Frisell divulges the inner workings of this album, clues us in as to how he manages to juggle so many intense projects simultaneously, and tells us about the 16-second delay that got away.
For many of us, 6:50 a.m. on a Monday morning would probably be the last choice of times to schedule an interview. But for Grammy-winning guitarist and composer Bill Frisell, this criminally early time was his only opening in the midst of a whirlwind tour, so we jumped at the opportunity to chat while he was waiting to board a plane at Los Angeles International Airport.
As one of the most sought-after guitarists in a wide variety of styles, demand spreads him so thin he literally doesn’t have a second to spare. To give an idea, in a five-week span around the time of our interview, he debuted and conducted a score based on Allen Ginsberg’s Kaddish (commissioned by and performed at the Park Avenue Armory in New York City), then flew out to Oregon the next day to lead three group projects—a quartet performing the music of Jimmy Bryant and Speedy West, a quintet performing the music of John Lennon, and his 858 Quartet, which is most often set up as a string quartet, but with guitar replacing one of the two violins. He performed a solo concert over a twoevening run at the Portland Jazz Festival, and then a few days later headed to Japan to do concerts with Vinicius Cantuária. He returned to the States to tour the West Coast with his Beautiful Dreamers group (headlining a night at the L.A. Philharmonic), and then jumped over to the East Coast with folk singer Sam Amidon, while hitting points in between as a guest with the Dale Bruning Trio and performing music he’d cowritten for the 2012 film The Great Flood. In just over a month’s span, he’d taken on enough musical personalities to make Sybil the poster child for normalcy.
While Frisell is most often classified as a jazz guitarist, there’s no question that he’s infinitely more forward thinking than the many jazzers who focus on improvising over standards armed solely with a Gibson ES-175 and a Polytone amp. Sure, Frisell can fulfill his jazzbo duties by navigating the hardest of chord changes with the best of them, as he’s done on “Moment’s Notice” with none other than McCoy Tyner, and when tearing through John Coltrane’s “26-2” with his 858 Quartet. But he unapologetically incorporates disparate influences like Americana, country, avant-garde, and contemporary classical into his music, and has no inhibitions about whipping out a looper, distortion pedal, or a sound freezer. In addition to working with a “who’s who” of musicians across virtually all styles— Bonnie Raitt, Elvis Costello, John Zorn, Elvin Jones, and Ron Carter, among many others—he’s scored films, including Finding Forrester and American Hollow, and had his music featured on several TV shows.
Frisell started out on the clarinet but picked up the guitar after being inspired by the pop music he’d heard on the radio. He attended Berklee College of Music during the ’70s, which was a particularly fertile time in the school’s history. During this decade, Mike Stern (who met his wife Leni through Frisell) and John Scofield were also students at Berklee, and Pat Metheny was on the faculty. By the ’80s, all four guitarists were becoming jazz icons by ushering in the era of modern jazz guitar—reshaping the sound of jazz by breaking certain taboos that crippled the genre’s continued viability in the changing musical landscape. They took a page from the Miles Davis playbook and incorporated influences like pop and rock, among other styles, and made it okay to use effects.
What notably differentiates Frisell from his jazz peers is that he’s been exalted to royalty not based on virtuosic ability but, rather, on his pioneering sonic vision. Frisell’s ethereal sound is instantly recognizable, and though you’ll hear tons of musicians who are obviously influenced by him, you’ll rarely hear them parroting his licks. Frisell’s style is more about individuality, conception, and politely giving the middle finger to the stylistic rulebook.
One of Frisell’s recent convention-defying ventures is Floratone, a collaborative ensemble project that takes a recorded improvisation and—with time and a lot of studio-generated revisions—morphs it into something unusual and unexpected. The sessions start with Frisell and drummer Matt Chamberlain just letting tape roll as they freely improvise. These master tapes are then put in the hands of producers Lee Townsend and Tucker Martine, who rummage through the files to dissect choice parts for compositional repurposing.
This studio reconstruction is somewhat reminiscent of Teo Macero’s work on Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew, two albums that had a profound impact on the budding guitarist. “Those records are gigantic inspirations,” says Frisell. “For me, it was sort of like The Beatles, as far as being huge and basically changing my life.” Floratone’s self-titled debut was released several years ago and received critical acclaim. The collaborative recently released the follow-up, Floratone II, which also features appearances by industry legends Jon Brion and Mike Elizondo.
