Feb. 19, 1972: Chuck Mangione

 


A snapshot of this gentle giant just as his star was really starting to shoot into the stratosphere. And for once, the headline writers and the layout people in TV Topics did it up right: 

Feb. 19, 1972 

Mangione 

MAIN LOBBY of Rochester’s Eastman School of Music. No question who Chuck Mangione is. He’s a more familiar figure here than Toulouse-Lautrec was in Paris.

Hair streaming down his back, brown wide-brimmed hat, long coat and scarf, boots peeking from under two inches of rolled-up flannel blue jeans cuffs.

Blue-grey eyes give his face a mystical clarity. He points a finger at you in a free and easy greeting. He wants to check out his mail before jazz workshop rehearsal, but . . .

* * *

FIRST SOMEONE asks if the Philharmonic is due extra money for the Carnegie Hall show. Next there’s a rumor that he’s touring in June (“I haven’t got any plans,” he says).

        A jazz workshopper introduces her friend. A housewife brings up two candy-apple-sticky daughters for a handshake. Students come up to say they can or can’t do this and that. And still others just say “hello.”

        “That’s what happens every time I sit out there,” Chuck says as we cross the alley to the annex.

        “It’s getting insane. And teaching 15 hours a week is really a heavy load. I’m running all the time. If anything else comes along, something’s gonna have to give.”
        Later he looks up from under his hat at two dozen jazz workshoppers around his high stool: “People, there’s not enough da de le da AEH-H-H-ah. So let’s go now … a-one, two, three …”

        Chuck bobs his head, clicks heels in time to the student-written number as the horns muster up for next week’s Music Educators National Conference in Atlanta.

        After Atlanta, there’s stops in Nashville and Cincinnati. In between, Chuck’s own quartet has a week in a Washington, D. C., jazz club – their first non-concert gig since 1969.

* * *

WAITING IN the corridor when the workshop ends is Debbie from the suburban Penfield high school paper. She asks “just five minutes.”

        Between hellos and people asking for W-2 forms, Chuck gives Debbie some personal history.

        Things like his father being a Rochester grocer and how Chuck chose music over baseball at the age of 10 after seeing “Young Man with a Horn.” Now he’s 31 and married (lives in suburban Greece) and has two pre-school daughters.

        How many albums has he made? He counts six – three with older brother Gap Mangione as The Jazz Brothers in the early ‘60s (Chuck was an Eastman student then), one with his quartet and, of course, “Friends & Love” and “Together.”

* * *

CHUCK TELLS her he can “squawk a note” out of any instrument, but the only ones he plays publicly are trumpet, flugelhorn and piano.

        (He took up flugelhorn, he says during the three-hour WBEN radio special at 8 p.m. tomorrow, after Miles Davis started using it in the mid ‘60s and now prefers it to the trumpet. Mellower sound.)

        “The only enjoyment I get out of touring is to share music with that many more people,” he says. “I don’t enjoy driving all night. I’d rather be home with my family.”

        We retreat to a nearby Chinese restaurant. “Privacy is hard to come by,” Chuck observes. “It’s hard to draw a line and say leave me alone. The worst thing that could happen is if people think you’re not real. I feel just like anybody else and I like to talk to people.

        “The phone at home goes like crazy. It’s hard on Judy – she’s sorta like the protector. The kids, instead of playing house, they play going to the concert. They really dig when the quartet comes over.”

        Over won-ton soup and Chinese vegetables, Chuck recounts how rejected he felt as an Eastman student 10 years ago, back before the school recognized jazz.

* * *

HE RESPONDED by becoming an indifferent symphonic musician, never really learning writing and arranging – things which now come hard for him.

        After graduation, he freelanced in New York City, picking up gigs with Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers and others. But the same things which sent him to Eastman brought him back home to Rochester.

        “I was exposed to professional musicians a lot at an early age and I saw the insecurity of it,” he says. “I saw guys getting up in years and wondering how they’d make a living when they quit going on the road. I saw music ed as an insurance policy.”

* * *

FIRST HE taught at the Hochstein School of Music, then put together his quartet and organized an all-city, all-county jazz ensemble. That caught attention in 1968 at Eastman, whose jazz workshop just played its first concert. In white ties and tails.

        “Now we look the way we want to look,” he says. “These are ripening years for the kids and they ought to be as open as possible and get to experiment in as many areas of music as possible.”

        The rush of fame began in 1969 with Chuck’s “Kaleidoscope” concert, something he staged to perform some music he’d written. That led to a Rochester Civic Music Association invitation to do something with the Philharmonic.

