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September 21 will mark twenty-two years since the world of music was deprived of one of its brightest talents.
One of my favorite videos of Jaco Pastorius has the jazz bassist playing at Japan’s “Live Under the Sky” music festival, 1984. Here, Pastorius fronts Gil Evans’ orchestra in a typically manic performance. The video contains exactly two compositions: “Soul Intro./The Chicken” and “Amerika” (YouTube video at left)—the latter his take on “America, The Beautiful.” He plays his trademark fretless 1962 Fender Electric Jazz bass—nicknamed “The Bass of Doom”—and is unusually, for this period, brilliant. On close-up, you can see every scratch, ding and chip, places where the sunburst finish has been rubbed off (Jaco was notoriously careless with his instrument). But if you look closer, you see evidence of a well-worn life, beginning to come apart at the seams: homeless spells; drug use; bouts with mental illness that placed him in mental health facilities, and at odds with family, friends and nightclub owners. A tired man, shortly to be called home.
Pastorius was reportedly “discovered” by Blood, Sweat and Tears drummer Bobby Columby, employed as headhunter for CBS records’ jazz division in 1975. In 1976, Pastorius released his self-titled debut: it was immediately acclaimed a classic. Guest appearances on other industry heavyweights’ albums, and casual meetings with keyboardist Joe Zawinul led “Papa Joe” to bring Jaco into the jazz-fusion supergroup Weather Report, filling the vacancy left when bassist Alphonso Johnson left the group.
Pastorius’ run with Weather Report lasted until 1982, and had Pastorius working alongside multi-talented Weather Report co-founders Zawinul and saxophonist Wayne Shorter on albums like Black Market and the Grammy-nominated Heavy Weather. Jaco’s opening melody statement on the Zawinul composition “Cannonball”—a tribute to Zawinul’s mentor Julian “Cannonball” Adderly—introduced the larger world of music to Pastorius’ unique sound: a blend of jazz, funk, tropicalia and the occasional punk rock flourish—the “Jaco growl.”
By 1982, Pastorius was off forming his next venture—the fusion big band Word of Mouth. Rumors of bizarre, confrontational behavior followed him home after his Japan trip. Dropped by Warner Brothers in 1984, and with the disintegration of his band under way, Jaco was often relegated to playing on instructional videos (see second link). Tales of haunting behavior became the norm. A fellow musician remembers seeing Jaco at Greenwich Village’s West 4th Street basketball court, where he often slept and panhandled:
“His hair was all greasy and stringy, like he hadn’t slept or taken a bath in days. It was hot but he was wearing a sweater and a heavy coat. His face was full of cuts and one eye was blackened. He had obviously been beaten up. He was sitting with his head hung down, kind of hovering over this little boom box playing Heavy Weather.”
Involuntary commitments to psychiatric hospitals soon followed. In a hopeful mood, Jaco returned to Fort Lauderdale—the scene of earlier promise. On September 12, 1987, he attempted to enter the “Midnight Bottle,” a local nightclub from which he had been previously barred, and was beaten unconscious by club bouncer and martial artist Luc Havan. Pastorius died on September 21, 1987—he was 35. Havan was charged with second degree murder, and served four months in prison for his crime.
Like most hard-living, hard-falling celebrities, a sort of death cult has eclipsed much of Jaco’s musical legacy. Copies of his famous instrument, manufactured in exacting detail, down to his signature distressed look and feel, are sold on websites like the relics of a saint. Friend and fellow guitarist Pat Metheny characterized this morbid fascination, heard and seen in “endless bootlegs of late-life gigs do nothing but devalue the importance of his message through greed and overkill…a mythology that seems to thrive on the stories that surrounded the lesser aspects of his lifestyle.” Still, Metheny reminds us, “you put on” his music and “none of that matters.” A close listening to “Continuum,” “Donna Lee,” “Three Views of a Secret” and “Portrait of Tracy”—now standards—tell you “everything you need to know about the guy.”
Do yourself a favor, and try Metheny’s cure sometime soon.