Interview with Michael Sarin

The time I spent with Thomas and the Trio playing, traveling, and sharing a friendship was truly a joy and a blessing.  He embodied most of what I sought out in New York City's jazz and improvised music community:  an openness, curiosity, and willingness to embrace any-and-all musical styles and influences in forging a unique and personal voice and artistic vision.

I found Thomas to be comprised of many facets, some at odds with one another from time to time.  His constant dedication to availing himself of the creative spirit, and the ensuing artistic output thereof, were a way he made sense of these various aspects.  And the results were thrilling and powerful for all who saw or heard him perform; or viewed his collages; or chatted with him about any of his myriad interests.

He was a traditionalist; highly creative; rigorous; restless; intelligent; generous of spirit; curious; proactive; loyal; vulnerable; disciplined; AND he loved to laugh!!!!

Of course, we all miss his music--well, the music he would be making if still alive today. But those who knew him miss Thomas, the person--his friendship and laughter. He was a true artist and unique spirit!

Michael Sarin

BREATHE: A Spoken-word Poem About Thomas

By John Lunar Richey,

I’M DRIVING FAST AS I CAN TO REACH MY DESTINATION ON TIME. ALL GOOD TILL: HOW’D THAT TROOPER GET BEHIND ME SO QUICK? NO SIREN – BLINDING LIGHTS ON MY BUMPER. HOLDING MY BREATH I SQUEEZE THROUGH THREE LANES AND PARK ROAD SIDE ON THE TUMPIKE WITH THE NYC SKYLINE IS SIGHT. AFTER LOOKING OVER MY PAPERS THR TROOPER WANTS TO KNOW WHY I WAS SPEEDING. I APOLOGIZE AND TELL HIM I WORKED LATE AND NOW – BY THE TIME I GET TO QUEENS TO PICK UP MY FRIEND AND PERCUSSIONIST I SHOULD BE IN NYC. THE OFFICER ASKS, “ARE YOU IN A WEDDING BAND?”

“WHAT?” I STARE AT THE COP IN DISBELIEF, “NO, I’M DOING A PERFORMANCE AT A GALLERY IN NEW YORK CITY.” I LOOK OVER THE BACKSEAT. DID SOMEONE TOSS A TUX IN MY HATCHBACK? THE COP’S BRIGHT ORB SPREAD ACROSS TWO MILK CRATES OF ELECTRONICS AMD WIRES LOOKING MORE LIKE BOMB MATERIAL THAN MUSICAL EQUIPMENT. THE TROOPER RETURNS AND GIVES ME A WRITTEN WARNING: “DON’T LET ME CATCH YOU SPEEDING AGAIN.” HOW ELSE CAN I GET THERE ON TIME? MY RACING BECOMES MORE FRANTIC – FAST – YET STAYING OUT OF THE TROOPER’S REAR VIEW MIRROR – THEN OFF THE TURNPIKE – PASSING CARS IN NYC.

FINALLY, I’M IN THE APARTMENT OF THOMAS AND HIS FIANCEE TERRI. I’M IN A CALM PLACE WHERE YOU TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES TO ENTER. I TAKE A DEEP BREATH, TRYING NOT TO YELL: LET’S GO! THOM IS IN A DIFFERENT SPACE THAN ME. PERHAPS HE FINISHED MEDITATING. ANXIOUSLY AWAITING TO DEPART I NOTICE SOMETHING SCOTCH TAPPED TO THE HANDLE OF THEIR PHONE – ONE WORD: BREATHE. BREATHING IN QUEENS; INHALING THE PEACEFULNESS WITHIN THEIR HOME, EXHALING THE FRET WHICH ONLY CONTINUES AS WE RACE INTO NYC AND ARRIVE AT THE DOWNTOWN MUSIC GALLERY. PEOPLE ARE WAITING. WE SET UP QUICKLY. TAPE DECKS AND READING MATERIALS ARE ON THE TABLE. THOM’S PERCUSSION RACK IS SET UP.

WITHOUT CATCHING MY BREATH – WE’RE PERFORMING.

MY READING IS EDGY. THOMAS PLAYS IN A PEACEFUL, PERCUSSIVE PLACE. I’M SPEAKING STEAMY EROTICA BEHIND A DUMPSTER WHILE THOMAS HAS BIRDS SINGING IN THE TREES; BREATHING LIFE INTO HIS CLAY BIRD FIGURINES. PAINED WORDS WITH JOYOUS INTERPRETATION; WHAT I PAINT DARK, THOMAS GAVE LIGHT.

I MET THOM WHILE TAKING A JAZZ COURSE AT LIVINGSTON COLLEGE. AND I WAS ALWAYS AT THE STUDENT JAZZ ORCHESTRA PERFORMANCES WHERE THOMAS WAS ALWAYS THE FEATURE, THE FUTURE. AFTER COLLEGE I SAW THOM PLAY IN A NEW BRUNSWICK PARK WITH LIONEL HAMPTON. AT ONE POINT THE MUSICIANS WALKED THROUGH THE CROWD PLAYING A MARCH. THOM SNAKING THROUGH THE PARK SAW ME WITH FELLOW MUSICIAN JOSH. HE PAUSED IN FRONT OF US FOR A NOD AND A QUICK HONK AND A TWEET ON HIS SAX BEFORE FOLLOWING THE MUSICIAN’S WINDING PATH. OUR FRIENDSHIP REVOLVED AROUND MUSIC AND I’D GO SEE HIM PLAY AT THE KNITTING FACTORY, BUT EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN I WAS ASKED TO JOIN MACHINE GUN.

 WITHOUT CATCHING MY BREATH – WE’RE PERFORMING.

INSIDE THIS CHILLY ART SPACE CALLED THE GAS STATION; MACHINE GUN IS DOING SOUND CHECK. THOMAS AND I ARE ALONE ON STAGE. I’M NOT THE SOUNDMAN WAS CHIDING THOM, BUT COLTRANE WAS PLAYING SO LOUD THROUGH THE SOUND SYSTEM WHILE PREPARING THE MICROPHONE LEVEL FOR THOM’S SAX. AS I PLACED A SMALL PORTABLE B&W TELEVISION ON STAND NEXT TO MY TABLE OF CABLES, COLTRANE WAS BLOWING TO A HIGHER POWER – REACHING FOR AN EXPRESSION TO LIFE’S PAIN AND JOY. THOMAS JUMPED IN, HITTING EVERY NOTE WHILE DEFINITELY EXPRESSING HIS OWN FEELINGS. THE SOUNDMAN LOWERED THE MUSIC, HUMBLED AND ATTENTIVE. I LOOKED AT THOMAS AND SAW THAT WONDERFULLY SUBLIME, IMPISH LOOK AND GLINT IN HIS EYE. AND THAT WAS ONLY THE SOUND CHECK.

THAT EVENING SONNY SHARROCK, JOINED US DRESSED SHARP ON A FINE 50 STYLE SUIT AND TIE. AS THE RHYTHM SECTION KEPT PUSHING AND HOLDING STRONG – SONNY PLAYED HIS BLACK GIBSON – DROPPING PICS, TRADING LICKS, CALLS AND RESPONSES, WITH GUITARIST BOB AND THOM. ONSTAGE I JOINED IN BUT WATCHED A LOT, SEEMINGLY OUT OF THE PICTURE TILL I PUT MICROPHONE TO MY TELEVISION AND TURNED ON THE 11 O’CLOCK NEWS. CHNAGING CHANNELS – EVERYONE WATCHED AND LISTENED TO A COLLAGE OF NEWS REPORTS. A VISUAL CUT-UP. TURNING CHANNELS – CLICK, CLICK, CLICK – SWITCHING NEWS STORIES WITH SLICES OF COMMERCIALS – SPLICING A STRANGE REPORT OF THE DAY’S NEWS. GUITARS WERE SCATHING AND THOM’S SAX WALING, TO THE EXPLORATIVE RHYTHMS OF SMOKIN’ BIL AND JAIR-ROHM. WE HIT AN AMAZING PEAK TOGETHER, A GLINT IN ALL OUR EYES. WITHOUT CATCHING MY BREATH – WE’RE PERFORMING.

THOMAS CHAPIN; NOW A WORLD-RENOWNED MUSICIAN – HAVING PLAYED JAZZ FESTIVALS ALL OVER THE WORLD – WAS ASKED TO BRING IN OUR NYC EXPERIMENTAL BAND TO HOLLAND. AT THE TIME I LIVED IN TAOS, BOB AND THOM IN NY AND THE RHYTHM SECTION IN SWEDEN. HAVING NOT PLAYED A NOTE TOGETHER FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS WE WERE NERVOUS BACKSTAGE. THOM’S SERENE VOICE QUELLED LAST MINUTE JITTERS STATING, “WE DO AS WE ALWAYS DO: WE IMPROVISE!” AND MACHINE GUN, THE BAND THAT GAVE THOMAS HIS NICK-NAME RAGE, TOOK THE STAGE LIKE TIME NEVER MATTERED. I HAD NO CONCEPT OF THIS BEING OUR FINAL PERFORMANCE. THOMAS – CENTER STAGE BLOWING EVERYONE AWAY WITH HIS TOUCH AND FEELING. HIS FLUTE COULD BE AS PEACEFUL AS HAND TOUCHING A TRICKLING STREAM, HIS SAX A SMOKING CAULDRON ABOUT TO ERUPT IN FLAMES. SOMETIMES PLAYING TWO SAXES SIMULTANEOUSLY THOMAS MASTERED CIRCULAR BREATHING – A MEDITATIVE DISCIPLINE – CREATING OF NEVER ENDING FLOW OF MUSIC. THE SYNCHRONICITY OF WORDS AND MUSIC MIXED INTO A FRENZY VIBRATING THE SPACE WITH ABSTRACT MAGICAL IMPROVISATION. MUSIC DEVELOPED IN THE HERE AND NOW: LIKE BREATHING.

WWUH Remembers Thomas Chapin

Doug Maine, WWUH Connecticut: May/June Program Guide, 1998

Thomas Chapin occupied a special place in the jazz world and in the hearts of Connecticut music fans because he was as good a person as he was an engaging and innovative musician.

