A Conversation with David Liebman in Paris

On the Importance of Jazz History

In any area of life, not only in the arts, it’s important to know what came before in the tradition and history for a few reasons. First, so you know that if you’re repeating something you’re at least aware of it, or if you’re doing something different, you’re aware of that too. Most of all, it’s like a house—you need the foundation in the ground for everything to stand on. The foundation in this music is the history, and it’s important that a musician is able to, at least to some degree, repeat what came before.

The founders of jazz were mostly Black but not exclusively. It is music that came from the mixture of many cultures together, first in New Orleans, then in other cities, and finally in New York City and to some extent Europe. Over the last 20–30 years, it has become a very international music. It’s not Black, it’s not white, it’s not men, it’s not women. I have musicians in my class now from Turkey, Indonesia, and India. The music is completely universal; it has gone everywhere in the world. It began with Black people, but it has grown much more than that.

Improvisation Explained

We improvise based on something understood to be the basis of the improvisation—musicians call this “the song,” “the chord changes,” or maybe a particular rhythm. It varies. I compare it to a map. The map tells you you’re going to Troyes today and shows you the road, but you may go off the road and come back, improvising along the way. You stop for lunch at one restaurant—little things like that. Improvising means we are speaking in the moment, trying not to think of the past or the future. It’s a very existential state of mind, whether you’re a musician or not.

Most jazz is played in small groups—duos, trios, quartets, maybe quintets. The conversation is based on the subject we begin with. You hear the subject when I announce the title of the song, and then we begin with the music on the page, creating around it. It takes a lot of skill and spontaneity to improvise in real time in front of people. That’s why we practice—to be ready in the moment. You can’t be sure what’s going to happen.

Basketball is a good analogy. Five people on the court, and nobody knows who’s going to do what, though there are preset roles. We know we want to get the ball inside and make the goal.

Storytelling in Jazz

In music, it’s difficult to be literal—like saying, “I went here, I saw this, I had this problem, I came home.” It’s not like a book. But it’s a story with mood, excitement, quiet, calm, dark—words that describe a feeling or texture. That is a story in itself, though abstract. For example, I try to tell a story every time, but it’s not literal. It’s intensity, maybe followed by quiet, maybe a storm, maybe sunlight—tensions and releases. The best improvisers tell a story; others just play.

Collaboration and Listening

We hope we’re talking about the same subject. It’s like a conversation. If we were talking about the weather and you said, “Tomorrow it’s going to be sunny,” and another person said, “It’s going to snow,” and I said, “Where is the coffee?”—that’s not good. The same goes for playing. We try to be on the same subject and listen to each other. We don’t look; we listen. I can feel someone doing something musically or emotionally, and that’s how we converse. We hope the audience understands. We don’t have signs or directions—just the music.

Practice and Preparation

You have to be prepared technically—knowledge of the tradition, the language (scales, chords, rhythms), the saxophone itself, piano voicings, and more. If something comes up in the moment and you haven’t experienced it, you’ll be blank. It’s like saying, “Tomorrow it’s going to snow,” and I respond, “What’s snow?” If I don’t know, the conversation stops while you explain. In real life, that’s fine, but when playing, you want to be ready with all the information. That’s the point of practicing in jazz.

Playing at home is completely different from performing live. You can’t imitate the atmosphere of a live performance because of the audience—whether it’s three people or three thousand. At home, it’s just the saxophone and the wall. Practicing is boring—who likes to practice C scales? But you have to do it, especially when you’re younger.

Phrasing in Jazz

Phrasing means a musical idea, like a sentence. It’s exactly how we talk. I phrase like Dave, you phrase like Carole, he phrases like Jean-Jacques—it’s very individual. When we play, we hope the phrasing reflects the personality of the person playing. Musically, it has to do with accents, dynamics, nuance, rhythmical placement, tone color, sound, and interaction with other musicians.

Energy and Intensity

It depends on the kind of energy. Bill Evans’ energy was very different from Cecil Taylor’s. My energy is different from another musician’s. You can’t compare apples and oranges—both are good, but different. Some music demands intensity and energy (forceful or aggressive), while other music demands quiet and calm. Last night, for example, in a duet with Marc Copland, there was a range from very soft and gentle to very intense and strong. I prefer the word “intensity”—it could be quiet or aggressive.

Coltrane was an example of this range. He could be gentle—like in the recording with Johnny Hartman or the “Ballads” album—or incredibly intense, like some live performances in New York City. The key is to focus on the mood of the moment, whatever is appropriate for that time, place, and music.

Making the Music “Happen”

“Happen” is slang for when the music is in a good conversation—rich, meaningful, with good technique, intellectual and emotional depth. When that’s happening, we say, “The music is happening.” Sometimes it’s not happening, or it’s just sort of happening. It’s a matter of degrees.

Relationship with the Instrument

I need a certain amount of resistance in the mouthpiece and reed. I prefer a reed with resistance and a mouthpiece with a pretty large opening because I need to be able to blow hard. Controlling it when playing softly is a challenge. Generally, I need resistance to make things work.

Everyone prefers old saxophones—the Balanced Action, Super Balanced, some Mark VIs—but some of that is just because it’s supposed to be true. Selmer isn’t as good as it used to be, in my opinion. I play Keilwerth, a German saxophone I’ve used for the last thirty years. It has a lot of resistance, a deeper sound, and a bigger bore—you have to blow harder. I enjoy it, especially on soprano. Some musicians play very lightly without much resistance, and it’s beautiful. It depends.

I’ve never played the alto. If I did, the only thing I’d want to do is play like Charlie Parker—it wasn’t a good idea. The tenor was my first woodwind, with soprano coming much later. The soprano feels like an extension of my body—like lifting a fork. The tenor is like driving a Mercedes, or a truck. I love both for different kinds of music. The soprano has become more individual for me over the last twenty to thirty years, but I still enjoy the tenor.