In this interview, Frisell divulges the inner workings of this album, clues us in as to how he manages to juggle so many intense projects simultaneously, and tells us about the 16-second delay that got away.
Floratone really blurs the line
between improvisation and composition.
Can you explain the band’s
unique writing process?
Of all the things I’ve done, Floratone is
definitely the most studio-involved. Most
of my own music is more of a documentation
of a band or some composition
that I write, and it sort of captures whatever
happens in a particular couple of
days. The germ or the seed of Floratone
comes from this wide-open improvising
with Matt Chamberlain and myself—it’s
a completely spontaneous thing. We’d go
in the studio for a day or two, and put
hours of stuff on tape, and then just leave
Tucker Martine and Lee Townsend with
this big mess of stuff. We give them the
tapes and let them go wherever they want
to, and it’s wild to hear what comes back.
Did you edit the tapes before presenting
the music to them?
They just take the whole thing. So much
of the responsibility is up to Lee and
Tucker to figure out a way to get it all into
a manageable one hour of music. It’s kind
of a luxury. If it were my own record, then
I would be sweating over every little second
of it and worrying about this and that.
Floratone II happened over an even longer
period than Floratone.
This approach must involve an extremely
high level of trust from all parties involved.
All of these people are super close-and-trusted
friends I’ve worked with a lot. Lee, I’ve done
about 30 albums with. I haven’t done that
many with Tucker, but we’ve known each
other for around 25 years. Floratone is like a
band, but for those guys, their instrument is
the studio. This is a way to let them go full
tilt into what they do. At the same time, I’m
going full tilt into what Matt and I do.
Did you try to steer the Floratone II sessions
into a different direction than Floratone?
I didn’t. Lee and Tucker were the ones
that made those decisions about what was
going to be on it, so much of the direction
is really pointed by what they chose.
I’m not sure; I guess I’d have to ask them
if they actually consciously thought about
trying to make it different.
Did you or Matt present any guidelines
like tempo, key, or feel to each other
before starting a jam?
There was no discussion at all, which was
great. It was like, bam, and we just start
playing. There was no stress or anything
and it was really fun. Matt is like an idea
machine—every second something amazing
would come out of him.
You’re also involved in the process again
later, right? You compose string and horn
parts to be layered, and you and Matt
also add more guitars and drums.
It happens in all these layers. It starts with
just improvising, then editing, and then we
go back and start adding more guitars and
drums. I wrote those string and horn parts
and then they went to L.A. I wasn’t there
for that either. That was weird, too, because
I think the last thing I did was write those
melodies. After we recorded that, Matt put
on some more drums and they did some
more editing. They went to L.A. and Jon
Brion put some stuff on and Mike Elizondo
put bass on. And then they mixed the
whole thing and I didn’t hear it until it was
completely finished. It was kind of far out.
It must be a trip to hear the final product.
I won’t even remember what we played and
then a couple months later we’ll get together
and they’ll have this thing whittled down to
an hour’s worth of music. I think at one point,
even a year went by without me hearing anything.
It was like, “Wow, where did all that
come from? I don’t even remember playing it.”
When you heard the final outcome, at
any point, did you think to yourself,
“That’s not what I had in mind at all?”
No. I didn’t have any preconceptions about
what I wanted it to be. I just hoped that it
would be cool. It was really fun and surprising
when I would hear it after all that time.
So when you were improvising, you
didn’t have any specific harmonic frameworks
in mind that you expected them
to later work with?
No, not really. There are certain things
that happen maybe a little bit later in the
writing process where there are harmonies
that were more intentional. But absolutely
nothing was figured out beforehand. I
didn’t think, “Oh, I’m going to play this
chord progression or that.” There was
really no thought.
Considering your jazz background,
where mastery of harmony is a requisite,
and the fact that you’re still currently
playing difficult, chord-changeintensive
Coltrane tunes like “26-2” and
“Moment’s Notice,” you probably can’t
un-know what you know. How are you
able to let go of your harmonic awareness
and just play freely?
