill: Do you have opportunities to perform your
music with theatre people in Holland? With actors and poets…
Willem: Yes, as much as we want. But mostly we refuse because we
have other things in mind. I'm usually not much interested in their
ideas about how to make something for people, and at any rate we
can work every day. There's so much work in Holland and elsewhere
in Europe, that you can just do the things you really want to do.
Since 1970 Willem van Manen and I have been in charge of the "Jazz
in Holland" program. Since then we have formulated a program
to make professional jazz in Holland a viable possibility. So we
wrote a big thick book, a report, and gave it to the government,
and told them that they had to subsidize our music, that that was
the only way to do it. They didn't believe us at first. It took
about three or four years for them to accept what we wrote at that
time, to give us a starting point to get this music a little bit
subsidized by the government, to give it a base so that even if
you can't live from it you can at least play it in the country.
Now we're at the point where if musicians want to play in a jazz
club in a certain city, but the club can afford to pay only a certain
amount of money, which is not enough for the musicians, we can now
get money to make up the difference so that the musicians can play
there. That's the kind of system we built up, and it works very
Bill: But do you think that a music that is subsidized
by the government and not acclaimed by the public is still valid?
I mean it should be that the public have to come to the music.
Willem: They come anyway, they come anyway. But when you have a
club where the people each pay five guilders to come in, which is
about a dollar fifty, but can only fit eighty or ninety people at
the most… a group can't play for that money. So I think it's
worth it to do that.
For instance, we have fifteen symphony orchestras in Holland, more
if you count the radio orchestras. Every province has its own orchestra,
or two sometimes. We have opera, we have ballet and so on and so
on, they get millions and millions of guilders, and our kind of
music gets, now, about half a million guilders, which is nothing.
I think the symphony orchestras get about sixty million guilders
at the moment, and there are about the same number, about 150, improvising
musicians in Holland.
Bill: In America most of the improvisers still
work for the door, regardless of who they are. This is the kind
of judgement that is put on the music, because if people don't want
to come to hear it, then they won't have money. And I guess the
basis of that argument is quite true, from a commercial point of
view. The Dutch government, however, don't feel this way about your
Willem: The Dutch government has no idea what to do, in this case
we just told them what to do. And it's also very important that
for instance, Misha Mengelberg and I sometimes work on the classical
scene. So we are a little bit accepted on the other side, and that
gives us a kind of credibility. I wrote a piece for symphony orchestra,
and I do other things, so they say, "Okay, if he can do that,
it means something, we accept that." So now we are starting
to get commissions for compositions, and we get a stipend. This
year Leo got a commission from the government to write a piece of
music, in the same way that a classical musician would. It took
us five or six years to convince the people in government that what
we were doing was as important as what the classical people were
doing. And they know that when we give concerts, it's always sold
out at this time in Holland, and when you have classical concerts
nobody shows up — there are more people on the stage than
there are in the audience, and with us it's completely the other
They can't believe, for instance, that for the amount of money we
get when we play at BimHuis, that so many people show up. In a year
I think, about forty thousand people come to BimHuis.
Bill: Are there other clubs in Holland, like BimHuis,
which are subsidized?
Willem: Yes, it's fantastic, really fantastic. Rotterdam, which
since the Second World War has wanted to be the first city in Holland,
but they have no idea how to do that, so when they saw that there
was the BimHuis in Amsterdam they wanted to do the same thing —
"If Amsterdam can do it, so can we" — so now there's
the Jazz Bunker. And it's working, it's very crowded every night.
And I think the Bunker is even a better place to play music than
the BimHuis. And when we have very expensive Americans, we just
increase the price of admission.
Bill: Does the music you play have something to
do with the politics of Holland?
Bill: In what kind of way? Is it like the Provos
were ten years ago, is your music to do with that?
Willem: Yes, I was not really a Provo, but I think that all these
things that were happening were also happening with me, and they
were also happening when there were no Provos or anything at that
time. I'm still very involved with Provos anyway, because…
okay, that's the way it goes — when I stand and see the beggars
in the street… I have to deal with the whole society, so I
think my music also has to deal with that. But I don't translate
my political ideas into music.
Bill: So it's not really an "anti-Queen Juliana"
thing… because my first experience of Dutch music was in the
period when the Provos existed, and when people didn't really care
for Queen Juliana, and that's when you made your first ICP record.
This was not a statement against all that at that time?
Willem: Not really. Because Han Bennink, for instance, is completely
apolitical. We had other things to tell about the situation. The
Royal Family is not important in Holland, they are like marionettes
or something like that. And everybody laughs about it — but
they give the whole family about ten million guilders a year, and
then they marry with fascists, and sometimes that's a little bit…
But, well, it's happened. It's not interesting at all. They're just
there, and they have no influence.
