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                     Remembering  Mulgrew  Miller  (1955-­‐2013)  

 
                Isabelle  Leymarie  
(written  the  day  after  Mulgrew’s  death)  
 
  Mulgrew  Miller,  a  friend  for  over  thirty  years  and  one  of  my  all-­‐time  favorite  
pianists,  died  at  the  age  of  fifty-­‐seven  in  Allentown,  Pennsylvania,  near  his  home.  I  am  
still  in  a  state  of  shock.  So  young,  so  talented  and  so  human!  His  loss  leaves  a  huge  gap  in  
the  music  world  and  the  lives  of  the  many  people  he  touched,  mine  included,  in  the  many  
countries  he  visited.  He  was  a  giant  of  nearly  unmatched  stature,  in  the  tradition  of  an  
Art  Tatum  or  an  Oscar  Peterson,  and  a  kind  and  eloquent  man.  
In  the  late  1970’s,  I  happened  to  be  in  Memphis.  There,  I  had  meditated  in  front  of  
the  motel  where  the  Reverend  Martin  Luther  King  had  been  shot  and  watched  the  
majestic  Mississippi,  which  still  carried  the  blues  and  remembrances  of  Mark  Twain  in  
its  mighty  waters.  Someone  invited  me  to  a  jam  session,  where  I  was  stunned  by  a  young  
pianist.  From  where  did  all  those  incredible  notes  come?  I  could  not  believe  my  ears.  The  
phrases  flowed,  endlessly  logical  and  beautiful.  The  chords  were  lush  and  every  single  
note  swung.  He  told  me  his  name  was  Mulgrew.  This  rather  unusual  moniker  stuck  in  my  
mind,  as  did  his  music.  
Not  long  after,  on  the  West  Coast,  I  attended  a  concert  of  the  Duke  Ellington  
orchestra  led  by  Duke’s  son  Mercer  Ellington.  The  young  pianist  captivated  me.  
Suddenly,  I  realized  it  was  Mulgrew!  One  day,  the  Duke  Ellington  orchestra  had  
happened  to  be  in  Memphis,  where  Mulgrew  was  living  and  studying.  Saxophonist  Bill  
Easley,  who  worked  with  Isaac  Hayes  and  recorded  for  the  Stax  label,  sat  in  with  the  
band.  As  Mercer’s  pianist  was  reluctant  to  travel,  Easley  recommended  Mulgrew,  who  
subbed  for  him.  At  the  age  of  twenty-­‐one,  Mulgrew  then  became  a  full-­‐fledged  member  
of  the  Duke  Ellington  band.  In  1980,  I  heard  Mulgrew  with  Betty  Carter  (and  Curtis  
Lundy  on  bass).  Betty  could  be  exacting  with  her  music:    the  dame  was  not  always  tame,  
but  Mulgrew  was  his  usual  brilliant  self.  
The  following  year,  bassist  Nat  Reeves,  who  later  worked  with  Jackie  McLean,  
took  me  to  the  small  Brooklyn  apartment  where  I  think  Mulgrew  lived.  If  I  remember  
correctly,  he  shared  it  with  the  late  Tony  Reedus,  who  later  played  drums  on  Mulgrew’s  
CD  Time  and  Again.  Kenny  Garrett,  a  friend  from  the  Ellington  Orchestra,  was  also  there.  
The  piano  occupied  almost  the  whole  room.  Mulgrew  delighted  Nat,  Kenny,  Tony  and  me  
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with  a  memorable  “Lush  Life”  and  other  numbers,  and  Kenny  jammed  with  Mulgrew.  
Whenever  Mulgrew  played  a  prodigious,  impossible  to  duplicate  phrase,  the  type  of  
dazzling  phrase  only  he  could  pull  off  with  such  dexterity,  he  would  modestly  exclaim:    
“Something  like  that!”  I  then  timidly  tried  to  play  a  two-­‐handed  line.  “You’re  not  
supposed  to  do  that!,”  Mulgrew  joked  with  his  usually  good-­‐natured  sense  of  humor.  
Over  the  years,  I  heard  him  countless  times  with  many  artists,  including  Art  
Blakey,  Woody  Shaw,  Tony  Williams,  and  Rufus  Reid,  and  with  his  own  trios  or  solo.  He  
was  a  master  at  playing  solo.  I  took  a  few  lessons  with  him.  I  remember  him  sitting  at  the  
piano  and  piling  one  inventive  chorus  upon  the  other  with  “rhythm  changes”  and  the  
blues,  some  of  which  I  still  know  by  heart.  There  was  no  stopping  him!  In  1982,  I  wrote  a  
profile  on  him  for  Jazz  Spotlite  News,  along  with  profiles  of  two  other  greatly  admired  
pianists,  Kenny  Kirkland  and  Dom  Salvador,  and  in  1985,  I  interviewed  him  for  Jazz  
Magazine,  a  French  publication.  The  editor-­‐in-­‐chief,  who  did  not  know  who  Mulgrew  
was  at  the  time,  was  reluctant  at  first  to  publish  the  interview.  At  that  time,  Mulgrew  had  
not  yet  recorded  under  his  own  name  and  hardly  anybody  knew  him  in  Europe.  I  
insisted,  telling  him  Mulgrew  was  a  shining  star.  Years  later,  he  wrote  the  entry  on  
Mulgrew  for  Le  Nouveau  Dictionnaire  du  Jazz!  At  the  New  Morning,  a  club  in  Geneva,  
Switzerland,  Mulgrew,  who  was  then  playing  with  Woody  Shaw,  launched  into  dizzying  
improvisations  on  “Green  Dolphin  Street.”  Not  a  single  note  was  lost  on  me.  
One  day,  Mulgrew  told  me  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  young  woman  named  
Tanya.  “She’s  very  spirited,”  he  added.  Tanya  became  his  wife  and  is  the  mother  of  his  
children.  She  comes,  I  think,  from  a  prestigious  dynasty  of  musicians,  among  them  Ray  
Bryant  and  Kevin  and  Robin  Eubanks.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her  in  Interlaken,  
Switzerland,  in  the  1990’s,  where  Mulgrew,  along  with  Jimmy  Heath,  Terell  Stafford,  
Rufus  Reid,  Lewis  Nash,  and  Deborah  Brown  had  been  invited  to  give  master  classes.  
Mulgrew  shone  again  during  the  opening  concert,  backing  Brown  with  utmost  finesse  
and  sensitivity.  Mulgrew’s  repertoire  was  staggering:    he  could  play  any  tune  on  request  
without  for  a  second  having  to  think  of  the  chord  changes.1  The  next  day,  someone  
photographed  him  next  to  a  cow.  He  said,  laughing,  that  he  would  put  the  photograph  on  
his  Internet  site.  Nothing  came  out  of  it.  Maybe  the  photograph  got  lost.  