        Restricted by the CMA budget, he wound up paying for extra rehearsal time and music printing.

* * *

“EVERYBODY thinks I’m swinging now,” he says. “They don’t know that when you’re paying 60 orchestra musicians and soloists, there isn’t that much left. But I’d gladly do it all over again knowing that I’d lose $2,500.”

        The result was “Friends & Love.” Brother Gap’s record company pressed the album (now up for a Grammy Award) from the four-track back-up recording the WXXI-TV videotape people used at the wildly-cheered concert.

* * *

ROCHESTER response was good, but it was heavy sales in Buffalo that convinced Mercury Records to buy it outright, cover and all. Then in Dallas, a deejay trimmed “Hill Where the Lord Hides” to Top 40 size – from seven minutes to four.

        “When I heard it, I was stunned for a day,” Chuck says. “I felt like somebody had cut me in half. Actually, it was a pretty tasteful cut. And if it wasn’t for that guy, people wouldn’t have heard the song or bought the album.”

* * *

“TOGETHER” was a reunion last spring of the “Friends & Love” cast. Also videotaped, it’s due April 17 on WNED-TV, Channel 17. Chuck feels this time he gave his quartet and the soloists more freedom to be themselves.

        And that was the music that went to Carnegie Hall two weeks ago, playing to a crowd that included Charles Mingus, Gil Evans and Chuck’s old boyhood idol, Dizzy Gillespie.

        “My music hasn’t changed a whole lot,” Chuck says. “In fact, ‘Firewatchers’ I wrote in 1964 and it fits right in. But I think my attitude toward people is different now.

        “Getting off on people is a whole other experience to me. The happiest moments I’ve known in my life is making people feel good.

        “I think my mom is an example of that. You could walk into the house with 50 people and in an hour she’d be feeding all of them. I’d like to be able to give to people that way.” 

The box/sidebar: 

Planned Like a Space Shot 

        They’d planned it all like a space shot, but as zero hour slid past one Friday night last December, the snow sweeping Elmwood Avenue heaped the worries of the three collaborators as high as the tall-ceilinged WBEN front lobby where they waited.

        The anxiety drifted from carefully progressive program director Bruce Wexler over to shaggy-haired 25-year-old creative director Lee Zimmerman and then to warm-voiced afternoon show host Bill Masters – could Chuck Mangione and his entourage make it all the way from Rochester in this stuff?

* * *

AND NOBODY knew quite what to expect of Mangione. Wexler, who started it all, had been pleasantly amazed on meeting him at a cocktail party after a Buffalo “Friends & Love” concert which, Wexler says, “sent electricity through me.”

        “I had this picture of him as a freaked-out musician,” he remarks, “but this guy is a regular kind of person.”

        Surprise, relief, joy as the long-coated figure in his familiar wide-brimmed hat arrived, not by the front door but via the short-cut employee entrance, 20 minutes delayed by the storm. No clutter of hangers-on, just Mangione.

        “Until we got into the studio,” Wexler recalls, “I didn’t know what we wanted to do. But as the two-hour interview between him and Bill Masters passed, we saw the possibility of a great spectacular. We felt, ‘Here is a giant growing up in our own backyard.’”

        So Lee Zimmerman – on weekends and in between his regular commitments on commercials and such – began two months of intense work that he says few other stations in the nation would allow enough time for.

* * *

WHY WOULD WBEN do this? Wexler will tell you about being communicators and feeling the pulse of the community and the “Jesus Christ Superstar” special last spring.

        And Lee, who’s worked at a variety of stations, will say: “They’re genuine, knowledgeable people here at WBEN.”

        Aided by veteran engineer Murray Wilkinson, Lee studiously pieced interview and music into a three-hour portrait as artfully and off-handedly real as Mangione himself. It will be on WBEN and WBEN-FM from 8 to 11 tomorrow night with a minimum of station breaks.

        “I’m supposed to be a seasoned radio veteran,” Lee says, “but I was like a little kid that night we first played it for the newspaper critics. I couldn’t eat. It wasn’t another Lee Zimmerman sales job. I dug this guy so much I didn’t want to change what he is.

        “He’s like another guy who does all the things you do and sometimes you wish you could express it all, but you can’t, so you’re glad there’s a guy like him to do it with words and music.”

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE: My first interview with a major music maker, made easier by the fact that I was long familiar with him already, having been was a fan of his brother Gap’s group, the Jazz Brothers, back in the early 1960s. Hanging out with him in Rochester for an afternoon did not seem like work at all. It was a treat.

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