Bill: How has this situation of being sponsored
by the Dutch government allowed you to come here to North America?
Willem: I told them three years ago that I wanted to come over here,
to find out what our music has to tell you, and they agreed. It
was very difficult to set it up. Before this I came here two times,
the first time with Leo, the second time with Willem van Manen,
that was last April.
Bill: What did you find this time, with the whole
Willem: I find that it's the same as when we go to Germany or France.
Now we're among Americans, but there is not so much difference in
the people. And maybe it has to do with our music, but the people
are coming, and they listen to it, and that's the same situation
that we always have. At first I thought that maybe America wouldn't
understand what we are doing, but that doesn't happen much. They
know what we are doing, they feel it.
Bill: In the past, though, it's been the other
way around. American improvisers were very much accepted in Europe,
but not very many Europeans came here.
Willem: No, but I also know that the American improvising musicians
don't accept us at all. Except Anthony Braxton… he's not that
way, but for instance, other people, when they come to Europe they
play in our places, and they get more money than we get from the
door, but it doesn't work the other way, they are not interested
in what we are doing. For instance, I talked to some guys in New
York, I don't want to name names, and they told me, "Sure,
tomorrow night we'll come to your concert". Five told me this,
none of them showed up. And when we play in Holland and they are
there, they never come to hear us play because they think they are
super or something, I don't know… maybe they are right, to
just do their thing and not listen to other things. . . .
Bill: I think that the black American developed
this art out of a very sad and unique background, so he feels an
obvious claim to this heritage, and he perhaps feels bitter that
a European could claim the same thing. But you feel that you're
not particularly influenced by Americans?
Willem: My feeling is that I learned a lot from them, and every
day I say, "Thank you very much, because what you gave me enables
me to do the things I'm doing now".
Bill: But in any case your music doesn't sound
like American music. I've heard it several times, I've heard lots
of Dutch and lots of European players. They don't sound like Americans.
But they do play improvised music.
Boy: It's a way of playing you know. The kind
of playing that the jazz musicians are doing is "playing ourselves".
You can do that in the tradition of jazz, but you can also do it
in a different tradition.
Bill: With an attitude of your own.
Willem: And that's I think what we've been finding out in the last
ten years. That's something I think Anthony Braxton understands.
When I did that first thing with him, on that Gunter Hampel record,
The 8th Of July 1969 (Birth NJOO1), he was immediately impressed,
he said, "There's something happening!" Because he's an
open guy, he accepted it. Up until then he had thought too that
there was just an American thing and that the Europeans were just
imitating or following. But for myself, I had no idea about that,
I was just playing what I had to play at that time. Because what
else is there to do? I didn't want to be in a jazz school learning
to play all these chords, all this shit, you know — what's
to do with that? I just want to play what I have to tell, and when
that's not possible, I stop.
Boy: There was one time in Holland when people
were talking about "this is jazz" and "this is not
jazz". And then we started to call the music we played "improvised
music" or "free music", because we really didn't
want to have discussions about what was "jazz" and what
Willem: A lot of people claimed, "We are jazz musicians, and
what you are doing is not jazz." So we say, "Okay, okay,
you are jazz musicians; we will make improvised music."
Bill: How did the Kollektief begin? Why did you leave ICP and form
BVHAAST? Why make such a drastic breakaway?
Willem: I had to do it, because I wanted to go on playing with Leo
and Willem van Manen and all these cats who were at that time a
little bit involved with ICP, but again they were not wholly accepted,
and also at that time there were a lot of financial problems, because
of the manager at ICP at that time. I put on some productions that
were very well received by the public in Holland. I did all the
productions, and because we were so successful that year, ICP the
next year got twice as much money in subsidies from the government.
And at this point ICP told me, "Thank you very much, now we
are going to divide the music so that one part goes to you, one
part to Han and one to Misha." Even at that time I was working
with eight or ten people, working with ICP money and that meant
that I would get a third of it — what to do with that? Also,
I wasn't making any records anymore, I think my last record for
ICP was "The Message", then after that everything went
in a completely different way, and I had ideas about making records
with Leo and Willem van Manen with the bigger groups I had, and
small groups, quintets, but it never happened because there always
seemed to be something in the way.
I was more involved with written-down music, and theirs was totally
free, more the FMP way of making music. So I made a decision to
split from ICP. It was not a nice decision for me at that time,
but I'm very happy with it and with what I'm doing now. It was very
hard, it took us half a year to set up our own thing.
Bill: How much of the music now, with the Kollektief, is written
and how much is improvised?