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Another musician with this talent was the great Hank Jones. I once heard him in a New York restaurant where
he was performing. He complied with all requests, including from patrons totally ignorant of jazz, with
competence and grace.
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Mulgrew  taught  by  playing  rather  than  preaching.  To  a  German  student  who  
asked  him  what  he  should  do  in  order  to  swing,  Mulgrew  answered,  “Just  do  it!”  “You  
have  to  eat  chittlins,”  I  said  kiddingly.  “That’s  it!”  exclaimed  Mulgrew.  Another  student  
asked  him  if  he  could  play  like  Erroll  Garner.  Immediately,  Mulgrew  offered  a  perfect  
imitation.  After  classes  were  over,  the  students  would  leave  the  room,  but  he  would  stay  
at  the  piano  and  continue  to  play  for  himself.  I  would  sit  there  transfixed,  ears  and  eyes  
glued  to  the  keyboard.  He  confided  that  when  he  was  learning  music,  he  never  made  
transcriptions—his  fine  ear  could  indeed  catch  everything  at  once—and  he  added:  
“When  I  was  young,  I  wasn’t  as  disciplined  as  I  would  have  liked  to  be.”  What  would  it  
have  been  had  he  been  more  disciplined?  His  playing  was  faultless!  He  had  a  marvelous  
crystalline  touch.  This  touch,  he  told  me,  he  had  studied  for  a  whole  year  with  Serge  
Chaloff’s  mother.  He  modestly  admitted,  “I’m  a  rather  good  comper.  That’s  why  people  
hire  me.”  More  than  “rather  good,”  he  was  a  consummate  accompanist,  with  vocalists,  in  
particular,  and  like  other  great  “compers”  such  as  Horace  Silver,  Wynton  Kelly,  Oscar  
Peterson,  and  Herbie  Hancock,  his  comping  always  “told  a  story.”  I  have  transcribed  
some  examples  of  his  comping,  for  the  sheer  joy  of  penetrating  deeper  into  his  music  
and  savoring  it  further.  His  accompaniment  always  forms  a  song  in  itself,  which  provides  
counterpoint  to  and  perfectly  complements  whatever  is  being  sung  or  played,  never  
being  obtrusive  or  overshadowing  the  soloist.  Three  of  his  recordings  with  singers  
particularly  delight  me:    Blue  Skies,  with  Cassandra  Wilson,  My  Marilyn,  where  he  backs  
Miriam  Klein  on  songs  by  Marilyn  Monroe  (his  solos  on  this  recording  are  little  gems),  
and  That  Day,  with  Dianne  Reeves.  His  piano  sang  as  much  as  the  vocalists  he  so  well  
supported  and  highlighted.  “When  you  play  a  song,  you  have  to  know  the  lyrics,”  he  
explained.  “It  makes  the  melody  more  meaningful.”  The  jazz  he  played  was  nearly  almost  
lyrical,  except  when  he  throttled  at  fearsome  tempos.  
  In  the  early  1990’s,  I  invited  him  (along  with  Christian  McBride,  Anthony  Cox,  Jay  
Hoggard,  Terri  Lyne  Carrington,  Danilo  Pérez,  Mike  Cain,  Daniel  Ponce  and  others)  to  the  
jazz  festival  I  was  asked  to  organize  at  Le  Marin  in  southern  Martinique.  The  piano,  left  
day  and  night  near  the  sea  with  no  cover  on  it,  was  in  rather  bad  shape,  but  Mulgrew  
managed  to  coax  extraordinary  sounds  from  it.  And  I  still  remember  the  hilarious  
conversations  between  Mulgrew  and  Christian  McBride  at  the  hotel,  full  of  African-­‐
