It Suits Him
Stylishly dressed David Sanborn plays the music he wants to play — whatever you call it
By Peter B. King
Post-Gazette Staff Writer

Oh no, here it is again.

All poor David Sanborn wants to do is bring the signature human cry of his alto sax to the music he feels comfortable with, music no one could argue he’s not good at, music that makes a lot of people happy. Here he’s carved out a fine career as the best in his particular little corner of the musical world, and then along comes yet another pointy-headed, deadline-addled critic searching for juicy quotes and asking the same older-than-dirt question: “Yeah, David, but is it J-A-Z-Z?”

OK, in this instance, the question is more innocent, really. An interviewer asks Sanborn, who will close out this year’s Three Rivers Arts Festival and Mellon Jazz Fest with a performance tonight in Point State Park, if he ever plans to record a CD of acoustic, straight-ahead jazz. Sanborn, on the phone from New York, answers that he made an acoustic CD, albeit a little more experimental than mainstream — 1991’s “Another Hand.”

Then he adds: “I mean, I’ve heard that before. And to me it’s like, ‘OK, when are you gonna make a dixieland album?’ Just ‘cause you can do it, why should you? It seems to me the only reason to do it would be to prove to somebody that I could do it. And I don’t need to do that ….

“I could go to a studio and play ‘All the Things You Are’ and ‘Giant Steps’ and maybe sound OK. But why? To me, you make a record because you have something to say. And some people may not think I have anything to say, but I make a record that includes music that has, to me, a point of view about something.”

Sanborn is reacting to the tendency of the music press and some musicians to measure everything against the standard of bebop, the “modern” jazz forged more than 50 years ago by Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and others.

“So many people fall into that trap,” Sanborn says. “It’s like, ‘Well you have to do this so you can prove to everybody that you can play.’ But what’s the point of music? Playing music is to move people. It’s not a merit badge that you have to earn. If some kind of influence emerges in what you do, then great. Or if you feel it’s appropriate to include a certain style of music in a record, then go ahead and do it, if you feel strongly about it. But other than that . . . “

Now 51, the Florida-born Sanborn grew up in St. Louis. He started playing saxophone as a way to strengthen lungs weakened by childhood polio. Early on, he was knocked out by the sound of Hank Crawford, the alto player and former music director for Ray Charles. Crawford’s own signature wail on records like “More Soul” and “The Soul Clinic” is the godfather of Sanborn’s super-charged rock-era version.

By the age of 14, Sanborn was playing in clubs with bluesmen like Albert King and Little Milton. He studied music in college, then toured and recorded with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, Stevie Wonder and David Bowie in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.

After 1976, he toured and recorded as a leader, gradually shedding his work as a pop session hired gun. Albums like “Hideaway,” the Grammy-winning “Voyeur” and “A Change of Heart” cemented his popularity. The Grammy-winning “Double Vision,” with Bob James, went platinum. Sanborn’s most recent CD, “Songs From the Night Before,” features a hip-hop tinge, a result of the urban pop Sanborn’s been checking out, like D’Angelo, Redman and Me’Shell NdegeOcello.

Then there’s his work for jazz arranger Gil Evans on CDs like “Sorcerer” and “The Gil Evans Orchestra Plays the Music of Jimi Hendrix,” and discs like “Another Hand,” with adventurous players such as Charlie Haden and Bill Frisell. Sanborn also collaborated with avant-saxophonist Tim Berne on “Diminutive Mysteries (Mostly Hemphill),” tunes by the late St. Louis sax player Julius Hemphill.

And yet, he still gets asked about a straight-ahead bop or post-bop effort.

“Believe me, I’m not dismissing that music at all,” Sanborn responds. “I’ve got everything that was reissued on CD — every Miles Davis, everything from Blue Note, everything from Prestige, all the old Art Blakey albums. I had ‘em on vinyl. So I’m well aware of the music; I’ve gone through the process of playing it.

“But at a certain point, you’ve gotta have something to say. And I think people lose sight of that. The only reason to play the music of the past is so you can learn from it and play the music of the present. And guys who get locked into that (purist) frame of mind? Well go ahead, buy a 1962 Impala and get a couple of sharkskin suits and knock yourself out. It’s 1997. And you can’t ignore the world.”

Sanborn’s previous recording, “Pearls,” offers ballads and gentle mid-tempo pieces performed with an acoustic rhythm section and a 70-piece orchestra. “If you’re looking for tests, that’s the real test of a player,” Sanborn remarks. “Can you play a ballad?”

Come to think of it, he says, half the tunes on that CD are the classic American pop songs bop players love: “Willow Weep for Me,” “For All We Know,” “Come Rain or Come Shine.”

“Maybe the context is a little more orchestral than straight-ahead, but there’s an example of using that stuff in a way that I thought was appropriate for me.”

So there. Whether he’s playing “jazz” or not, Sanborn has continued to progress, both as player and composer. He has studied on and off for 10 years with George Coleman, the big-toned Memphis tenor who worked with Miles Davis and Cedar Walton.

“Certainly George played a very big part in helping me develop some kind of fluency on my instrument. What I learned from George, if I could simplify it, is flexibility — over the whole instrument. The more able you are to directly execute the music that you’re hearing in your head, the better a musician you’re going to be.”

But enough about music. Let’s cut right to the molten core of the things that really matter: Let’s discuss Sanborn’s clothes, the impossibly elegant knee-length leather jacket he sports on the cover of “Songs From the Night Before,” the dark linen suits with just a little padding on the shoulders he’s worn in concert, ones that fit him so perfectly you’d think God was his tailor.

“Well, I haven’t ever thought of myself as fashionable, really,” Sanborn says, sounding so sincere you almost believe him. “Just like anybody else, I’m always conscious of trying to (look good). I grew up pretty much in the ‘50s, and the whole rock ‘n’ roll style was coming into play, that awareness of a certain style of dressing” — street chic, if you will.

Rikke, his wife, helps him choose his threads — often Armani or Prada.

“My wife is much more on the cutting edge of fashion than I am. Left to my own design, I’m about two years behind the curve. For me, it’s all about how clothes feel. And the great thing about clothes from people like Armani is that stuff feels so good when you’re wearing it. It makes you feel, like, loose. And it’s just easy to work in. So I think my main motivation is a certain kind of comfort, and — especially clothes like Armani — just the way the fabric drapes.

“You can’t go wrong with that stuff, you know? You buy stuff and it lasts. It wears well. I’ve got Armani suits that are five, six, seven years old, that I still break out, that don’t look that bad.”