Chapin, 40, who died February 13 after courageously battling leukemia for nearly a year, was a Connecticut native, born and raised in Manchester. He was one of the most exciting and beloved performers on the area jazz scene for nearly two decades and had achieved global prominence in recent years with the Thomas Chapin Trio.

He formed the trio after several years as musical director of Lionel Hampton’s band and a stint with drummer Chico Hamilton’s group. At the same time he began a fruitful association with New York City’s Knitting Factory performance space and record company, which issued six Thomas Chapin Trio recordings. Many critics have called the trio’s latest, Sky Piece, released in February, one of the best of his career.

Chapin was little changed by the recognition and adulation he was starting to receive. Thus, his success was a source of local pride, even among those who didn’t always understand some of the more experimental aspects of his work; most know it was the restless, seeking energy -- the striving for transcendence -- that made him the artist that he was.

Happily, Thomas Chapin was no stranger to the WWUH airwaves, as he visited the station for interviews on many occasions. We announced his gigs and played his recordings -- maybe not enough in the more challenging cases, not always being as fearless or as open to all that could be made into music as he.

WWUH’s Chuck Obuchowski who also grew up in Manchester, knew of Chapin early on. He recalled seeing Chapin during his grammar school days sitting on a swing in a nearby schoolyard playing the flute. He doesn’t remember what he was playing, but was definitely struck by the sight.

Obuchowski was one of many who put together ""In Harmony: A Vision Shared,"" a benefit concert for Chapin, held February 1 at Cheney Hall in Manchester. In the program notes, Obuchowski wrote, ""Thomas Chapin is a musical pioneer of the highest order. He has mastered many varieties of flutes and saxophones, including non-western versions of these instruments; his technical prowess is beyond reproach. Above all, he has always dared to pursue his own muse, unfazed by criticism.""

Obuchowski included a quote from a radio interview, during which Chapin said, ""I always try to remember and remind all of us that the music exists because we love it, not because there’s any commercial basis for it... It needs everything we can give it.""

One of Chapin’s long-time friends at WWUH was Donna Giddings, who hosted Thursday Morning Jazz from 1983-1994 and interviewed the musician several times. In fact, Chapin even played at her wedding to fellow UH staffer Jim Bolan. ""Although Tom got paid, he certainly did it as a favor to us,"" she said.

She doesn’t remember exactly how they met, but -- like many area jazz fans -- heard him play numerous times at the 880 Club in Hartford. She also recalled him playing at the annual summer picnics WWUH held through the early-’80s and also saw him in New York with a band led by one of his most important teachers, saxophonist and educator Paul Jeffrey.

""Tom had an infectious laugh. He was always so easy to be with and unassuming,’"" said Giddings. ""I felt I could be his friend even though I’m not a musician and my knowledge of jazz can’t compare with his.""

That kind of approachability, respect for others and simple kindness carried into Chapin’s musical life as well. Even after becoming a cutting-edge jazz star, Chapin was never less than professional when sitting in with local musicians with whom other musicians with bigger egos and less talent would not deign to share a bandstand. And, thanks to his infectious energy and intense musicality, he usually managed to create something special in the process.

""He was someone with an artistic vision... He played so many types of jazz, it didn’t matter... His music evolved, he didn’t get stuck in one particular style,"" said Giddings.

""After the last time I interviewed him, we went out to lunch,"" she recalled. ""I remember asking him, ‘what do you do in your free time when you’re not practicing and composing?’ He said painting, I was really struck by the fact that...whether he was working or relaxing, there was creativity involved.""

Even when facing the challenge of leukemia, Chapin maintained his optimism and pursued all kinds of approaches to battling his illness. On the day before the Cheney Hall benefit, he said, ""Our mission sometimes does not go the way we want it to go. But nonetheless we are in life for some kind of purpose. So you have to find what the purpose is in all things that you come across or might come across.""

Thomas Chapin understood his purpose better than most of us ever will, no matter how long we live. That he gave music all he had was never more apparent than when he surprised even his family and closest friends by performing a piece at the February 1 benefit.

Thomas Chapin could have achieved so much more in music, but in many ways his life seems to have been a journey fulfilled. He’s with us still, in his recordings, through the musicians who continue where he left off and in the certainty that music is as eternal as the human spirit itself.

Lifting Our Voices: In Praise of Thomas Chapin

Tributes from Music Community and Friends of Thomas Chapin on the occasion of his tenth year of passing, "Lift Off! Remembering Thomas Chapin" concerts in New York City, Feb. 13 and 15, 2008.

From the Voices of Musicians, Poets and Music Promoters...

John Zorn Tom Chapin was the real deal. A complete musician in every sense, he created work that was honest, imaginative, well crafted and cathartic. Putting himself into each and every note, he played with a rare and intense passion. His energy was absolutely astounding. He is sorely missed.

Bruce Lee Gallanter Thomas Chapin was one of the greatest saxists and flutists ever! I caught Thomas dozens of times and he never failed to blow his audiences away. He could swing his tush off and he could go as far out as any of the heavy spirits like Trane or Eric Dolphy. He was also a fine composer who drew from the vast history of jazz, world, rock and more outside streams and made it his own. Whether knowing him as a friend or experiencing him on stage, you knew he was an exuberant, radiant and positive spirit/force. I was truly honored to be his friend and to help him get some of the recognition he deserved. These two concerts will celebrate his life and his music. It's been ten years since his passing and it is time to remember... Thomas Chapin!

Mario Pavone His best changes playing was never captured on records, to a great degree.... When I look at it now, every solo he took was with the thought in mind that he might not be around to play another. Every solo was like two solos.... He was smart, well-informed, full of incredible energy, a virtuoso, experimenting and pushing the envelope all of the time, never letting up.... It is wonderful to honor the music and memory of Thomas Chapin... his music stands that sure test of time. I include Chapin pieces on my current concert playlist. I keep his stuff alive because it is alive.

Michael Sarin Thomas had a lot of sides that were often in conflict with one another. This made for great theater and wonderful artistic creation. I miss his laugh and curiosity about the world. I miss seeing how he would have grown musically, and I just miss Thomas. And, I wish he and my son could have met each other.

Arthur Kell Thomas believed! And, soon after meeting him, so did you. It wasn't just the vivid, ferocious energy and the feeling that he could tap a deep musical well at will; he had so much heart and soul about him. You not only walked away more convinced of the wonders of this world, you also felt the love.

James Spaulding Tom was really one of the first alto players who cited me openly in his public notes as one of the alto players by whom he was much influenced. I wore his admiration very proudly while playing my horn. Thomas was certainly most sincere with his admiration and his compliments. I believe, were Tom here, still amongst us, his musical achievements would parallel those of the most recognized of our peers.

Paul Jeffrey Thomas didn’t like to transcribe solos. I told him that was okay, because he knew the changes. I realized that Thomas could play his way, and more traditionally, so why not let him go his way? Because he was always reaching for different things, things that might not fit within the structure of the music we were playing.... I kept trying to get Thomas into Hamp’s band, but Hamp didn’t know him. When Hamp called me for one job, I said I would only take the gig if he’d also hire Thomas. The day after that gig, Hamp called and said, “That guy really can play.” Pretty soon he was Hamp’s musical director, and I got Hamp to hire the whole Rutgers sax section.... We had quite a few conversations about individuality. He always wanted to do it his way.... He was on the verge of becoming one of the leading voices on the alto. He was at the forefront on that instrument.

David CasT Playing next to Thomas Chapin in any endeavor always brought out the best musically from all involved. It was just that when Thomas was present, the music coming from his instrument of choice at any given moment, was so pure an expression that to attempt anything less by everyone around him would be a glaring insult to the music.... Thomas was a real presence, and a humble and humbling presence... a real brush with truth in this universe.

Walter Thompson He was such a very special person and a great artist! Thomas was a big supporter of my work, Soundpainting, and always encouraged me to continue its development. I think of Thomas often and remember the early days of our meeting... He would often have very constructive comments on how to codify certain gestures and concepts. He encouraged me to continue in this direction and to develop Soundpainting as far as I could take it.... I once asked Thomas, referring to a difficult section of one of my compositions, if he would be able to play it. He said, very confidently, ""I don't have any technical problems on any of my instruments, I can play anything!"" He was absolutely right - he played the passage without a flaw.... He was not only a visionary composer and performer, on many instruments, but he was also a fantastic visual artist!... The visual works he showed me focused on his layering paper materials and tearing away the layers to reveal the different levels and textures. Thomas had quite a number of these works. They were excellent!

Peggy Stern Thomas was one of the most open, most clear, and most alive, happy, and curious people I have ever met. He was a very good friend to have, and he is sorely missed.

Armen Donelian Thomas was a powerhouse of ideas and passion, and his music often gushed from him in torrents, yet he understood when and what not to play as well. His solo on my tune ""Mexico"" is a perfect example of his ability to sculpt musical architecture from the first note to the last, to build from silence into an inexorable climax, and then to recede into nothingness once again. In addition, Thomas was one of the kindest people I've ever met, and I miss him terribly.

Pablo Aslan I formed Avantango in 1994 to explore the mixture and confluence of tango and jazz, looking for a spontaneous way to play tango, no arrangements, just blowing. I received a lot of impetus from hanging out and talking to Thomas. When he discovered I played tango, he was immediately into the idea of getting together and blowing on some tangos. I wasn't about to pass up this opportunity, so I picked up the challenge and got the band together. At first we were a sextet, but over a couple of years we trickled down to the trio with Ethan Iverson. It was an unbelievably creative experience for me, one that in hindsight becomes more of a defining moment in my life and career than I [realized] at the time. Thomas' virtuoso playing, his incredible zest and enthusiasm, his sharp musicality, and his sweetness as a person were all a great part of this.

Steve Dalachinsky in the music we play this impending dance ..... dear sweet saxophonist present in the Rumi's open heart where music's ears buzz like a headswelling fever…

Thomas my thoughts are with you in this city of cities, this alternative to paradise. May you always walk peacefully through the tropics you so loved.