American  wit.  Around  the  same  time,  I  invited  Mulgrew  to  perform  at  the  Forum  des  
Halles  in  Paris  (managed  by  the  prestigious  Théâtre  du  Châtelet)  for  which  I  was  in  
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charge  of  the  jazz,  Latin,  and  African  music  program.  After  the  concert,  I  asked  Mulgrew  
to  play  me  some  gospel.  I  love  gospel  and  it  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  made  such  a  
request  to  him.  With  his  customary  kindness,  he  immediately  granted  me  this  favor.  
Here,  too,  his  repertoire  was  infinite.  He  had  lost  nothing  of  his  past  as  a  church  organist  
and  was  a  sublime  gospel  pianist,  as  can  be  glimpsed,  for  example,  by  listening  to  his  
introduction  to  “He  Knows  How  Much  You  Can  Bear,”  a  tune  recorded  with  Terell  
Stafford.  (There  is  a  beautiful  live  version  of  this  on  YouTube.2)  Mulgrew  also  made  a  
rather  confidential  record  of  spirituals,  Count  It  All  Joy,  with  singer  Lance  Bryant.  Indeed,  
his  ballads  often  had  a  spiritual  quality.  “I  try  to  play  them  like  hymns,”  he  told  me.  
  At  the  Munster  Jazz  Festival  in  Alsace,  France,  Mulgrew  dazzled  the  audience  with  
Danish  bassist  Niels-­‐Henning  Ørsted  Pedersen,  with  whom  he  later  recorded  Duke  
Ellington  compositions  as  well  as  two  blues,  one  by  Ørsted  Pedersen  and  the  other  his  
own.  We  walked  along  fields  full  of  storks  (Alsace  is  famous  for  these  birds,  who  fly  to  
Africa  during  the  winter  and  come  back  in  the  spring).  Mulgrew  suddenly  became  
concerned,  and,  dedicated  family  man  as  he  was,  told  me  with  upmost  delicacy  of  some  
problems  his  son  Darnell  was  then  going  through.  
One  evening,  I  invited  the  French  pianist  Bernard  Maury,  another  outstanding  
artist,  to  listen  to  Mulgrew  at  the  New  Morning  in  Paris.  (Mulgrew  jokingly  called  the  
club,  run  by  a  certain  Madame  Fahri,  “the  Madam’s  joint.”)  That  evening,  among  other  
tunes,  Mulgrew  played  “Body  and  Soul.”  Maury,  who  heard  everything,  immediately  
caught  every  single  note  of  every  single  voicing  that  Mulgrew  had  played.  He  proposed  
ingenious  alternate  voicings,  which  Mulgrew,  open  to  all  suggestions,  immediately  “dug.”  
I  had  transcribed  Mulgrew’s  and  Maury’s  voicings  for  the  sake  of  comparison,  and  lent  
them  to  one  of  my  students,  who  lost  them,  unfortunately.  I  once  played  one  of  
Mulgrew’s  recordings  for  Maury,  who  was  a  fantastic  harmony  teacher  with  an  uncanny  
understanding  and  command  of  modes.  “He  stole  all  my  licks!”  Maury  said  laughingly  
about  Mulgrew.  Of  course,  at  that  time,  Mulgrew  had  never  met  Maury.  Once  the  gig  at  
the  New  Morning  was  over,  Maury  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  Mulgrew’s  bassist  (I  forgot  
if  it  was  Derrick  Hodge  or  Ivan  Taylor)  spontaneously  grabbed  his  instrument  to  
accompany  him.  Mulgrew  often  began  “Body  and  Soul,”  of  which  he  cut  several  versions,  
by  playing  the  bridge,  and  in  his  solos  he  used  sophisticated  altered  modes.  In  one  of  his  
several  versions  of  “Here  Is  that  Rainy  Day,”  for  example,  he  displayed  his  rich  palette  in  

