Jaco and I
by Jeroen Jansen
I never knew Jaco personally. Nor did he know me. He died on September 21st 1987, ending a life full of discrepancies which was bound to be taken out by a blow. The demise of a great musician and a great human being shortly filled the sidelines of the newspapers. I have them in my hands right now: short stories, pretty straightforward obituaries, the thing you read and forget about in an instant. Only a couple of bass magazines spent some articles on him, but who reads bass magazines?
I for one didn't. And I'm almost positive that I didn't notice anything in the newspapers that day. I suspect that I was struggling through the first month of the second High School Year on that 21st day of September, 1987. I was quite a good student at that time, floating between the nerds and the moderately popular people. I wrote in my diary about the hierarchy in my class, and gave every student a specific description. Gone was my diary and for a short while people looked at me differently. Some fellow students were clearly shocked, took a distance and placed me in the category of the not so acne-free nerds. I had a good sense of humor though, which took me through these years with considerable ease. But that was about it: I was anonymous as far as most students around me were concerned. I think I started taking drama lessons around that time, but I'm not quite sure. I do know that music fascinated me, in a non prolific way. Anyway, I didn't know Jaco and Jaco didn't know me personally, and he sure didn't miss a thing.
I can admit now that my so called love for Jazz at the end of the high-school time was in a large extent driven by a serious sense of snobbishness. Laziness was another factor though. I could have spent all my spare time on learning to play an instrument, no big deal. After all musicians are so much closer to the music world and have a much higher status than us, simple music collectors. The best thing to do was to learn an instrument quickly, preferably a sexy instrument like the guitar or the saxophone. But no, I didn't do anything and instead chose to get active with all sorts of marginal musical activities, such as announcing the local school band, writing an article once in while and fool around with audio tapes. I started listening to Jazz around 1989 (holiday in Austria with Dave Brubeck on board) and around the time I did my final exams I was quite an accomplished figure in the local jazz scene. The scene as in: my high school in the rural town of Hengelo. It didn't add up to anything, but I hung in there with some serious name dropping!
A lot of fans of Jaco describe their first encounter with Jaco's music as some sort of mental blow, comparable with the impact of a meteorite. Amazement, dismay, but also frustrations storm through their heads, there is also this myth that several bassists threw their instrument out of the window when they first heard Jaco play Donna Lee. My first encounter went differently though: Jaco crawled inside my head, stayed there in all silence a couple of years and then started tearing it up inside of me. Anyone who saw Schwarzenegger's Total Recall knows what I'm talking about: that bug that enters Arnold's nose? That was Jaco, playing Port of Entry in Jochem Ploegmakers fathers' Citroen BX on the way to Gronau in Germany. I felt a slight tingle but that was about it. His bass sounds (did I know I was listening to a bass guitarist?) found a comfortable place inside my head and stayed there for a couple of years. Jaco was inside my head, but I was listening to Coltrane, Monk and Dolphy.
And then there was Weather Report. Better said: the record collection of a befriended primary school teacher. Monk and Coltrane were swept away by Joe's beeps and Wayne's growls. Their music was soooo seventies, it might have sounded even more dated that Monk's Ruby my Dear or Coltrane's The Inch Worm. Who listens to Weather Report anyway? Except for my friend the primary school, no one, so I thought. Was this discovery the ultimate in snobbishness, or was this musical enjoyment in his purest form? Both I guess, but the fact is that all these sixteen records hit me right in the face. No trace of Jaco though, he was still buzzing peacefully inside my head.
It is 1994. Jaco has been dead now for seven years and somewhere on this planet a light switch is turned on. In my head to be specific. I've been listening to Weather Report for three years now. Dumb as I am, it finally begins to dawn why I have been listening to Port of Entry and Black Market almost in a manic way. It's Jaco. Jaco Pastorius……my bass playing friend Jochem always pronounced his name with a certain sense of solemnity. Jaco sat on the highest throne as far as he was concerned. He did try to explain that to me, but musicians can't explain anything of their thoughts to music lovers, it's just impossible, two different languages. So it slipped out of my ears and I forgot about Jaco altogether.
But Jochem was right, three years later I found that out. I completely got lost in Jaco's music. It was so difficult to find anything substantial in terms of his music, but with unheard doses of fanaticism I found the material I was looking for. Internet had arrived on the scene, and I started e-mailing with other Jaco-philes from all over the globe. I guess that Tom Stroud, the creator of the first serious Jaco website, wondered about the perseverance of that annoying Dutch Jaco fan. I kept sending him e-mails, until he finally responded. The ultimate was the mentioning of my name on his website, as a thank you for handing him some irrelevant Jaco fact I just found out about. No one could stop me in my efforts to be a part of that crazy Jaco scene. I discovered a drive inside of me that I hadn't known about.
I got to know Philippe van Haver, Marco Piretti, Thomas Kober, Örjan Byström, John Sanna and Len Pogost. Whereas in real life my shyness obstructs me to make friends with other people, internet made me overcome my fear to talk to these serious Jaco fans. Was there anything I had to offer to them? I don't think so, but to my own amazement I was tolerated. This had nothing to do with snobbishness anymore; this had everything to do with a true passion for Jaco's music. I hit the jackpot though when Ingrid Pastorius allowed me to send her some mails. What the f…, I'm talking to Jaco's widow…..what on earth is happening?? What started out as a sensation driven thing turned into a warm friendship, several visits to Florida and a participation in Modeste's Jaco festival. I drive through Fort Lauderdale with Jaco friends Jeroen and Örjan, looking for Jaco spots. I drive, Jeroen reads the biography and Örjan looks out for the spots. Perfectly normal stuff for me. Bassists visit me and I exchange bootlegs for some live played Jaco tunes in my living room. I drag my wife to Brazil to visit Jaco friend Atila, with whom I honor Jaco by listening to his music all through the night. I get carried in away in all kinds of furious hormone driven discussions about Jaco on the internet, I curse one fan and praise the other. Why do I participate in these kinds of discussions, is there anyone out there that is actually interested what I have to say? Of course not, but I can't stop doing this. It remains bizarre, nothing of these actions reminds me of the person I thought I was….
What is it that Jaco does to me? I listen to his music, read the stories about his life, visit his family and I feel at home. Three months go by without listening to Jaco, but just a hint of his singing fretless bass sound gives me that warm glowing feeling. Why do I keep talking to all these Jaco buddies from all over the world, when the truth probably is that we don't have that much in common? Well the truth might be that we actually do share a lot. Why do I get goose bumps when Ingrid shows me a postcard of Jaco where he says hello to her in Dutch? Why do I think that that postcard is saying hello to me as well? Isn't that a bit bizarre? I don't know. Do you have to meet each other to have the feeling that you personally know someone? I doubt it. Someone who has that much of an impact on your life, and gives you so much happiness…….how can he not be a friend of mine?
I guess the best thing is to stop trying to explain everything and be glad you were touched by someone very special.
Yes, Jaco is a friend of mine. And I don't miss him, because he is present in everything I do.
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