WHEN
I FOUND OUT that
Jeff Goldblum, the movie
guy, plays piano in a
little bebop band once a
week and that he was
bringing the band to the
Playboy Jazz Festival, I
deployed my secret identity
as an investigative reporter
and began immediately to
plot.
First
I thought up a question to
ask him, which was, do you
learn things in movie acting
that help you play jazz?
"I,
I, I think so," he
said, first meditating on
it. This happened after I
had made a few calls and set
up a phone interview.
"I
teach acting at this place
called Playhouse West in
North Hollywood," he
said, "and part of the
training technique is a lot
of improvisation, and that
sure has something to do
with jazz, certainly: Making
sure that you listen to what
the other guys are doing,
the other actors, and having
what you do be a kind of
spontaneous, you know, gut,
instinctive conversation
with them, and a response to
them.
"In
a movie, you do things to
keep it fresh that are like
what a jazz musician does.
Even though they've played
the song before, they try to
find something fresh in it,
as if they're playing it for
the first time, and you do
this especially by being
freshly receptive to what
the other guys are doing. It
sort of affects you and
makes you spontaneous."
SETTING
MY PLOT IN MOTION,
I decided to find out
whether the star of
"The Holy Man" was
telling the whole
truth. Would it be possible,
I asked him, for me to sit
in with his little band,
which for no real reason he
calls the Mildred Snitzer
Orchestra, and play my
cornet?
"Oh,
you should, you
should," he said, and
evidently he meant it,
because when I showed up
with my ax a few days later
at the Lucky Seven, formerly
the Vine Street Bar &
Grill, he remembered his
promise and soon I was on
the bandstand standing
between Anthony Wilson, his
guitarist, and Lincoln
Adler, his saxophonist,
playing "Bags'
Groove."
My
plot was successful. But it
immediately thickened.
DIG
IT,
to
play the first note of this
tune, a
blues in F by the immortal
Milt Jackson, you press down
on the first of your three
valves. This I did, but the
note came out trembling as
pitifully as my stomach was.
That note, D, only lasts
three beats, though, and
then my helpful Benge cornet
with its triple shepherds'
crooks seemed to comfort me,
kind of like the
gizmos they give 007. I hit
the rest of the the notes
pretty good as the three of
us played the theme.
The
guest takes the first solo,
and while I was doing this,
I could hear Goldblum
daintily stroking in the
chords on his Kurtzweil
synthesizer. He stayed way
back there, letting Wilson
handle most of the comping
on his guitar. 
But
the other cats, Tim Evans on
bass and Dick Vincent on
drums, were right up with
me, reading my mind and
answering my licks from time
to time with licks of their
own. Even when I played a
fragment of Sweets
Edison's "Keester
Parade," in honor of a
fanny I'd been watching
while I waited to go up,
Vincent came right back with
a melodic imitation on
snare, tom and bass.
Naturally,
Wilson and Adler
played rings around me when
it was their turn. I just
stood there trying not to
look old and taking in the
scenery, for the room was
packed with young ladies who
seemed to pride themselves
on not looking like teen-age
rock fans. They were mainly
covered by couture, but
flashed naked insteps, naked
shoulders, naked thighs,
naked midriffs. Inciting
incidents all around.
Once in a while I would
sneak a peek at maestro
Goldblum, though. I noticed
he laid out for a chorus or
two, while the tenor man was
blowing, holding his right
hand to his cheek as though
posing for an 8 by 10
glossy. I got the impression
that he, too, was taking in
the scenery.
HE
PLAYED THE LAST SOLO,
being the leader. He
began it with short phrases,
built on notes that were not
quite the right notes. Then
he got a little more
assertive as though better
acquainted with his
material, and finally banged
away on block chords with a
back beat like Little
Richard.
He
was doing it just the way
I'd done it, you see, except
I banged out high notes
instead of block
chords. I realized
he'd been listening to me
when I played my solo, all
right, just as he
advises his students to do.
The
denouement: He told the
truth, just as he had told
it to Buckaroo Banzai in the
Eighth Dimension. And in a
movie star, that is wholly
unexpected, man.