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Incidentally, other jazz pianists who play great gospel include Eric Reed and Johnny O’Neal.
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the  course  of  his  solo,  using  Dorian,  Aeolian  and  Locrian  modes,  and  minor  harmonic,  
minor  natural,  altered  and  other  scales,  as  well  as  modulating  lines,  altered  chords  and  
chord  substitutions.  Sometimes  he  changed  the  chords  to  fit  the  line  he  was  playing,  yet  
this  always  sounded  justified  and  right.  It  was  never  for  the  mere  sake  of  
reharmonization,  as  I  have  heard  some  pianists  do,  but  because  it  enhanced  his  solo  and  
created  beautiful  changing  colors,  a  tapestry  of  sound.  Mulgrew  never  tried  to  be  
outlandish,  never  being  one  for  facile  effects.  His  left  hand  was  varied:    sometimes  rolled  
chords,  sometimes  just  one  note  to  punctuate  a  phrase.  On  Footprints,  a  CD  recorded  
with  Toots  Thielemans,  he  played  an  exquisite  rendition  of  Eric  Satie’s  “Gymnopédie  N°  
1.”  It  is  nectar  for  the  ears.  In  2007  and  2008,  Mulgrew  worked  with  Dave  Holland’s  
sextet.  In  2008  also,  with  his  last  trio  (Ivan  Taylor  and  Rodney  Green)  at  the  Duc  des  
Lombards  in  Paris,  he  dazzled  once  again  with  his  virtuosity  and  gave  a  moving  
rendition  of    “It  Never  Entered  My  Mind,”  a  song  famously  recorded,  in  particular,  by  
Miles  Davis  with  Red  Garland  on  piano.  Mulgrew  was  equally  at  ease  with  breakneck  
tempos,  ballads,  or  Latin  tunes,  where  he  would  sometimes  skillfully  resort  to  
montunos.3  During  the  summer  of  2011,  Mulgrew  gave  a  series  of  concerts  with  Rufus  
Reid  and  Lewis  Nash.  He  swung  mightily  in  “Come  Rain  or  Come  Shine,”  “Have  You  Met  
Miss  Jones”  and  “The  Song  Is  you,”  with  an  admirable  art  of  accents,  which  give  music  its  
character.  In  “Embraceable  You,”  introduced  by  a  marvelous  piano  solo,  he  performed  
equally  marvelous  filigrees  under  Reid’s  bow  and  ended  with  a  gorgeous  coda.  
  Mulgrew’s  biography  is  now  too  well  known,  as  are  his  musical  influences  (Oscar  
Peterson,  Phineas  Newborn,  McCoy  Tyner  among  others)  for  me  to  repeat  all  this  here.  
He  was  born  in  Greenwood,  a  town  on  the  Mississippi  Delta  where  important  civil  rights  
action  took  place  in  the  early  1960’s.  A  child  prodigy,  he  was  already  a  seasoned  
musician  by  his  teens,  but  he  left  for  Memphis  to  further  his  musical  studies.  Although  
socially  conscious—and  he  probably  witnessed  quite  a  lot  of  racial  incidents  as  he  grew  
up—he  had  no  bitterness  and  not  a  single  ounce  of  prejudice.  The  whole  of  mankind  was  
his  family,  and  I  have  never  met  anyone  who  didn’t  like  Mulgrew,  whether  as  a  musician  
or  a  man.  He  was  no  fool  either,  well  aware  of  the  injustices  of  the  music  business  and  
the  promotion  of  some  artists  at  the  expense  of  more  deserving  ones.    
One  day,  at  the  Peabody  Hotel  in  Memphis,  famous  for  the  ducks  that  crossed  its  
lounge  every  day  and  took  the  elevator  to  go  to  the  roof,  I  was  looking  at  a  pianola  