Michael Rabinowitz Prior to a rehearsal in our Brooklyn apartment (unlike many musicians Thomas loved to rehearse), Thomas found my two-year-old daughter's plastic Fisher-Price toy instrument set. This toy could be taken apart and reassembled into different hybrid flutes. his face was lit with boyish joy at the discovery and if I had not aksed him to take out his sax, he woujld have played with that toy all afternoon. That was Thomas.

Robert Musso He used to wear a button on his shirt pocket back then that said, “I Read”. We used to say he could read around the corner. That's how good he was. So when it came time to putting Machine Gun together, years later, he was the obvious choice. Before Machine Gun the only time that we had played together was in the jazz ensemble, which was with probably 30 or 40 musicians. He was always the lead soloist. I still miss Thomas ‘Rage” Chapin. We had so many good times together. He was unbelievable. He had so much energy!

Steve Swell As a musician, what can you say about Tom Chapin who spent his whole life playing this music with such dedication, energy and good humor? Just that he truly was one of us.

Vernon Frazer Thomas was one of the leading saxophonists of the 1980s and 1990s. I've met very few artists in any medium who shared his commitment to keeping his work fresh and original. In his time, Thomas was way ahead of the curve. In this time, people still have to catch up to him.

Ned Rothenberg Thomas remains an inspiration. Whenever I tire of the grind that the music 'biz' can throw at you, he bucks me up. Thomas paid all kinds of dues (how many years with Lionel Hampton?) but he never lost that sheer joy of musical creation. Man, he could burn it up. He looks at me from the wall of my studio and sometimes when I'm feeling creatively stuck I look over at his photo and I feel him saying – ‘come on babe, work it on out.‘

Ara Dinkjian The last time I was with Thomas, at his apartment, he played his newest recording, Sky Piece. I was overwhelmed by the music, and by the prospect of losing this friend and musician at a time when he was at a new peak (to my ears). I will never forget: he told me he treasured life. I am grateful for having had him in my life.

Brett Ryan Even though I never met Thomas, it is clear to me that there is no separation between the music he played and who he was as a person. Whenever I listen to his recordings, I feel that a radiant, humorous, passionate, and sensitive human being is right there along side me.

Ineke Van Doorn His playing impressed me a lot. My first impression was that although he was playing very free, energetic and anarchistic he was easy to follow and he never lost contact with his trio-members nor with the audience. After the concert I talked shortly with him and this was like his music: lively, open and with a lot of humour. More than two years later... Marc van Vugt and I decided to ask Thomas to play as a featured guest with our group Vandoorn.... This was more or less a spontaneous idea so we only called him three weeks before it should happen. At one way or the other it 'clicked' immediately. Thomas didn't need to hear a tape of us first and because of the narrow time schedule he bought a plane ticket himself. A written down confirmation? Nothing of this was necessary. When I asked him later if he was always so full of trust towards other people, he answered that he always followed his intuition and that this always worked. I found this quite remarkable.

Mark Feldman and Sylvie Courvoisier We were both lucky to work with Thomas a bit--Sylvie in Holland in Quartet and Duo in New York, and Mark in his Trio plus Strings and with the Walter Thompson Big Band. Thomas was a great musician who always gave 100%. I remember his positive energy. He will always be remembered and missed.

Tom Melito Thomas was exactly what you wanted in a jazz musician in that he really had his own beautiful sound, and it mirrored his personality. If you weren't lucky enough to know him, the music he left us will take you on a journey to his spirit that will leave you with a smile. Quite a feat for such a brief life…

Steven Bernstein I met Thomas in 1983... he was so advanced... ahead of all the rest of us... the first musician in ""our community"" on a jazz record (by great trumpeter Johnny Walker), first leading his own band at a jazz club (55 Bar), first to make his own cd's (on the Knit label), first to take his own band to Europe....I asked him for a LOT of advice.......and he was the first to go...... was just on tour with Mario Pavone and Mike Sarin....we talked about ""Chape"" every day....thank you for your spirit....you led the way....wish you were here today...

---

From the Voices of Family and Friends…

Gilbert John Barretto In a mirror world, between fantasy and reality, Thomas found us and altered the direction of our lives. This i do believe.

Paul Mayer We still mourn our Sweet Prince of Jazz. We miss his free troubador spirit and, above all, his good heart. On this auspicious anniversary of his passage may we all be blessed tenfold by his still living music, memory and energy.

Stephanie Castillo Thomas Chapin's spirit was always vibrant, fresh and open to the new and old. I remember him with great fondness because he brought an understanding of jazz to my life – an openness to freestyle and the experimental. His genius created out of the clouds, dark and light of the soul. Moving, reshaping, every day another note, another form. Thomas? A steady, true human being whom we miss so dearly.

Terri Castillo-Chapin Thomas Chapin was not only a huge player-composer, he was a huge spirit and he touched a lot of people with his presence. Every year I see more and more just how much and I think, ""This man left behind a lot of good, a lot of good karma.""

Interview with Sue Terry

"Sweet" Sue Terry, Saxophonist, Colleague and long-time high-school friend of Thomas Chapin at Andover's Phillips Academy, MA

I was a freshman, Tom was a junior. During the first week of school, he found me in a practice room playing jazz. At the time, Hartt was primarily a Classical conservatory, and I had been accepted as an applied clarinet major. My secret agenda, however, was to play jazz saxophone and study with Jackie McLean.

I became Tom's sidekick almost immediately, and he introduced me to the ""secret"" jazz activities at Hartt, which included Paul Jeffrey's amazing ensemble. I ended up studying with Paul as well as with Jackie. But Tom was also a teacher for me. He was already playing professional gigs, composing music, and leading bands. Besides playing alto and soprano saxophones, he also played great flute. I tagged along on many of his gigs, occasionally sitting in.

One of his regular club gigs was with a Latin Jazz band called Talking Drums. At the opposite end of the musical spectrum was a group called Zasis. This was a collective, featuring Tom with Robbie Kaplan on keys, Bill Sloat on bass and Thad Wheeler on percussion. The group was unique in that all the concerts were completely improvised, from beginning to end. In addition to their regular instruments, each player had a wardrobe rack with many unusual ""instruments"" hanging from it, like keys, bells, bowls, pans, and other objects.

Tom was constantly searching for new ""instruments"" to add to his collection. We often went into antique stores (though Tom didn't care for euphemisms and referred to them as 'junk stores') and I was fascinated as he would go around tapping and striking things, auditioning them for Zasis. Most of the objects did not pass the audition. Tom was looking not just for sounds, but for sounds that had qualities such as resonance, overtones, and a compelling timbral bouquet. Sometimes, a sound was just plain funny. Tom showed me that humor is an important part of music too!

I believe there are some recordings of Zasis extant; hopefully they will be released at some point. The group made an important contribution to the lineage of free improvisation that should be documented and made accessible to others.

In the late seventies, I was a neophyte musician whose musical sensibilities were just beginning to take practical shape. Knowing Thomas Chapin at this time, as he was developing his own singular concept of playing and composing, both inspired me and expanded my mind to embrace the immense possibilities that exist in the universe of music. May the spirits bless his continuing journey.

---

The 1977 photo features Sue and Thomas Chapin playing in the Hartt Concert Jazz Band led by Alexander Lepak."

Interview with Robert Musso

World-Class Guitarist and Studio Engineer/Producer, Founder MU Records, Long-time Colleague and Friend of Thomas Chapin

"I originally met Thomas at [Rutgers]. He was ahead of me; we were both in the jazz program. I saw him play my first year, and I was really impressed when I heard him in the jazz ensemble. The next year, in the rehearsal room, I would see him wandering around, checking everybody out, wearing this button that said ""I can read."" And his reputation in the band was that he could read around corners.

We became friendly because we both were interested in music other than jazz. We were both in a learning stage, and had gone through the don't listen to anybody but Bird. or Coltrane, phase. I had started going to record shops and asking people to turn me on to something great. Thomas was doing the same thing, but with ethnic music. I'd turn him on to Wes Montgomery Smokin' at the Half Note, he'd turn me onto Indian flute music.

We stayed in touch after graduation, and I think we met at a gig a year or two later. He dropped off his album, The Bell of the Heart, the next day; I thought it was cool, and stayed in touch with him. Then, when I got the idea for the band Machine Gun, he was the obvious choice. We did our first gig at the end of '86, beginning of '87, and soon after that I helped him record Radius. I didn't like the sound he was getting on tape, had some free studio time, and told him to get some good guys and come in. From there, he started getting involved with the Knitting Factory.

It was always a blast playing with Thomas [in Machine Gun], and I know he had a blast playing with us because there were no restrictions. I know he really enjoyed pushing the envelope, which he couldn't really even do on some of those albums he made. He tried to incorporate more and more of that energy toward the end; I always encouraged him to, because I knew his fans loved it.

We were all joking about all of the pop stars with one-word names. Thomas said,"" I'm going to be called Rage - not The Rage, Rage."" It was a joke. And it expressed some of the rage the band let him show.

We remained good friends. I don't think he was happy with the way all of his recordings turned out. He played me some things, and I could contribute some studio magic or sequencing things to make them a better record. There was certainly interest from record labels at the time he passed. He was such a close friend, and such a constantly musical element I could count on. Plus a sweet guy. An amazing person."

Interview with Paul Jeffrey

Master Saxophonist-Composer, Educator, Teacher-Mentor-Friend to Thomas Chapin

Thomas was very advanced when I met him. He could play! He always seemed to want to play new music. Tom had a very exacting teacher in high school, James Harwood. He didn’t play jazz, but he made sure young musicians got things done. When he came to Hartt, he was just looking to play. The Miami program [where he previously studied] was emphasizing studio work, and that’s not what he wanted to do.

He didn’t really like college, and felt that it was wasting his time. He wanted to go to New York, and his parents were going to buy him an apartment. I made a deal with his parents, because he only had one year left. If he would come to Rutgers, he would be close to the city. I thought it was important for him to graduate. So he did it, along with the tenor player Jerry Weldon, who came from Indiana.

