Alan Braufman
By Justin Christopher Poulin, Contributor
The Control Group, Gabriela Bhaskar - Publicity image CC BY-SA 3.0
In an NYC storefront in 1974, a few live recordings were captured onto what would become Alan Braufman’s Valley of Search, a sort of cult classic album in the world of free jazz, and a snapshot of the Loft Era in the City’s jazz scene. Braufman, alongside pianist Cooper-Moore and a crew of jazz musicians lived in the building that housed the storefront, and as we discuss, learned to appreciate its idiosyncrasies. 45 years later, Braufman reunited with Cooper-Moore and a new team of musicians to create The Fire Still Burns, which for my money, is one of the best jazz albums to come out of 2020. I had the pleasure of chatting with Alan Braufman over an Instagram exchange, where we discussed the album and some of the finer moments of life at 501 Canal Street.
AB: I suppose, now at the end of 2020, maybe there's a bit of light at the end of this tunnel. Hopefully looking forward to being able to perform live in 2021. This has been hard though, I'm very thankful that I've been able to have a place to live and practice and stay somewhat safe through all of this. Plus, the monster in the White House has been beaten, so there is some hope rather than insanity and hate.
JCP: I think a lot of us are feeling at least a little hopeful. From the year-end lists I myself and others have been seeing, a common theme has been albums or songs that are more optimistic than doom-and-gloom. I'm itching to see live music again, too. In a more ideal situation, where do you hope to see yourself this coming year, besides touring? Do you think you have more material in you after The Fire Still Burns?
AB: Interesting, a reviewer for The Wire, who I have much respect for, called the album "optimistic free jazz." I kind of agree; I kind of think he nailed it there. Of course, touring and performing this music live is the hope— guess we will have to see what happens. Musicians are starved to play, audiences are starved to listen, maybe things come back rather quickly. There's that optimism again.
As to another album, yes. In fact, it's already written. Though, by the time it gets recorded, new tunes and ideas may replace the ones I've already written. Plenty of music left in me.
JCP: I, for one, am quite happy to hear that. That reviewer is dead on, too-- I think what drew me to The Fire Still Burns was how exuberant it is-- celebratory, even. There was something about it that felt right when everything else seemed particularly dismal.
That ties in well to another question I had. How does writing a jazz album in 2020 compare to writing one in 1975? I understand you put out other material between '75's Valley of Search and your newest here, but not under the 'Alan Braufman' label. I'm sure reuniting with Cooper-Moore must have had some sparks flying, if you'll forgive the pun.
AB: Yes, sparks DO fly when Cooper-Moore is playing! Why I love him. I'd say, the main difference for me writing and recording a jazz album between 1975 and now is, I know more what I'm doing now. I think Valley of Search got by much on youthful exuberance, which is no small thing. So, I hope I've kept my youthful exuberance while adding a bit more experience.
JCP: I want to ask you about your time on Canal Street-- 501 Canal, correct? I understand that in the '70s you shared the building with your band-- 5 floors, with a storefront on the first floor, where you ultimately recorded Valley of Search, right? I find something sort of romantic about sharing a house with some close friends, let alone an entire building. For me, having some friends who've taken turns living in the same house over the past 5 years or so-- up where I live in Vermont, I've formed some great memories with them there. What's a fond memory you have living on Canal, music-related or not?
AB: Many, many great 501 Canal memories. First of all, how about a building right in what is now Tribeca that costs $140 per floor? I shared the second floor with [saxophonist] David Ware; Cooper-Moore was on the 3rd floor. You could practice 24/7 in the first floor storefront as well as play concerts there, which we did every weekend in some form or another— either my band or Apogee (David, Cooper, Mark Edwards) or Tom Bruno's band.
There was no easy living to be had there, though. The building had no central heating, so for safety and to save electricity, we would turn our electric space heaters off at night. On some of the coldest winter nights, the only way to keep a bottle of water from freezing would be to put it in the refrigerator. Though, we didn't have to really worry about the electric bills, as Con Edison never sent us one; we were off their grid, I guess. For some reason, there was a pay phone on the first floor hallway. The bass player in my band figured a system in which one could make any call and, at the end, you'd touch two wires together and all the change you had put in would come back to you.
Cheap rent, no electric or phone bills, a place to perform, 22 years old, living with amazing people, I cannot think of it being a better situation.
Ok, maybe if it had heat.
JCP: I'm imagining the water bottle in the fridge situation and chuckling to myself a little. That's outrageous! The whole thing is, honestly. I love when you get to know a place so we'll enough that you get to use its quirks to your advantage-- the faults become features in a way, especially when it means free phone calls, haha. Honestly, with heat being the most of your worries, that's almost an unbeatable situation! AND having the storefront as a practice space! It sounds like a dream.
AB: Yes, pretty much.
JCP: I had just a couple other questions, and I want to thank you so far for your time-- I very much appreciate it. Jumping forward, I was curious if there was any significance in choosing The National's Long Pond Studio to record The Fire Still Burns. What led you to that location?
AB: Recording at Long Pond was one of many fortuitous events that worked out really nice for us on this album. We were playing at the Basilica Festival in Hudson upstate. I was planning to do the recording session a few days after Basilica. Nabil Ayers, the producer of my album works with the National at 4AD. When he mentioned that we were playing Basilica and then recording in NYC the following week, they invited us to do it at Long Pond, which is a few towns away. It was great, we played Basilica, stayed overnight in the studio, started recording the next morning, got it done in a day. All told, a great experience.
JCP: For work that was done in a day, it sounds as if it was polished over several sessions, so bravo. That's actually a facet of the album that also stuck with me-- how fluid the tracks move from one to the other. The pacing is really something.
There was just one last question I had, and it's more of an observation. I came of age in a time where jazz wasn't quite a part of the zeitgeist of popular culture, but in the past 5 to 10 years or so, it's been exciting to watch new artists forge their own paths and bring the art form back into the discussion. I'm thinking of Kamasi Washington, or Shabaka Hutchings, or Nubya Garcia, or Standing On The Corner, as a few examples. What do you make of this trend and do you have any suggestions or advice for musicians starting out now looking to become part of this sort of new wave?
AB: It's been a good time talking with you, much thanks. Yes, I gave much thought to the pacing and order of tunes on Fire Still Burns. Don Cherry's music has been a huge influence, ever since I heard Complete Communion when it came out when I was around 14. The way the music was organized as to evolve from tune to tune, rather than stopping and starting all over. And, that is how we perform it in concert; the music keeps going. Valley of Search was similar in this respect.
As to advice for young musicians, I don't really know any young musicians ought to take any from me, my career has had a very strange arc. And, it's hard to give any advice without sounding like a cliché. But, for saxophone players, specifically? Find your sound, your tone. It shapes everything— everything starts there. Saxophone has a larger spread to choose from. For myself, again going back Complete Communion, it was hearing Gato [Barbieri] for the first time. When was 14 and heard Gato for the first time, it changed the sound I heard in my head, kind of a game changer, a light went off.