3
Latin patterns of Cuban origin, essentially consisting of quarter notes played on offbeats.
 6

playing  a  jazz  tune.  Seeing  the  broad  voicings  of  the  depressed  keys,  it  dawned  on  me  
that  pianists  born  or  living  near  the  Mississippi,  in  Memphis  in  particular—Mulgrew,  
Phineas  Newborn,  James  Williams,  Harold  Mabern,  Donald  Brown—all  had  a  very  
orchestral  style,  somewhat  reminiscent  of  what  that  pianola  was  playing.  
  Mulgrew  had  the  genius  of  music,  the  gift  of  friendship,  deep  generosity,  evident  
in  his  constant  praising  of  predecessors  and  fellow  musicians,  an  acute  sense  of  humor,  
as  I  already  mentioned,  and  he  had  retained  the  earthiness  and  soulfulness  of  his  native  
Mississippi.  His  presence  as  an  artist  and  a  human  being  is  irreplaceable.  
  I  add  to  this  text  my  transcription  of  his  interpretation  of  Cole  Porter’s  “Ev’ry  
Time  We  Say  Goodbye”  on  his  album  Keys  to  the  City,  and  the  few  first  bars  of  his  solo  on  
that  tune.  I  heard  it  for  the  first  time  nearly  thirty  years  ago  and  it  still  thrills  me  to  this  
day.  
 
 
Selective  discography  (from  my  own  record  collection)  
 
As  a  leader:  
 
Keys  to  the  City,  1985  
Wingspan,  1987  
From  Day  to  Day,  1990  
Time  and  Again,  1992  
Hand  in  Hand,  1993  
With  Our  Own  Eyes,  1994  
The  Countdown,  1994  
Getting  to  Know  You,  1995  
Chapters  1  and  2-­‐  Keys  to  the  City/Work,  1998  
The  Duets  (with  Niels-­‐Henning  Ørsted  Pedersen),  1999  
The  Sequel,  2002  
Live  at  Yoshi’s  Vol.  1,  2004  
Live  at  Yoshi’s  Vol.  2,  2005  
Live  at  the  Kennedy  Center,  Vol.  1,  2006  
Live  at  the  Kennedy  Center,  Vol.  2,  2007  
Solo,  2010  (recorded  in  2000)  
Grew’s  Tune  (with  The  Kluver  Big  Band),  2012  
 
 
As  a  sideman:  
 
1982  
Night  Music,  Woody  Shaw  
 
 7

1983  
Time  is  Right,  Woody  Shaw  
Call  it  Whatchawana,  Johnny  Griffin  
 
1984  
New  York  Scene,  Art  Blakey  and  the  Jazz  Messengers  
 
1985  
Introducing  Kenny  Garrett  
Confessin’,  John  Stubblefield  
 
1986  
Discernment,  Terence  Blanchard  and  Donald  Harrison  
Live  at  Kimball’s,  Art  Blakey  and  the  Jazz  Messengers  
Color  Scheme,  Bobby  Hutcherson  
Double  Take,  Freddie  Hubbard  and  Woody  Shaw  
Foreign  Intrigue,  Tony  Williams  
 