The band at Rutgers was horrible. I realized at the first rehearsal that Tom and Weldon were the only ones who could play. I told him then that I wouldn’t blame them if they went back to their original schools, but they said they’d stay. A couple of years later, the band was killin’. The school used to bring in guests artists and their bands, but the Rutgers band was so good that it always closed the show. I did it by busting chops. Saxophone rehearsal ended at 6:30, then the full band would rehearse until ten or eleven at night. The custodian would just give me the keys and tell me to lock up. Terence Blanchard, Frank Lacy, David Schumacher, Andrew Beals, Harry Pickins, Rob Bargad, Ralph Peterson were all in that band. The word became that you should go to Rutgers, and people started transferring from North Texas State.

Most college bands play two concerts a year, and just sit there rehearsing the music a whole semester. We played five or six concerts a semester, and the band had to play with visiting artists like Charlie Rouse, Dexter Gordon, Johnny Griffin, Nat Adderley, and Harold Vick. We also played the music that was really relevant, like “Giant Steps,” “Countdown” and “Spiral,” all of which I transcribed. No stage band arrangements!

We talked about how Thomas didn’t like to transcribe solos. I told him that was okay, because he knew the changes. I realized that Thomas could play his way, and more traditionally, so why not let him go his way? Because he was always reaching for different things, things that might not fit within the structure of the music we were playing.

I kept trying to get Thomas into Hamp’s band, but Hamp didn’t know him. When Hamp called me for one job, I said I would only take the gig if he’d also hire Thomas. The day after that gig, Hamp called and said, “That guy really can play.” Pretty soon he was Hamp’s musical director, and I got Hamp to hire the whole Rutgers sax section.

We had quite a few conversations about individuality. He always wanted to do it his way. I remember he got a job at the Blue Note, running the jam session. He had a percussionist and such. I would tell him to play more straight-ahead stuff, so he’d get known better; but he wouldn’t do it. So he lost the job, but ultimately he was right. It just took him a little longer to get known. He’d always do it his way, but always within the parameters of the music.

Once you heard Thomas, you knew he had the ability to go somewhere. When he was at Hartt, Lee Konitz came up to do a Workshop. He told me that Thomas was great. When I said I knew, Lee said, “No, he’s going to be one of the great ones.” He was always a little ahead of the other guys.

He was frustrated as the musical director of Hamp’s band, because Thomas had to kick the tunes off, and Hamp would always change things at the last second. That made Tom a nervous wreck, and that’s ultimately why he left.

He was a very nice, warm person. He’d always call me, even after I came to Duke, to tell me what he was doing. One time he was in Italy, about two years before he passed. I was in Venice, and heard him play, and he was really burning it up. A lot of Italian musicians who were more bebop-oriented complained that he wasn’t really playing, but I told them he was playing more than all of them. Some people weren’t ready for what he was doing. He’d bring the small band down to North Carolina to play clubs, and he’d be very self-critical.

He called before he went to Africa, and told me he was just going to look around and get with the culture. I asked him where he would stay, and he said he’d just find his way. I had a funny premonition when he said that. You get those feelings, I don’t know why. I didn’t try to talk him out of the trip, but I asked him many questions. When he came back and told me he was sick, I couldn’t believe it. But he fought right up to the end.

We had a memorial concert for him down at Duke. All of the guys who had been in the Rutgers band came down here and played. I proposed to the university that his archives be housed here, and they are. He kept detailed records, and a lot of that stuff is here. Andover, where he went to high school, has something for him, too.

His parents are gracious people. When I’d go up to Hartt to teach night classes, they’d often invite me to stay at their house, rather than go back to New York that late. They weren’t too hooked on him playing music, and probably would have preferred that he became an architect like his brother, but they were extremely supportive. Thomas was bright enough to do anything, but he wanted to play music. And he made the right choice.

I liken his wife Terri to Sue Mingus. Sue made sure that Mingus’ music kept going after he passed, and Terri’s doing the same for Tom. That’s important, because the world forgets very soon.

Interview with Mario Pavone

Bassist-Composer Extraordinaire, Colleague, Collaborator and Great Friend of Thomas Chapin

A piano-player friend said I had to hear this guy who was playing in Bushnell Park in Hartford. It was July of 1980, and a great concert – a Mingus tribute under the direction of Paul Jeffrey. Junior Cook and Bill Hardman, some local people, an interesting mix of people. And damn, every time Chaps stood up to solo he killed everybody – and he wasn't that long out of school. I said I had to meet this guy, and we went from there. Within a few months, we ended up being in each other's projects, and worked together for 18 years.

At times, it was probably a little frustrating for Thomas, because I couldn't sight-read as quickly as he wanted. But for all his training, he had the in and the out down. Bridging those gaps was one of his great contributions. He would always say, ""No matter how out a musician is, I can usually hear his sources; but I can't hear your sources."" He saw me, more or less, as something like a native folk painter, with an emphasis on time.

Thomas was the beginning of a whole pile of players who, when they see single-line music written, intuitively come up with a harmonic approach. A whole host of guys like Marty Ehrlich, Tim Berne and Tony Malaby, thanks to the studies they did have, intuit a harmonic relationship. We did play tunes at first; but when Thomas broke off from Lionel, he decided to go with an out-leaning trio, and decided I was the guy to go with.

I don't think he took any music as the ""hobby"" part of playing. He had a lot of fun with Lionel, and they played a lot of great music. During that time, his ""in the tradition"" playing took a natural turn further out. He heard what was going on around him and moved that way. He was a little frustrated with playing on changes, and when he left Hamp it was just a natural outgrowth. He did continue to play tunes, and made those records on Arabesque as well as on club gigs with me. His best changes playing was never captured on records, to a great degree.

The world music influence was him more than me. Sarin and Thomas were deeply into African and Latin music, and had all of those rhythms down. Michael Musilami and Andy Jaffe have a grant to work on Thomas' Latin tunes, and they may involve Hermeto.

Right after the first trio gig, with Pheeroan on drums, Thomas and I sat down and talked. Thomas thought that the trio had great potential, and wanted to make sure that I was up for it. We moved from Steve Johns to Michael Sarin. We had a rehearsal with Steve where Tomas brought in some new, simple structures that really applied what he learned in Hampton's big band to a trio. There were few unisons; my parts were real parts, and we were very active. I wouldn't relate it to a trio like Air, it was more like big-band trio. ""Iddly"" was his big-band theme. It was extraordinary, and it continued to build the whole time we played.

There were frustrations. We had the normal kind of gripes on drives to gigs – would we get invited to the bigger festivals or whatever. But it seemed that, every time, the wishes were answered. When I look at it now, every solo he took was with the thought in mind that he might not be around to play another. Every solo was like two solos.

He was smart, well-informed, full of incredible energy, a virtuoso, experimenting and pushing the envelope all of the time, never letting up.

I still try to perform one or two of his pieces at each gig. It's interesting how they stand the test of time. I like the idea of doing them in a piano-trio context, rather than with another horn. They're different than my pieces, but we got from each other through osmosis. I keep his stuff alive because it is alive. I have the four pieces he wrote for trio plus woodwinds, and my goal is to perform them. I've talked to Marty Ehrlich, and we will do this.

Interview with John Phillips

Music Executive-Impresario, Huge Supporter and Friend of Thomas Chapin, bringing him onto the big international world stages of jazz

"I first met Thomas pretty early on in his career, when he was a hard-drinking, hard-working musical director for Lionel Hampton who took care of the arrangements, kept the band in order, and was a lightening-fast alto player. He was certainly iconoclastic in his personal style, but his playing really made the impression. He was demonic – the level of intensity was there in his solos, even though he was using a bop vocabulary. I think his own vision came to fruition later, but he learned a lot of great and hard lessons about being a touring musician with Hamp.

Thomas was solidly in the bebop tradition at that time, so he wasn't pushing the limits that hard. It wasn't until he moved to New York and established himself here that he started pushing things.

I first heard the trio down at the Knitting Factory in '90 or '91, some time near the beginning, and my strongest impression was how powerful the music was. It had, in spades, what I look for and enjoy the most – an incredible ensemble sound, with a lot of intuitive communication among the musicians. That's what gets me highest about jazz, and it's not all that common. Kenny Garrett had a band like that once, and Jacky Terrasson; but too many other bands are just a bunch of individuals on stage.

I think Thomas had a technique - whether he developed it consciously or it just made sense intuitively I don't know - where he always took you on a journey from the accessible, normal jazz vocabulary out into something you never heard before. Then he'd bring you back. You had a ""guided"" tour. He didn't just throw you in the deep end and see if you could swim. The themes were always pretty melodic, and he'd start the journey in a harmonically standard format. Then, once he'd established something with you, he'd put it in another realm. He didn't start the car in fifth gear. There was always a logical transition in his playing, and the free playing was always in context. I consider him solidly in the tradition, right on the cutting edge but not necessarily avant-garde.

At Newport, not only was he in front of 10,000 very mainstream jazz fans, but he was also part of the PBS show. That was a kind of a roll of the dice, putting him in that slot; but, then again, it wasn't just my call. It was a body of people who felt he could succeed in that setting. I think I also took him to Japan for the first time outside the context of the Hampton band.

The basic thing [for any musician] is to show up on time and play the gig, and Thomas always did that. He was professional, not the absent-minded professor or the spacy creative type. The antic bohemian façade was masking a serious musician.

He was definitely a seeker, in his personal life as well as his music. He was looking for answers, questing in a lot of different ways, and he was a true intellectual who knew a lot about a lot of different things. He loved life and music, and I know it was hard for him to let go over those last 18 months. I remember him coming back from Africa and saying he was sick. I told him, ""Oh, you'll be alright, just go get your tests and it will be cool."" But it was not cool.

Things were going really well for him. He was growing exponentially, both in his music and his popularity. He would have been an important voice for jazz in the 21st century."

