RIP Andrew Hill

When I was 17, during the summer prior to my freshman year in college, I traveled to Verona, Italy to play my first European jazz festival, as a member of my father's orchestra. We had an unusual flight path, originating in LA and going to Washington DC, and after a layover there, on to Milano. While in the waiting area at DC's Dulles airport, I was introduced to several of the musicians who would be performing at the same festival. There was Gil Evans' lively crew, which included his son Miles, George Adams, Lew Soloff, and others, and also the quartet of Andrew Hill, Clifford Jordan, Rufus Reid, and Ben Riley. There was something very special about Mr. Hill, whose work I hadn't yet heard; there was a quality of warmth and presence coming from him that I had rarely experienced in adults, a quality which I know and recognize now (as I approach the age of 39) as almost non-existent. It was as though this man had no fear, didn't need to defend himself with a display of indifference and officiousness and distance, and so what I experienced instead was an instant feeling that this man respected me.

During the festival, I encountered him several other times, and was blown away by his group's performance. In fact, of the piano-led ensembles at the festival (which included Keith Jarrett's and a duo of Michel Petrucciani and Jim Hall), I was easily most impressed by Andrew Hill's quartet (they did a recording while on that tour, released as "Shades" on Soul Note). I was attracted to his compositions---angular and balanced, which were deeply expressed in an assured voice---and again, to that sense of spirit and warmth that was palpable in his person and his sound. He had many encouraging words to say to me, and made a point of talking to me while on the airplane back to the US, not only about music, but just to talk. To have had that experience at such an early age, and to remember it now, is quite powerful for me. Other than Harold Land and Billy Higgins (who I had the good fortune to know at home), he was the first musician from "outside" to acknowledge me in that way, and over the years he has always been an artist whom I have admired not only for his accomplishments, but also for that special aspect of his humanity. During my years at Bennington, I listened to his records often and closely, and heard him perform several times at the old Knitting Factory, most notably in a group in which he masterfully blended the voices of Bobby Hutcherson and Greg Osby with his own.

And it's the humanity that inspired the art, a vital career that encompassed many decades, that embraced an inter-generational approach to a restless, tireless musical search. Well-grounded in the beauty of the blues and of mature swing, and also something from its own shaded corner of a wild-growing garden, Andrew Hill's music embodies everything I aspire to as a composer and a maker of music.

It was my honor to even know OF him; and my greater honor to have a life that was touched by him.

Long live Andrew Hill.