I think that having played those kinds of
tunes definitely has a huge impact on what
my instincts are about—I’m not thinking
that way but I know it. It’s not a conscious
thing. No matter how abstract I get or
whether I’m thinking about chords or not,
having had the experience of playing that
kind of harmony definitely had an effect
on me. That’s why I keep playing that
song “26-2,” to get it to the point where
it’s so deeply ingrained that it feels the
same as if I’m just completely spontaneously
making stuff up.
This brings to mind Mike Stern. I played “Giant Steps” thousands and thousands and thousands of times, over and over again with him—just the two of us. We would practice that tune or “Moment’s Notice.” He definitely took it to an incredibly deep level of understanding. I did a lot of that stuff with him and it was an amazing time.
The multiple layers on the tracks are like
a jigsaw puzzle and it’s fun trying to figure
out which part came first. For example,
in “Parade,” there’s a short guitar
solo. It starts off with the same two notes
the ensemble plays earlier in a repeating
two-note descending minor-third figure,
just in a slower rhythm.
I’m not positive. I’m trying to remember. I
played some guitar when we recorded the
horns. But it also could have easily been
something that was there in the track that I
was reacting to when I wrote the horn part.
A Frisell fan might hear a track like
“Do You Have It?,” which on the surface
just sounds like a layered groove,
and not “get it” until he understands
the compositional process behind it. I
hope this doesn’t come off the wrong
way, but is an awareness of the compositional
process integral to having
an appreciation of some of the tracks
on Floratone II? How would “Do You
Have It?” hold up as a piece on its own
compared to your other works, if you
removed the compositional process
from the equation?
Wow … only time will tell. I have no
idea. I guess the hope is that in the end,
it’s just going to be music. It’s more about
the whole overall sound of the thing than
solos. Hopefully you don’t have to understand
where it comes from. Hopefully it’s
going to be good to listen to.
You typically juggle a mind-boggling
number of high-intensity projects
simultaneously. How do you keep it all
straight in your head?
The music itself is never a problem. It’s all
kind of swimming around in my head all
the time almost simultaneously. So when
I’m right there with the people I’m with,
it’s never a problem. If I’m really playing
it’s all coming from the same place. As
soon as I’m in the music, the music takes
over and everything is cool. Where I really
get stressed out is just preparing for when
I go out on these trips and I’m gonna
have five different things that I know I have
to deal with when I get to wherever I’m
going. It’s more about just remembering all I
have to bring with me.
Jazz musicians tend to be pretty conservative
and true innovation is often met with
resistance. How did you find the courage
to pursue your own voice in what could
sometimes be a hostile climate?
I’ve been real stubborn about trying to do
my own thing, but at the same time I realize
it’s kind of a fragile thing. We’re all trying
to find our own way. Every once in a while
I guess I’d come up against some resistance
or something, but I think I’ve been super
lucky. Right at a crucial moment there’s
always someone there who encourages
me rather than discourages me. I’ve been
discouraged a few times, but more often
somebody will say, “Yeah man, you sound
great.” Playing with somebody like Paul
Motian was a huge thing for me as far as the
confidence in doing my own thing. Really,
it started with my parents, who were cool
about me wanting to play music, or thinking
back to when I was playing with Mike
Stern all the time. If these people hadn’t
come along right at a particular moment,
the story could be completely different.
Stern, Pat Metheny, and John Scofield
also attended Berklee College of Music,
and all four of you later became instrumental
in moving jazz guitar forward.
Were you all there at the same time?
Mike Stern wasn’t even really in school
anymore, but he was around town when he
wasn’t out with Blood, Sweat and Tears. Pat
was no longer teaching at Berklee when I
got there in the spring of ’75, but he was still
living in Cambridge and playing with Gary
Burton along with Mick Goodrick. He did
gigs at little places like Zircon and Poo’s Pub
with Bob Moses and Jaco Pastorius. Scofield
had already left town just before I got there.
I actually didn’t meet him until I moved to
New York in ’79 or ’80 but everybody was
talking about him. There’s a quartet record
with him and Terumasa Hino, Tony Williams,
and Ron Carter that’s just incredible.
Another way that you’ve carved your own
path is with your equipment. While the
hollowbody is still the de facto jazz guitar,
you’ve used an SG and even headless
guitars at one point. Speaking of which,
are you still using the Klein guitar?