Interview with Jerry Weldon

World-Class Saxophonist, Long-time Colleague and Friend of Thomas Chapin on Hamp's bandstand and other stages

We met at school first, at Rutgers. He left in '80, I left in '81. We both were studying with Paul Jeffrey. Tom was at Hartford, I had been to Indiana briefly. Paul recruited us, separately, when he got the gig at Rutgers. We were Tom and Jerry; it was like a joke at the school. We were the only ones who could play, and Thomas was so advanced. Then a few other guys came in, and the band got a whole lot better fast. There was a guy named Adam Brenner, he joined Hamp's band later on, he got real good real fast in the Rutgers band. Dave Schumacher goes back that far, and was in Hamp's band, too. Paul eventually got Terence Blanchard, Ralph Peterson and Harry Pickens. But Thomas and I were the first two guys there.

When he left school, he went right into Hamp's band. Paul was doing some gigs with Hamp, when his teaching gig allowed, and he also sent him his students. Hamp loved Thomas, and Thomas eventually became the straw boss. When Ricky Ford's tenor chair came open, Thomas got me in the band, and we roomed together. Ultimately there was Adam and Dave, too.

He was such a unique guy, and equally great on both instruments. Most saxophone players who double are doublers; they play pretty good. But Thomas was a virtuoso on both alto sax and flute. He had the inside/outside thing too. He was as heavy on the Knitting Factory scene as the mainstream scene. He listened to everything. He loved Rahsaan, of course; and Yusef Lateef, especially his tenor playing. He loved r&b, Eddie Harris. But we listened to Trane, Dexter, Wayne Shorter. And he also had these Earl Bostic sides. He played good piano, and that wild thing, too. Just a real well-rounded musician. A lot of technically great players sounded stiff, but he was warm, he communicated to the audience.

We had some great times together. Especially with Hamp, whose thing is so out. We'd do all of George Wein's festivals in Europe each summer, and George Wein would have people travel with us. Young people, who had been on rock tours; and Hamp's shit was the most out shit [they had encountered].

Interview with James Harwood

Influential High-School Music Teacher at Andover's Phillips Academy, MA

"I was the music teacher at Phillips Andover. He came to me playing flute, and I started him playing saxophone and clarinet. He never played much clarinet, though. His interest was music generally. He was a serious classical flute player, but when he started playing sax and I got him into the jazz ensemble, he just exploded with music. He loved the challenge of playing anything, and nothing held him back. He lived, ate, slept and breathed music, and he had friends like Arthur Kell whom he worked to surpassed.

His parents wanted him to be an academic, and had no interest in him becoming a musician. But he had ways of insulating himself. He dressed like nobody else, wearing loose-fitting white clothing. He also started wearing his hair long. And he'd practice all day. Nothing else made him happy.

I was his private teacher, and challenged him to go as far as he could go. There were a lot of talented people at that school like the director Peter Sellers, who had all kinds of interests. Tommy's interest was only in music. His parents would call, very concerned, but that's what he wanted to do.

He started advancing really fast, getting into all-state competitions and such. By the end of high school, his interest in classical music was gone. He learned a lot from playing classical music, to the point where he could eat the method books for breakfast. Fun for him was transposing Charlie Parker's solos into every key. And he was always trying to find out how to make new sounds. I started him on multiphonics and circular breathing he just soaked it up.

Tommy always lived on the edge, because his soul was searching for something he could never find. Staying up all night to practice, or to listen to a bunch of Charlie Parker recordings, were just things he would do, without considering that there might be other consequences. People from other academic departments--Tommy wasn't interested, but for music rehearsals he was always involved. When someone is that devoted, you just have to let them go their way. If you sat someone like Tommy down today and tell them they HAD to study American history, they wouldn't be able to do it, and would be labeled ADD.

I went off to another life, and managed artists around the world. Tommy was one of my most talented students. He went off to the Hartt School, and his parents were still worried that he would just become an eccentric musician. Well, he did; but they started seeing that his search was to be an artist, and they let it go. I didn't get along with his parents well, because I was his music teacher. They did come to most of his performances, though.

He and I had some conversations when he was 14 or 15, because he saw that he should pay more attention to his other classes; but you could see that it wasn't going to happen.

He had an entrepreneurial spirit about him, too. He wanted to make art work.

He was obsessed with sound. He would look for anything that would make a new sound, from a piece of pipe to a new multiphonic on his horn. And, like many great artists, he loved to mix the old and the new. He'd take familiar sounds and make them unique, or play two sounds at once. And he never wanted to sound academic. He wanted to create an organic sound. Classical purity wasn't his bag. If the composers were alive, they probably would have prefereed Tommy's way, anyway.

I would play duets with him, and because I was better technically, I would play them faster. He'd come back the next week and nail it. He loved the challenge of being better. There was no ego involved; all he wanted to do was make great music.

He was so good, he was a freak of nature; but he was such a great guy that he never burned the other musicians who couldn t keep up. Tommy never did that."

Interview with Hart Day Leavitt

High-School English Teacher Who Encouraged Thomas in Music at Andover's Phillips Academy, MA

I knew Tom all through his career at Philipps Academy at Andover, Massachusetts, as a fellow jazz musician and English teacher. Always I enjoyed talking with him, and listening in awe to his playing. I'll never forget knowing him. Here are some memories:

My quartet played at Tom's 20th Reunion, and at one point he sat in for several tunes. In my band, the star is Herb Pomeroyt, one of the best jazz musicians I've ever played with or heard. When Tom finished and walked away, Herb leaned over to me and said, ""Jesus, that kid can play!""

Like me, Herb has heard all the giants of jazz, so that's high praise.

In my Senior English class, Tom was obviously not a good student, but he tried. Unfortunately, his skill as a writer was not in the same league as his skill on the horn.

At the end of the year, the faculty met for its approval of diploma candidates. Each senior's name was read by the Headmaster, and then his grades were read and when my mark of 60 was heard, I was in trouble.

One irritable, stuffy instructor turned on me and snarled, ""What do we have here…a Double Standard?!"" (Sixty, incidentally is the lowest possible passing grade, known in the trade as ""a flat 60."")

The room was silent for a moment and various teachers turned and stared at me, frowning. I was just about to answer when I saw the Headmaster looking at me, shaking his head and giving me the silence sign with his finger over his lips. Abruptly, he said, very firmly, ""Next name, please."" The Headmaster knew Tom was not very good in English so he saved me from having to make an explanation.

I was deliberately indulging in a double standard.

I could logically have flunked Tom and he would not have been allowed to graduate. I gave him a gift pass because I knew he was going to be a professional musician, and if he had no diploma he might have had trouble getting into a good college with a good music department.

In this life, sometimes a double standard is necessary and justified. (I never told Tom.) Also, I have always liked him.

Way back in my career as a teacher, a student came to call on me one day.

""Ah, Mr. Leavitt, we hear that you used to be a jazz musician, and we wonder if you would coach the school jazz band."" ""Sure, I'd like that,"" I told him, and once every two weeks I'd work with them on playing in tune, accenting the important notes, and feeling the rhythm. I got my horn working again, and now and then I'd sit in and show them some tricks of improvising.

Finally, one day, they asked if I would sit in and play some choruses in a concert before the whole school. Back in the l940s the school was run by old conservatives, most of whom thought jazz was evil music, so I decided to go in and ask the Headmaster who hired me if it would be all right to perform with the boys and their band.

The boss looked at me disapprovingly: ""Well, Hart if you want to do THAT KIND OF THING!"" So I had to refuse.

When Tom was in school, he asked me to sit in with his student band in a concert before the whole school, which I did, and got a Standing O after playing three choruses of ""Cherokee.""

The next morning, the new Headmaster called me up and said, joyfully, ""That's the best example of student-faculty relations I've ever seen."" As that famous singer said, ""The times they are a-changing."" (Bob Dylan)

Now and then, listening to Tom play with the school band, I used to criticize him for ""playing too many notes"" in his solos. I didn't bawl him out; I just said what I thought, partly because I was hearing a lot of young players who were showing off their technique.

One of my best sideman--Gary Sargent--one day said of a young jazz musician, ""Yeah, he's pretty good when he stops playing exercises.""

I sat in a couple of times in Tom's rehearsals, and one day in a chorus on ""You Take the A Train,"" I turned on the spigot and sprayed notes all over the room. When I got through, Tom leaned over: ""Too many notes Mr. Leavitt.""

At Tom's last concert at Andover, just a few years ago, I sat listening in awe at his solos: the skill, the variety, the imagination, and la forza. Then, after a tornado of notes in one up-tempo tune, he chose a lovely ballad--""I Didn't Know What Time It Was""--and played the melody absolutely straight, with a big, round, deep tone.

Afterwards I told him: ""Tom, that was great. I'll never be able to play like that.""

Immediately, he turned to me: ""Oh, but Mr. Leavitt, what you play is Beeootiful.""

He was such a warm, friendly person, and a genuine character.

Interview with Andover Classmates

excerpted from The Andover Alumni Journal, ""In Memorium,"" circa 1999

Frank Lee Tom came to Andover in fall 1971. He was my junior-year roommate in what we called ""the jungle""--Will Hall. Tom was my first friend in those dark first weeks. We couldn't have been more different: I was from a little town in Texas; he was from northern Connecticut. I loved sports; he put the word ""club"" in club soccer. His family had a rich and honored tradition at Andover; my family lore has it that my grandfather actually finished sixth grade. I couldn't work my way through ""Fur Elise""; he pounded away on that crummy, old standup piano in Will Hall until the proctors threatened to take away his privileges.

When Tom got to Andover, he was a skinny, homesick kid with a racing heart condition, who loved to play the flute and piano. By the time he graduated, he had learned all the reed instruments, practically taken up full-time residence in the music building, and was busy putting in place the elements of his life's work. While most of us live lives of quiet desperation, there was nothing quiet nor desperate in Tom's life. He found his life's calling, his life's love and threw everything he had into it.

That's what is so great about a place like Andover. Some kid like me got a first-hand lesson in seizing your life's passion and wringing out every ouce of joy. I loved everything about what Tom was, what he created, how he lived.