1987  
Civilization,  Tony  Williams  (recorded  in  1986)  
Wind  Inventions,  Bill  Easley  (recorded  in  1986)  
Keeper  of  the  Drums,  Marvin  “Smitty”  Smith  
Countin’  on  the  Blues,  John  Stubblefield  
Viewpoints  and  Vibrations,  Steve  Turre  
 
1988  
Blue  Skies,  Cassandra  Wilson  
Trio  Transition  (Reggie  Workman  and  Frederick  Waits)  
Harlem  Blues,  Donald  Byrd  
Give  and  Take,  Billy  Pierce  
Yardbird  Suite,  Frank  Morgan  
The  Eternal  Triangle,  Freddie  Hubbard  and  Woody  Shaw  
Intuition,  Wallace  Roney  
Angel  Street,  Tony  Williams  
 
1989  
Superblue  (Bobby  Watson,  Roy  Hargrove,  Bill  Pierce  and  Kenny  Washington)  
The  Far  Side,  Tony  Reedus  (recorded  in  1988)  
Garrett  5,  Kenny  Garrett  
A  Higher  Fire,  Monte  Croft  
Rejuvenate!  Ralph  Moore  
Brilliant  Corners,  James  Spaulding  (recorded  in  1988)  
The  Standard  Bearer,  Wallace  Roney  
 
1990  
Communications,  Steve  Nelson  
Footprints,  Toots  Thielemans  (recorded  in  1989)  
Storm  Rising,  Jim  Snidero  
Lotus  Flower,  Woody  Shaw  
 8

Native  Heat,  Tony  Williams  

The  Standard  Bearer,  Wallace  Roney  
 
1991  
Benny  Golson  Quartet  “Live”  (recorded  in  1989)  
Tomas  Franck  in  New  York  
For  the  First  Time,  Antonio  Hart  
One  for  Chuck,  Billy  Pierce  
The  Lure  of  Beauty,  Gary  Smulyan  (recorded  in  1990)  
Horn  of  Passion,  Jesse  Davis  
Evidence,  Vincent  Herring  
Another  Hand,  David  Sanborn  
I  Remember,  Dianne  Reeves  
 
1992  
It  Ain’t  What  it  Was,  Sonny  Fortune  
Six  Pack,  Gary  Burton  and  Friends  
It’s  not  about  the  Melody,  Betty  Carter  
What  Am  I  Here  For?  Harold  Ashby  
Setting  the  Standard,  Dave  Liebman  
New  York  Summit,  Steve  Wilson  
Neptune,  Tony  Williams  
John  Swana  and  Friends  (recorded  in  1991)  
Sam  I  Am,  Sam  Newsome  (recorded  in  1990)  
Six  Pack,  Gary  Burton  and  friends  
 
1993  
Rhythm  Is  my  Business,  Lewis  Nash  
The   Key   Players,   The   Contemporary   Piano   Ensemble   (Mulgrew   Miller,   Harold   Mabern,  
James  Williams  and  Geoff  Keezer)  
Real  Book,  Steve  Swallow  
Jewel,  The  Robert  Watson  Sextet  
 
1994  
Until  we  Love,  Gabrielle  Goodman  
The  Red  and  Orange  Poems,  Gary  Bartz  
Reaching  Up,  Ernie  Watts  
Up  Jumped  Spring,  Benny  Golson  
 
1995  
Moody’s  Party,  James  Moody  
Come  Play  with  Me,  Charles  McPherson  
Live  at  the  Village  Vanguard,  Joe  Lovano  
 
1996  
Benny  Golson  Quartet  
Young  at  Heart,  Tony  Williams  
I  Remember  Miles,  Benny  Golson  
Four  Pianos  for  Phineas,  The  Contemporary  Piano  Ensemble  (recorded  in  1989)  
 9

Live  at  Small’s,  Vol.  1  &  2,  Bill  Mobley  Jazz  Orchestra  
Young  at  Heart,  James  Moody  
New  York  Second  Line,  Terence  Blanchard  and  Donald  Harrison  
 