Willem: The line is written down, and a lot of the collective things
are written. Let's say, more than half is written down.
Bill: But I don't see the people in the band reading music all the
time. So a lot of it's to do with the feeling of the music?
Willem: Yes, of course. And when you play it very often, you don't
need to read it any more.
Boy: Also Willem writes for the people he's playing
Willem: Yes, when I write a piece I write a trumpet piece for Boy
and not just for a trumpet. And when I write a piano part it's for
Leo and not for a piano player I don't know.
Bill: Sometimes on the floor I see you have a notation that is not
Willem: That's the program that we think we'll do, we have some
points and we think we'll go from here to here to here, and sometimes
we change it, we skip things. But we always have a program so everyone
knows where we are. So it's not like the Globe Unity Orchestra where
everybody starts and after an hour you see what's happened. So it's
a little bit organized, yes in fact, very organized.
Bill: Are you very much concerned with impressing your public?
Willem: Impressing my public? Well, I play for the public, and I
also play for myself, that's the most important thing. But it's
also important to me that the public doesn't fall asleep when they
are sitting in the audience. I want to tell them all the musical
stories I can think of and I can make with the other guys in the
group, it's like a journey.
Bill: Do you feel that the group responds to audiences, or does
it just play its music anyway? The music seems to me to be very
vibrant, and to respond to the audience. And maybe we respond to
this music because we're not used to it.
Willem: You know, I have no idea about that, I'm just doing my thing,
and when it works out like tonight. When I saw the reactions already
in New York and San Antonio, I couldn't imagine, I thought, "Hey,
maybe we are also a kind of American people" but we have another
point of view or another idea about making music.
Bill: No, I think we have reacted to you because you aren't American
music. I mean, we get used to American music, and this music, even
though it's improvised, is very different to us. And I've always
thought that it was because it was Dutch music that it was so different,
but you've already told me that it's not coming out of such a tradition.
Willem: No, it's just a band, some composers, some ideas about how
to make music — and a feeling among people, I think that's
the most important thing, just the way we live in Holland. I'm just
a guy who was born in the eastern part of Amsterdam, and lived there
until I was 28 with my parents, and then I got my own house. But
I still live in the eastern part of Amsterdam. And everybody explains,
"Well, when he was young he heard a lot of barrel-organs in
the street and harmony orchestras and a lot of that folk kind of
thing." And maybe that's true but I don't know, I just do what
I like to do. When I went to the music conservatory in high school
to study music, they told me, "Man, you are not musical at
all, never go into music, split immediately! Because it will come
to nothing for you. Find a really good profession, but never go
into music!" They told me that! They were right because, well,
I was a very bad student anyway. I had no idea about playing the
clarinet, so that at the end of the page you turn and toopatoopatoop
play the next page. What to do with that? But I always went on with
my own situation and it's fantastic that I met, for instance, Leo
Cuypers in Germany for the first time in 1970 or '71. He had also
built up his own situation in Maastrict, in the south of Holland.
And there he was doing it his way. And then it happens that you
meet each other, and he's doing it his way and you're doing it your
way, but it's almost the same situation.
Our group is a very strange one because, for instance, Willem van
Manen was a fantastic Dixieland trombone player for ten years, and
then Jan Wolff and Bernard Hunnekink played for years in a conservatory
orchestra in Amsterdam, they are really well-trained and well-known
classical musicians. And they left that classical scene because
they became very bored with it. And so everybody has his tradition,
but all coming from completely different backgrounds.
Boy: I was born in Germany.
Willem: Me too. In '44. It took half a year, then it became Holland
Boy: At the time we were born, Holland was German.
Willem: The last days of Hitler…
Boy: You have to understand that I have a music
book at home and it's written down, this is from 1931, that jazz
is a music in which you have to play seven instruments to make noises
like animals. It was written in Germany. So in that time, because
of that attitude, the music was impossible to hear for people in
Bill: Well the Nazis believed this, didn't they? They thought that
animal music was what Black American music was all about.
Boy: Yes, of course. And this attitude stopped
the music until 1945, then people started to play it again. Willem
talked about this before. So you see there was a big gap.
Willem: But then, another thing is that I don't
claim to be a jazz musician. I just want to make music, and if you
want to listen to it, okay, I'm very happy. And if you decide that
it's not your type of music, it's too bad for me, but that's okay
too. And still jazz groups ask me to play with them, so I think
perhaps I still belong to that type of music, but on the other hand,
I don't know. I never claimed that I was coming here to play jazz
music for you. I just do what I want, and these clubs asked me to
come and play. So perhaps it still has something to do with their
tradition of making music.