Tom was and always will be an inspiration to so many in our class. He was a good man, and the Class of 1975 will forever mourn his loss.

Arthur Kell Thomas was someone who took chances in life, both musically and personally. His unearthly talent and courage allowed him to fashion an extremely successful career with music that was nothing if not ""on the edge."" He pushed the limits, and, in his exuberance made much around him seem plain by comparison.

I will never forget his demonic laugh, his boundless energy, his sound...that incredible sound, on both alto and flute. But mostly, his love. He was an unerring friend. His spirit lives on in his compositions, which I and many others will perform for many years to come.

A strong 25-year friendship is hard to encapsulate. I remember getting Thomas to the Dar es Salaam airport in February 1997; he would find out within hours of returning to the U.S. that he had leukemia. We stood in the lobby and found it difficult to part. We talked and embraced and reaffirmed our friendship and love several more times, as we had countless times since we were kids at Andover.

Phil Heuber [I was] a fellow member of the Phillips Academy Jazz Band. [I recall] the high school jazz contest at Waltham High School when Thomas stole the show. He went absolutely nuts with an incredible solo during one of our tunes--I think something by Stan Kenton. I begged my way into his small group for a couple of gigs on campus. He would only let me play if I learned to read his fake book. That was great motivation fo rme to learn to read music in keys other than trombone key. We had great fun, and I was very lucky to play with Thomas and Arthur Kell in a small group.

Note Tom last performed with his trio at Andover in January 1997 in Graves Hall [just prior to his fatal trip to Africa]. Some 18 months earlier, he had helped the Class of 1975 celebrate its 20th reunion by jamming in the Stimson Hall common room with Hart Day Leavitt's jazz group late into a June evening. [Leavitt was Chapin's english teacher; see Leavitt's memories in ""Exclusive Interviews"" section.)

Assessing his talent, one jazz critic wrote that ""given his manifest passion, relative originality and comprehensive stylistic awareness. Chapin is arguably the most complete straight-ahead jazz saxophonist of his generation.""

WHEN MILES MET TOM or THE FINAL FRONT LINE

That Gene Seymour Blog March 20th, 2013 — jazz reviews

It’s September of 1991 and a gravely ill Miles Davis is, as Lord Buckley would put it, not merely “on the razor’s edge”, but on the “hone of the scone,” whatever that is, if that is what it is. Anyway, Miles is in his Malibu manse, semi-conscious, hooked up to all manner of wires and tubes. Deep down, he knows that this is all pointless. It definitely feels like Checkout Time’s arriving at any minute and all he can do is drift in and out of reality, trying to take in as much as he can before the lights go completely dark. He can dimly hear a radio piping in music from another room. Some dumbass has it tuned to a jazz station. Fuck that, Miles thinks. Anything but that! And it’s not just plain old jazz, but that squealing and squawking shit that Trane helped spread like a virus. I do not need that shit taking me out. I’ll take Manto-fuckin-vani over this! Just like that, his espresso eyes, which were starting to cloud over mere seconds ago, sharpen into hard, clear points as he hears this gorgeous, passionate alto sax solo soaring and slicing its way through the miasma. He’d love to sit up so he can hear better and, to his astonishment, he almost feels as though he could. The keening, probing sound continues to jab its way into his consciousness. He digs the raw aggression, the rippling arpeggios and, more than anything else, a tone that sounds the way light would sound if light could make sound. Mothafucka can play his ass off!! At that moment, a male nurse walks by his bed. Miles emits soft murmurs, which is the best he can do. The nurse doesn’t hear anything. Drastic measures are called for, so Miles attempts to simulate some sort of spasm. It’s lame, but it works. The nurse walks over. “Miles?,” the nurse whispers. “Hmmrefffrrr,” Miles says. “I’m sorry. Do you need anything?” The music’s almost over. If only someone would take these tubes out of his goddam nose… “Mwhegfffrrgggrdr.” “Mister Davis,” the nurse leans close to the parched, scarred lips. “I still can’t…” A raspy bullet, whatever’s left deep inside him, is violently pumped through his ravaged larynx into the idiot’s ear

“I SAID, who’s that on the mothafuckin radio, goddammit!” After a series of confusing exchanges, someone else in the house, presumably whoever had the radio on, finally figures out what Miles wants to know. He tells him that there was this bootleg tape of a young reed player out of New York, used to play with Lionel Hampton, but he’s just starting to make a name for himself in the downtown scene. Album’s not even out yet… Miles can sense the steam rising within him. It feels good, almost human, but he still sounds exasperated and weak at the same time. “Who…is…that…motha…fucka?” Serious coughing, maybe a trickle of blood… The name, the fool says, is Chapin. Was that his first or last name? Oh, right. Yeah, Tom. Thomas Chapin… Orders are rasped. Call that station! Get a copy of that tape! Find out where that mothafucka lives! Now, goddamit! And so on… Sooner than it’s possible to imagine, given the circumstances, Miles is on a long-distance call with Tom, who thinks at first that someone’s fucking with him. When he realizes, it’s not a joke, he thinks: Oh, my God! I’m on the phone with Miles Davis! And he sounds TERRIBLE… “Lissen, man,” Miles says weakly, gasping for air, “how soon can you get your ass out here? With…that…sax…” “Um,” Chapin says, not sure he heard correctly, but he answers anyway. “I dunno, Mister Davis, when do you…” “Now! Yesterday! Last week, goddammit! I’m dyin’ out here, man! I want…(wheeze)…I want to record with you…Just for one time…” Chapin is now certain someone’s messing with his head, big-time. He observes, tentatively, delicately that Miles may not…make it…by the time he flies to L.A. even if he leaves that second… “Well, then you better hurry your ass up” Click. From here, it’s too quick and hazy to keep track, but Thomas Chapin has somehow made the next flight from JFK to LAX. Miles, or someone close to him, takes care of traveling expenses and studio time.

Time movies fast. Here’s the studio, but where am I, Chapin wonders. Is it dawn or dusk? Where did this rhythm section come from and how many of them are there? Miles is wheeled into the room, connected to a respirator. There’s no way, Chapin thinks. But the horn is in Miles lap, poised for action. Miles, forgoing amenities, croaks out the only three words he will say to Tom Chapin all day:

“Follow…my…lead.” What follows is the kind of music that wills itself forward without stopping for thought or breath. It free-associates itself into something that’s neither funk nor free, neither “inside” nor “outside”, neither modern nor post-modern, neither swing nor rock; more to the point, it’s none of these things exclusively but a dense, yet buoyant amalgam of mid-to-late-20th century music’s varied precincts, high, low and in-between. It is, in other words, music that only Miles Davis could have set in motion – and that only Thomas Chapin’s luminous tone and inquisitive chops could help him finish. Ten hours and six tracks later, the last testament of Miles Dewey Davis is in the can. He returns to Malibu to await the final call, which comes as Tom is in mid-air somewhere over western Pennsylvania on his way back to the city… The session? Well, you know what happened with that session. By now, everybody knows what happened with that session and how it helped make jazz’s next century a …But that’s another fantasy, isn’t it?

Gene Seymour, arts and music writer; former music writer at NY Newsday

Tom Chapin Stretches Out

by Phil Tankel, Hartford Advocate, November 16, 1977

Perhaps you have seen Tom Chapin: slender, krinkly-hair tied in the back or loose, an orange beret atop a somewhat dreamy-eyed person. Maybe you saw him standing in front of one of the local jazz, Latin, or improvisational groups he currently plays in. Last winter in Manchester, I first heard Tom, playing alto, soloing for all he was worth. He was Coltrane, he was Parker, reaching for those impossible tones he could hear so clearly with his inner ear. Tom is developing rapidly; changes occur, he says, week to week.

Tom has been playing and writing music since he was a young child in Manchester. He began by playing the piano in imitation of an older brother, but dropped that instrument for the flute, ""probably because it was different."" While he was away at boarding school (Phillips Andover, ""the perfect place for me to do what I wanted to do""), he began to play piano again, mostly blues, and to transfer that music to the flute. Despite a considerable amount of energy devoted to playing music, taking lessons and writing, Tom describes himself at that time as being in a ""creative fog."" He was listening to rock and roll, mainly groups like King Crimson and Jethro Tull, ""because they featured woodwind instruments,"" but these did not capture his imagination like Rahsaan Roland Kirk. ""Always Kirk,"" Tom puts it, and even today, in spite of his tremendous admiration for Coltrane, Tom draws his main inspiration from the wizard of the many wind instruments. After Kirk, Tom began to explore the jazz woodwind literature; he points to Charles Lloyd, Yusef Lateef, and Gato Barbieri as major early influences. While at school Tom experimented musically, and discovered what he calls the ""essence of music"" through improvisation. He was jamming with some friends; a musical conversation arose quite spontaneously. Order developed from each musician playing simply what was inside. As Tom puts it, ""Improvisation showed me where all the written music comes from. It is all from you. It showed me essence. It is all raw, all free of any labels. It is simply you.""

Tom graduated from his New England prep school to the University of Miami, ""because I thought it would be an interesting place to be."" A semester’s worth of interest was more than enough, and he picked up his instrument cases and returned to Connecticut and the Hartt School of Music. Last year he tried to combine being a full-time student with numerous professional gigs; the experience was not as satisfying as he would have liked. Now he attends school on a part-time basis, playing in the Jazz Lab and the Big Band. ""Jazz is my discipline now as opposed to classical music. It used to be that I studied classical in order to become disciplined and used jazz to let loose. Now I use jazz for my discipline.""

At Hartt, Tom takes private lessons with James Hill and Paul Jeffrey, the Lab leader. Tom also plays lead alto in the Big Band, because ""you have to develop your skills. You learn to play with a section, to read charts and do some improvisation. I play second alto also in the Manchester Community College’s Big Band behind a tremendous musician, Sebby Giacco, and I learn so much from just listening to him. So the school bands play an important role in my musical training.""

