When Chet Baker returned to San Francisco to play a few sessions at Kimball’s Jazz Club on Grove Street in 1986, he agreed to an interview to promote the booking. We first spoke on the phone, and then I met with him backstage that evening.
Even as an old, beaten-up, hip angel he was surrounded by attractive young women in the dressing room.
My column for the magazine Key: This Week in San Francisco was limited to a mere 400 words, but Baker was generous enough to condense his remarks to fit the space.
Naturally, we began with his experience with the Sixth U.S. Army Band at the Presidio here. While serving (reluctantly) at this base, he played gigs at Bop City and The Black Hawk in the 1950s.
He was in a reflective mood about being in the military and shared a few memories about how he managed to get honorably discharged.
“I faked it as a sissy,” he said. “Told head doctors that I did not like to shower with men, and that I wanted to return to my career as a florist.”
The same story was explored in some depth by filmmaker Bruce Weber, in his uneven documentary “Let’s Get Lost,” but I never bought the tale.
He recorded and performed in the Eternal City in 1976 and 1988, including live recordings at the Music Inn and other venues.
For Baker has always struck me as a supremely masculine artist, and seeing that he had Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn on his book stand confirmed it.
“Yeah, I dig Henry,” he said. “Especially as we both hate politics.”
When he paused to reflect, I noticed that he did not have a mouthpiece for his horn. An assistant suddenly burst in to produce one. “Yeah, this should just fit fine,” said Chet, as he twisted it tight in the stem.
Baker had a significant connection with Rome, where he lived and performed during different periods of his career.
He recorded and performed in the Eternal City in 1976 and 1988, including live recordings at the Music Inn and other venues. He also spent time in Rome in 1962, following his parole from prison for drug charges in Italy.
Baker’s experiences in Rome, including his tussles with drug addiction and his musical collaborations, are well chronicled in photos, recordings, and accounts from that period.
I followed him there in 1987 to see him play when he was recording “Chet Baker in Italy.”
He died the next year at age 58.
Ah, but jazz has not gone dormant since Baker’s untimely demise. After our fallow post-COVID period, San Francisco has seen a resurgent jazz scene, with varied supper clubs popping up in our more exotic fringe neighborhoods.
The Black Cat is a basement venue in the heart of our Tenderloin. Mr. Tipples is in Hayes Valley, shadowed by the opera house and symphony hall. The Dawn Club is a dark cocktail and dinner lounge on dodgy Market Street. In North Beach, the Keys Jazz Bistro occupies a space originally built for artists like Stan Getz and Gil Evans — the latter of “El Matador” fame.
Tour groups still frequent The San Francisco Jazz Center, now under the leadership of famed trumpet player Terence Blanchard.
Besides being a brilliant man with a horn, Blanchard is famous as a composer, arranger, and conductor. As a player, he is a marvel in virtuosity.
Yet as a jazz destination, what a bore. And would Chet be happy at this place?
Not likely, for he eschewed festivals, arenas, and any place with assigned seating. He was a nightclub guy. SF Jazz Center is a “family friendly” concert hall created to acquaint mainstream audiences with complicated music.
As an educational facility it works out just fine, but it will never capture the glamour and romance of a late-night joint.
As Chet said at the end our interview, “If I can’t just disappear at the end of a night, what good is it?”