No, I haven’t used that for a long time. I sent
it back to get repaired years ago and it went
away from me for quite a long time, so during
that time I started getting back to mostly
Fender stuff. I’ve been playing Telecasters
a lot—different versions of it—and most
recently I’ve also been playing Stratocasters.
Mexican- or American-made Fenders?
A bunch of them. I had a Mexican-made
Thinline Tele. I changed all the parts on it
and everything.
What swaps did you make?
Oh man, I’ve definitely gone off the deep
end. Getting into Telecasters you start
thinking, “What does this pickup sound
like and what does that pickup sound
like?” I have Lollar, Don Mare, Lindy
Fralin, and Seymour Duncan pickups—the
Antiquity model. I also use a Tom [TV]
Jones Filter’Tron pickup in the neck position
of a Nash Tele-style guitar. What’s
kind of seductive is that it’s all still this
basic Telecaster and I can get comfortable
with the scale, size, and shape of the guitar
to where it feels at home, but from one to
another—putting certain pickups in certain
guitars—there are amazing differences.
Any other guitars?
I also have a few Tele-style guitars that are
put together or modified by J.W. Black.
He also recently made me a Strat-style
guitar that is very similar to my original
’63 Strat, which I played a lot, along with
a Yanuziello guitar, on All We Are Saying. I
also have a Rick Kelly Tele-style made out
of pine from a piece of wood taken from
Jim Jarmusch’s old loft on the Bowery. It’s
got Lollar Charlie Christian pickups, and
I used that one on a lot of things—Sign
of Life, The Windmills of Your Mind. I Just
got a Collings I35-LC, which is an incredible
guitar.
Your use of effects also opened the floodgates
for many jazz-based guitarists. First
off, let’s talk dirt pedals. Are you still
using the Pro Co Rat?
Sometimes I’ll use the Rat. Mostly though,
it’s an Ibanez Tube Screamer, and I also use a
Fuzz-Stang pedal, which is made in Portland.
Bill Frisell's Gear
Guitars
Fender Telecasters,
Fender Stratocasters, Fender
Jaguar, Fender Jazzmaster, J.W.
Black T-style and S-style guitars,
Yanuziello, Rick Kelly T-style
guitar, Collings I35-LC, Nash Tstyle,
Gibson ES-125, Collings D1,
Gibson LG-2, Andersen Concert
Model flattop, Andersen Custom
17 archtop, Andersen Little Archie
Amps
Fender blackface Princeton,
Gibson Explorer 1x10, Carr
Sportsman, Jack Anderson
Effects
Line 6 DL4, TC Electronic
Hall of Fame, Ibanez Tube
Screamer, Pro Co Rat, Electro-
Harmonix Freeze, WrightSounds
Fuzz-Stang, Voodoo Lab Pedal
Power 2
Strings, Picks, and Accessories
D’Addario .011s
(sometimes .010s), Dunlop medium
(green), George L’s cables
What are you using now for that characteristic
shimmery sound?
I use the Line 6 DL4 a lot. I also have a TC
Electronic Hall of Fame reverb.
Does the Hall of Fame replace your
Lexicon MPX 100 rackmount?
Yeah, it started making noise and stuff.
This little thing is kind of amazing. I’m just
carrying all my stuff around—I don’t have
roadies—so it’s good if it’s small.
Do you still have that Electro-Harmonix
16-second delay?
I wish. That’s one of the most amazing pedals.
I actually have two of them, but they
don’t work.
Have you tried the reissue that came out
a few years ago?
It’s totally not the same thing. A couple of
months ago I was in a store in New York
City and they had an original one in perfect
condition. I started messing with it again—
I hadn’t used one for a long time—and it
brought back memories like, “Oh man.”
Did you buy it?
No, I just got scared. It was $1,300. So, I
actually have to board the plane now.
Youtube It
A glimpse of Bill Frisell’s 858 Quartet playing
a wicked rendition of John
Coltrane’s brain-busting “26-2.”
Frisell accompanies Elvis Costello on
“If I Only had a Brain,” a song popularized
by The Wizard of Oz.
Frisell and jazz giant Jim Hall play
a duo version of Frisell’s hauntingly
beautiful ballad “Throughout” at the 1995
Umbria Jazz Festival.