The professional groups Tom plays with are all technically strong and quite varied in their sound. Talking Drums, led by Jose Goico, with Johnny ""Timbales"" Ventura, Tom Majesky, and Ned Alton, is a Latin percussion-based group; saxophone and guitar take most solos. ""The beauty of that group is that we do what we want to do and it is still marketable. If I wanted to make my money playing (I would play) that kind of music. I love playing it. It’s rewarding artistically, as well as every other way. It’s a whole other musical world.""

Jazz Clarion, headed by Lee Callahan, with Dave Santoro and Kit McDermott, is a traditionally-instrumented quartet playing jazz standards and original music. They have played in a few local clubs and schools, though Tom is disappointed that the group does not attract more performance opportunities.

Zasis, Rob Kaplan, Bill Sloat and Thad Wheeler, is an improvisational quartet, playing what Tom feels is truly his ""own music."" In his words: ""It is a total concept in music…I involve all of myself. I become an actor, a poet, a storyteller. Our music tells stories, paints pictures. It creates new worlds. You become a leader and a follower. It isn’t jazz, or classical, or rock or any other label. It is so difficult to describe Zasis. Everyone’s view of the group is different."" They have performed at Real Art Ways, the Hartford Art School, Foot Prints Community Arts Center, and they have a performance in the near future at Clark University. ""If anything has given me spiritual enlightenment, or direction in music or (helped) my musical awareness, Zasis has been my source.""

In Zasis, not only is improvisation utilized but also Tom brings in his personal history in the form of children’s instruments, whistles, blocks, wooden flutes, bulb horns, etc. Following his belief in total involvement he brings these sounds to bear on the ensemble’s sound. ""Suburban folk music"" he calls it, and the image is apt: a music for the upside-down, frenetic, arhythmic, atonal seventies, yet including the simple sound makers of childhood.

Reprinted with permission from the Hartford Advocate

Thomas Chapin: A huge, golden sound

"Biography" Published at www.allmusic.com, by Chris Kelsey, jazz writer and critic (date unknown)

The death of Thomas Chapin from leukemia at age 40 was one of those very cruel twists of fate that periodically mark the history of jazz. Unlike the many fine players to die of self-abuse before their time -- Charlie Parker and Bix Beiderbecke come to mind -- Chapin lived what was, by all accounts, an exemplary life. The fact that he was stricken in his late thirties by a disease that usually targets children is nearly as inexplicable as it is tragic. Fortunately, Chapin left behind an artistically significant and reasonably large body of work. Alto sax and flute were Chapin's principal instruments. He played alto with a huge, golden sound that sounded as if it had been burnished with fine-grained sandpaper. On flute, he got an edgy, near-classical sound that cut through his energetic rhythm sections like a knitting needle through pudding. Chapin's style on all his instruments was utterly personal. Although he drew from influences like Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Jackie McLean, Chapin's voice was his own. His lines combined the linearity of classic bebop with the outward-bound, serial-like tendencies of much late-'90s free improvisation; his composition for small ensembles reflected the same traits.

Chapin was first attracted to jazz through the work of Earl Bostic and Rahsaan Roland Kirk. He attended college at Rutgers, the state university of New Jersey. There he studied with tenor saxophonist Paul Jeffrey and pianist Kenny Barron. After receiving his B.A. in music from Rutgers, he attended Hartt College of Music in Connecticut, where he studied with alto saxophonist Jackie McLean (whose bright tone and quicksilver articulation left a mark on Chapin's later work). In 1981, he went on the road with vibist Lionel Hampton's big band. He served Hampton for five years as lead alto and musical director. He later worked with drummer Chico Hamilton's quartet. In the late '80s, he began associations with fellow altoist Ned Rothenberg and the metal/free jazz outfit Machine Gun. He also began performing more often as a leader around this time.

When the downtown New York club the Knitting Factory opened in 1986, Chapin was one of their first acts. When the club started their own record label, Knitting Factory Works, Chapin was the first artist signed. He formed a trio with bassist Mario Pavone and drummer Steve Johns in 1989. That outfit, with Michael Sarin replacing Johns, would form the core of his most adventurous projects until the end of his life. Chapin recorded a number of well-received albums, adding to his trio such guests as alto saxophonist John Zorn and violinist Mark Feldman. Chapin also recorded with a small string section and a brass section. These discs evidenced an even greater talent for arrangement and composition than had been previously apparent. In 1993, he led a date for Arabesque that showcased his more straight-ahead style; I've Got Your Number featured a rhythm section of the bop-oriented pianist Ronnie Matthews and bassist Ray Drummond, along with drummer Johns. The next year, he again recorded a fairly conventional jazz album for Arabesque, featuring trumpeter Tom Harrell and pianist Peter Madsen. Chapin also evinced an interest in world music. In person, he would frequently play various small hand percussion instruments and wood flutes, combining various traditions in an affectionate and non-exploitive way.

Chapin never deserted his avant-garde-ish roots, continuing to record excellent post-bop albums on the Knitting Factory house label. One of the last was Sky Piece, a trio with Sarin and Pavone, recorded in 1996 but finished and released just before his death in early 1998. Chapin was a player of great generosity and authentic spirituality. He played with rare humor, passion, and intelligence. At the end of his life, he was just beginning to receive attention outside the realm of experimental jazz. Indeed, had he lived, it's not inconceivable that Chapin's amalgam of freedom and discipline might have become a force in the jazz mainstream.

Thomas Chapin is on Good Terms with the Devil

Frank van Herk - De Volkskrant - July 14 1995

"To New York alto saxophonist and flautist Thomas Chapin, music is a serious thing. With his concerts, he wants to elevate the audience to a higher plane: ""just like in church"". But Chapin is far from preachy or sanctimonious: he is an exuberant, passionate sax player, who produces an exciting amount of energy all by himself. An encounter with a ""spiritual traveller"" who became musical director for Lionel Hampton at 23. ""The stage is one of the most real places on earth.""

Thomas Chapin has always felt the need to do something different. As a teenager he was already a bit of an outsider, albeit one who knew what he wanted. And now, at age 38, he and his alto sax, his flute and his trio are involved much more in spiritual growth than with an easily marketable career. He plays jazz that fits in everywhere and nowhere, and ""energy"" is one of the key terms in both his conversation and his playing, that matches Jackie McLean's or Roland Kirk's in its exuberance and intensity.

Chapin doesn't wear Armani suits, but looks like a jazz hippie. And true enough our talk takes place in a macrobiotic coffee shop, where he wants to take in some healthy fare before the tour, with its ever present cheese rolls, is continued. While enjoying a ""Leaning Tower"", a concoction of bread and greens consisting of countless layers and held together with many picks, he talks about showbizz, the inner altar and the necessity of devils.

His contrariness began with his total lack of interest in pop music. ""Everyone goes through an AM radio phase, and so did I, but I quickly got bored with kid music and I didn't give a damn about lyrics. The groups I thought were not too bad all had horn players. Jethro Tull, for instance. But I soon discovered that Ian Anderson's flute playing was based entirely on that of Roland Kirk, and well, once you start listening to him, you find out how it's supposed to sound. Kirk was my gateway to jazz, not just because he played sax and flute so beautifully, but also because of his strong sense of history: through him I came into contact with all sorts of older styles.""

In spite of this sense of history it remains surprising that Chapin, after studying at Rutgers University and Hart College, where Jackie McLean was his teacher, became first alto and musical director for Swing veteran Lionel Hampton, when he was 23. This was hardly the trendy thing to do in 1980. For Thomas, it was a completely natural step. ""I wanted to gain experience in a big band, as almost all jazz musicians used to do in the past. There weren't that many large orchestras left when I came up, so I considered myself lucky. I did it for five, six years, and I enjoyed it; some of the gigs were a little stuffy, but there were also nights when the young guys in the band could play whatever they wanted. Hamp was open to everything, as long as it swung.

""I learned a lot from Hampton. Later, when I led my own groups, I realized how much. Timing, for instance: not just in your playing, but also in the way you structure a concert, working towards certain effects. The showbizz aspect. A positive attitude. And that you always have to stay relaxed, even at the fastest tempos. Make sure you always know what you're playing, instead of just standing there spraying notes.""

After leaving Hampton, and after a short stint in drummer Chico Hamilton's quartet, Chapin felt he was ready to develop his own style. Thus began a period of fanatical freelancing, motivated by worry. ""I thought: will I be able to make it on my own? I took every job I could get. Chamber music, country & western with a band from Kentucky, I played flute in a flamenco ensemble, anything, as long as I could finance my own thing. My colleagues often grouse about their work. There's an old joke: 'How can you make a jazz musician complain? Give him a gig.' You should always realize how great it is that you can play what you want.""

At these freelance gigs he often ran into bass player Mario Pavone, and they decided to collaborate, with Steve Johns on drums, who was later replaced by Michael Sarin. This trio became the most important vehicle for Chapin's music, which floats between freedom and structure, sounds grand and intimate at the same time, makes you feel good but is also deeply serious.

In the Eighties the band often performed at the Knitting Factory, the center of New York's eclectic dontown scene, and also recorded for the club's label. And yet, Chapin isn't completely part of this scene either: instead of zapping impatiently he builds long solos, and he doesn't cram his records with African thumb pianos, heavy metal guitas or throat singers from Mongolia. He is definitely influenced by other cultures and eras, but he prefers to integrate them organically into his acoustic trio, which developed a highly characteristic sound as a result.

""We sometimes use African rhythmic patterns or Asian scales, but we don't shove them in people's faces. That's also because our line-up is so spare. And we sometimes play in old-fashioned big band style, in which the bass and drums function as entire sections. So that you don't sound like an orchestra and not like a trio, but like something in between. There's always something happening orchestrally: I back up a bass improvisation with percussive sax licks, the bass and sax play riffs behind a drum solo. There's a contionuous dialogue especially between me and the drums; the bass is more like a hammer.

""The energy you can generate this way is phenomenal. I think that music should elevate people's spirits to a higher plane, change the way they experience themselves and reality. They should leave the concert as different people. Just like in church. You take the listener on a spiritual journey, with you leading the way, but once you're on the road you get so much energy back from the audience that together you start the form one big generator. That's why the stage, to me, is one of the most real places on earth. People often regard a performance as something less real than reality, but in fact it's often much more real, because it reveals your true nature.