1997  
Tenor  Legacy,  Joe  Lovano  
Trumpet  Legacy,  Nicholas  Payton,  Lew  Soloff,  Tom  Harrell  and  Eddie  Henderson  
That  Day,  Dianne  Reeves  
 
1998  
Memphis  Piano  Convention  (Mulgrew  Miller,  Donald  Brown  and  Harold  Mabern)  
Astronauta,  Joyce  
Mirrors,  Joe  Chambers  
Serendipity,  Gregory  Tardy  
Classic  Moods,  Ernie  Watts  
Generations,  Steve  Wilson  
Jazz  Masters,  Jerry  Bergonzi  
First  Insight,  Jesse  Davis  
A  Cloud  of  Red  Dust,  Stefon  Harris  
Manhattan  Nocturne,  Charles  McPherson  
 
1999  
New  Beginnings,  Steve  Nelson  (recorded  in  1997)  
Bridges,  Dianne  Reeves  
Just  For  When  You’re  Alone  (compilation)  
Live  at  the  Montreux  Festival  1999,  Buster  Williams  
Freedom’s  Serenade,  Ronald  Muldrow  
Dizzy’s  World,  The  Dizzy  Gillespie  Alumni  Allstars  
 
2000  
Restoration  Comedy,  John  D’Earth  
Promised  Land,  Harold  Land  
How  Can  I  Keep  From  Singing,  René  Marie  
Tribute  to  the  Trumpet  Masters,  Vol.  2,  Bryan  Lynch  
Day  Dream,  Trudy  Kerr  
 
2001  
For  Hamp,  Red,  Bags,  and  Cal,  Gary  Burton  
The  Calling  –  Celebrating  Sarah  Vaughan,  Dianne  Reeves  
Moodsville,  Bennie  Wallace  
Destination  Up,  Jim  Rotondi  
One  Day,  Forever,  Benny  Golson  
Simple  Pleasure,  Vincent  Herring  
Cliffhanger,  Randy  Sandke  (recorded  in  1999)  
Memento,  Rick  Margitza  
My  Marilyn,  David  Klein  
Blue  Black,  Jean  Toussaint  
TNT,  Steve  Turre  
Vertigo,  René  Marie  
 10

 
2002  
In  Blue,  Karrin  Allyson  
The  Best  of  Dianne  Reeves  
 
2003  
State  of  Mind,  Dave  Ellis  (recorded  in  2001)  
The  Golden  Striker,  Ron  Carter  
New  Beginnings,  Terell  Stafford  
Close  to  my  Heart,  Jeremy  Pelt  
 
2004  
Eternal  Journey,  Sean  Jones  
Bush  Dance,  Johnny  Griffin  
The  Spirits  High  Above,  Steve  Turre,  
With  All  My  Heart,  Harvey  Mason  
 
2005  
Gemini,  Sean  Jones  
Dance  Delicioso,  Chris  McNulty  
 
2006  
Count  it    All  Joy,  Lance  Bryant  
Pretty  Blues,  Antoinette  Montague  
Dizzy’s  Business,  Dizzy  Gillespie  All-­‐Star  Big  Band  
The  Survivor,  Donald  Harrison  
Deep  in  a  Dream,  Pierrick  Pedron  
 
2007  
Sound-­‐Effect,  Steve  Nelson  
Moodscape,  Bill  Mobley  
 
2008  
Pass  it  on,  Dave  Holland  
Rainbow  People,  Steve  Turre  
Diaspora,  Ronald  Muldrow  
The  Best  of  Ronald  Muldrow  
 
2009  
Mirages,  Alex  Sipiagin  
The  Lure  of  Beauty,  Jimmy  Knepper  
Live  at  Smalls,  Neal  Smith  
 
2010  
Lineage,  Jerry  Bergonzi  
Motherless  Child,  John  Blake  Jr.  
 
2011  
Bach:  Brandenburg  Concertos  1,  3  and  5,  Benny  Golson’s  New  York  Orchestra  
 11

 
2012  
Live   at   San   Sebastian   –   Golden   Striker   Trio,   Ron   Carter,   Mulgrew   Miller   and   Russel  
Malone  
 
2013  
Pushing  the  World  Away,  Kenny  Garrett  
 
Uncertain  date:  
A  Blast  of  Love  –  Jazz  Currents  
 12

 
 13

 
 14