""Every musician worthy of the name knows that that is the purpose of your art. You should prepare for a concert as if for a trancendental journey, which allows you to reach something higher in yourself. Some musicians do this in all sorts of destructive ways, others meditate. I just try to be as clearheaded as possible, and cpmpletely focused on what I want to do.

""An important condition for this elevated state of awareness is that the audience should be truly present, truly listening. If they're talking, they're not open to your music. For such cases I have a couple of showbizz tricks, to get their attention: a little fanfare, or a shocking racket, immediately disavowed ironically. Jazz is the ultimate coming together of showbizz, art and spirituality. These three elements don't exclude each other.

""Another effect I like to use is making the trio sound like a ticking mechanism, that slowly gets up to speed, or winds down. This works on several levels. It's a humorous way to heighten the tension, or to release it gradually. You make the listener aware of what you're doing. And it evokes images, which people can fill in themselves. Everything is so literal nowadays. MTV forces very unambiguous dreams on you when you listen to music; it's much more fun if you allow them to come to you.""

The stage as altar, as dream factory and as showbizz set: Chapin's vision is slightly woolly and clearly earthy at the same time. He often expresses himself in symbols, but what they stand for can be easily traced in his work. This includes the devils, whom he often mentions in his liner notes. ""You need opposition, friction. Without friction there is no heat, no energy, no life. You strive towards higher things, but you also have a body that wants to swing, that has erotic desires, that has to eat. Those are the devils, good and bad, that you should remain on good terms with. Sounds that are nothing but sweet end up not being sweet at all; it's when they're bittersweet that they become beautiful.

""A very simple example of productive opposition, are the CDs I record for Arabesque: on those, I work with a pianist who outlines chord changes. These are limiting, my playing with the trio is very free. But while searching for possibilities within those restrictions, I often get ideas that would never occur to me otherwise.""

Although Chapin's free playing is always easy to follow, it has suprised some people that he willingly put on the straightjacket of Arabesque's more conventional mainstream CDs. This just amuses him, as he still enjoys startling the audience for a moment, by doing the unexpected. He also did this in other projects such as Machine Gun, a band in which the late Sonny Sharrock played guitar: pounding rhythms and raw screeching from the nethermost regions of the soul, inspired by the record of the same name by Peter Brtzmann from 1968, and his collaboration with Sharrock and Bill Laswell in Last Exit. On the other hand, his yet to be digitalized album Spirits Rebellious contains sweetly undulating Brazilian grooves and melodious, lovely flute playing. ""You can also hit people softly.""

Thomas Chapin gains measure of immortality at Duke

by Owen McNally, Hartford Courant, January 28, 1999

A little under a year ago, Thomas Chapin, a rising jazz star from Manchester, died at 40 after a yearlong battle with leukemia.

In his too few years, Chapin created a solid legacy of acclaimed recordings, compositions and memorable live performances around the world.

And now Chapin's onetime mentor, the jazz saxophonist, arranger and noted educator Paul Jeffrey, has taken a step to preserve that legacy by arranging for Chapin's compositions, papers and memorabilia to become part of the music archives at Duke University in Durham, N.C. Jeffrey has headed a noted jazz program at Duke since 1983. A one-man department, he teaches jazz history, saxophone, band and independent study programs.

Obtaining material for the archives is nothing new for Duke’s jazz maestro. He also archived the works and papers of the African American composer William Grant Still. Les Brown, the renowned band leader who provided backup for comedian Bob Hope for many years, is another of a number of musicians whose papers and recordings are there.

Jeffrey met Chapin when the saxophonist/flutist was studying as an undergraduate at the University of Hartford’s Hartt School in the 1970s. Jeffrey was then associated with Jackie McLean’s jazz program at Hartt. Older fans might recall Jeffrey, who’s a master jazz arranger and ensemble leader, performing more than 20 years ago in Paul Brown’s Monday night jazz series in Bushnell Park.

Jeffrey later moved to teaching duties at Rutgers University in Brunswick, N.J. There he resumed his mentor role with Chapin, who transferred from Hartt.

""Tom was a great player. And just before his death he was on the verge of really making a breakthrough and reaching a wider audience with his music,"" Jeffrey says from his office at Duke.

""He was one of the nicest persons I’ve ever met. He didn’t have any ego. And even with his immense talent, he never tried to overshadow players in his bands.""

Jeffrey says the archival material will include Chapin’s compositions, diaries, instruments, recordings ""and just about everything connected with his music.""

Jeffrey has arranged a tribute concert for Chapin to be held Friday at 8 p.m. at Baldwin Auditorium on the Duke campus.

""It’s appropriate to have a tribute for Tom at Duke, because he had performed here. It’ll feature musicians who went to school with Tom or worked with him,"" Jeffrey says.

Chapin, who died last February, was at the height of his career when he was stricken with a fever while touring Africa. When he returned to the States, he was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, a disease in which malignant cancers attack the blood and bone marrow.

Even when death seemed inevitable, friends say the universally well-liked, philosophical musician somehow kept up his spirits. He was, he told The Courant, happy to be ""living in the realm of the miraculous.""

Chapin died just ten days after he basked in the applause, warm love and good wishes of a standing-room-only crowd of 350 fans at a benefit concert held for him at Cheney Hall in Manchester.

Rumor had it that Chapin was far too ill even to make the trip from his Manhattan home to Manchester, his hometown.

Chapin not only showed up, but, in an emotional, mesmerizing drama, he took the stage and thanked the audience. And then for the first time in many months he played public. Although looking gaunt, he somehow managed to improvise a searingly emotional flute solo. No one who was at that love fest in Cheney Hall will ever forget that heroic moment when the dying young musician created exquisitely life-affirming music. These final bars in public under such heartbreaking circumstances were a profoundly felt ode to joy and life.

As a teenager hooked on jazz, Chapin honed his skills at Hartford jazz spots. In his 20s, he was musical director for Lionel Hampton, with whom he toured the world. Later he was a sideman with Chico Hamilton.

It was only recently that he began making his own mark with his bold, innovative playing and writing. No matter how complex or adventurous the music, it always had a passionate, cutting edge.

And no matter how successful he was becoming, Chapin remained as modest, friendly and likable as he had been when he was an enthusiastic, totally unknown kid from Manchester jamming his heart out at Hartford’s 880 Club.

The Next Generation Of Saxophonists: Outside In

by Robert Hicks - Jazziz - November 1993

Connecticut-bred Thomas Chapin did his time in Lionel Hampton's band before branching out on his own. Working mainly in trio and quartet settings, Chapin always projected a big band sound. With his new release Insomnia (Knitting Factory Works*) from The Thomas Chapin Trio Plus Brass, his canny sarcasm and circus humor jump out at you with the fun of a carnival ride.

Chapin's wide range of percussive energy and timbres swells with brass band antics, frayed blues, and a wide vibrato. His swirling ostinatos set an infectious groove while his various riffs run at break-neck speed, waltz slowly, or flutter intensely over a Latin beat.

""Built into my music is a lot of sarcasm, I like to have fun. I like to tease.""

The altoist draws on personal experiences for his compositional ideas on Insomnia. ""For me it's an image thing. I have an image in my head, and it gives me a feeling which produces a rhythm and a melody,"" said Chapin.

An episode from the TV show The Twilight Zone spawned Chapin's idea for Insomnia. ""There's a woman who has recurring nightmares. Nightmare images and ticking clocks are recurring themes. It has a lot to do with cutting our usual state of mind, which is sleep,"" said Chapin, referring also to the track ""coup détat.""

""I took the vocabulary of the trio and expended it into these broader pieces. I tried different approaches compositionally. I try to give the instruments a variety of roles,"" he explained. Sounding at times like a big band with solo space for the brass, and at others displaying color patterns more characteristic of a small ensemble, Chapin's group moves to a lot of different grooves. Ranging from funky march tempos to campy vaudeville humor, Chapin's band can sound both serene and rambunctious.

""Golgotham,"" with its Latin rhythms and funk grooves, places the tuba up front. There are a series of duets as well as big band unison lines. ""It's basically a romp. It's kinda like Halloween with a bunch of skeletons jumping around toward the end when I cry 'Golgotham' and the band yells 'Bone dance,'"" said Chapin.

""Different motives relate to things that I've heard in the past. They come up as dream fragments in a way. There's a chicken call in there. Different elements of things I've heard from Ray Charles, James Brown, and old time swing bands. The melody is very much like 'It Ain't Necessarily So'; it's just re-rhythmized and fooled around with a bit.""

Back from a trip to Cape Town, South Africa, Chapin was touched by the events in the equatorial province of Sudan where civil war has left many refugees, bombed villages, and youth kidnapped for training as guerillas. ""There's so much tragedy in Africa, and the world seems to turn its back on it,"" said Chapin.

""On 'Equatorial,' I wanted to move blocks of sound at different rates,"" he explains. By doing so, Chapin achieves a gradually developing sound without losing fluidity.

Apart from his expanded brass work on Insomnia, Chapin has been recording prolifically over the past two years not only with his trio Anima, but with pianist Borah Bergman on Inversions (Mu Works), with bassist Mario Pavone on Toulon Days (New World), and on saxist Ned Rothenberg's Overlays (Moers Music).

Chapin currently has in the can a new project led by Pavone which will feature Randy Brecker, Ray Drummond, Steve Johns, and pianist Kent Hewitt. He's on guitarist Michael Musillami's Glass Art (Evidence) and is working on a new recording with pianist David Lahm as a follow-up to the 1992 Music Memory Hoedown (Generation). Chapin's own quartet, with Drummond, Johns, and pianist Ronnie Matthews, as well as conga player Louis Bauzo on two cuts, plans a Christmas release for I've Got Your Number on Arabesque. ""Arabesque is a new label for me. They're recording some young forward-looking people,"" said Chapin.

%(small)*All albums previously released on Knitting Factory Records are now the sole property of and available through Akasha, Inc.%"