Philadelphia's jazz elders riff on the golden times

The walls of Conference Room 310 at WRTI are lined with a gray cushion that dulls sound. To the roomful of elderly jazz musicians who came of age in smoky, boisterous clubs, the acoustics can be challenging.

"I can't hear a thing in this room!" exclaims Morris "Mo" Bailey, stationed in a motorized wheelchair at one end of a conference table, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. Bailey, a 79-year-old saxophonist turned composer, suffers from muscular dystrophy in his legs as well as resentment toward today's radio, which jazz no longer pervades.

"How can you let rap take the place of jazz music?" Bailey asks in a tone of disgust and disbelief.

"That's the problem now," says Thelma Anderson, 83, a short lady with curly gray hair and glasses. "The young people don't have access to hearing jazz."

Anderson, Bailey, and the others around the table - four acclaimed jazz musicians and a radio host - are killing time before their next recording session. In about 45 minutes they'll move across the hall for an informal Q&A, in front of a small studio audience, about 20th-century Philadelphia jazz.

Jazz Bridge, a nonprofit support network for aging musicians, is hosting the event. It's for a segment of We the People, a project of the Pennsylvania Humanities Council focusing on disseminating stories on the American experience. No airdate has yet been set.

Jazz Bridge has assembled a group who honed their musical chops in Philadelphia and played with some of the biggest names in jazz. Bassist Jymie Merritt, 85, jammed with John Coltrane, Lee Morgan, and Benny Golson, and toured with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Larry McKenna, 74, played tenor saxophone for Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, and Johnny Mathis. Drummer Charlie Rice, 91, played at the Downbeat Club in South Philly in the 1940s and 1950s and recorded with Chet Baker. Singer Billy Paul, 75, might be best known for his Grammy Award-winning No. 1 single, "Me and Mrs. Jones."

It's a rare opportunity for this bunch of Philly jazz stalwarts to reconnect. Conversation bounces back and forth between laments over what the old heads call an erosion of jazz culture and memories of the musicians who made Philadelphia a rich scene.

"You don't have the musicians like you used to," says Paul, his voice deep and raspy. "We got in the basement and jammed and it wasn't about no money. There's no unity amongst the young musicians today."

Fifteen minutes to showtime. Suzanne Cloud, Jazz Bridge executive director, enters the room to brief the group. "Listen up, everybody. We only get one shot at this, so I really need you to not talk over each other," says Cloud, a jazz advocate and musician who is coordinating the event. "When someone is telling a story, even if you think the person is telling it wrong, let them finish before you speak. OK?"

The panelists nod in affirmation. For men who carved out their livings as free-stylists, playing off one another's vibes, structure isn't natural.

"I'll be back in five minutes, and then we'll all go over," Cloud says.

The conversation turns back to former jazzmen.

"He was on my first record."

"He was a bad cat."

"He went to Florida?"

At 1:59 p.m. Cloud ushers the group down the hall into a larger room and arranges them side-by-side in chairs facing about 40 audience members. Bob Perkins, 77, veteran radio host and jazz lover, facilitates the discussion, calling on each speaker in turn.

They reminisce about old times, when hard bop spilled onto the sidewalks from clubs lining South Street and Columbia Avenue (now Cecil B. Moore Avenue).

Paul, who cut his first record, Feelin' Good at the Cadillac Club, in 1968 in one 31/2- hour studio session, is still making a living with music. He tours mainly in Europe, North Africa, and parts of Asia. (One of his favorite countries to perform in is Tunisia, he says, because of its scenery and support of jazz.)

Perkins says Paul's touring overseas is a shame "because no American should have to go to Europe or the Far East to make a name for himself or keep his name or her name alive and to make a living, when the music was founded right here."

Cameramen stationed on each side of the audience document the event. A third cameraman, Jason Fifield, stands in front of them, training his lens on each speaker.

Fifield, 39, has been shooting interviews and performances with jazz musicians old and young alike in Philadelphia for nearly seven years. Assembling a feature-length film that does the jazz scene justice - his ultimate goal - is proving harder than he once thought. The subject is just too big. In that time, he says, he's "barely scratched the surface."

There's no dispute that only the barest traces remain of the city's once-proud jazz scene of 50 years ago - even with the planned reopening of Ortlieb's Jazzhaus in Northern Liberties. But Fifield disagrees that the music itself is in decline. He's seen young people all over the city playing it. They learn from music teachers and YouTube clips of the greats in action.

It's not the same environment that nurtured the jazz revolution, an era idealized in the minds of those who were there, Fifield says. Perkins recalls it being much more person-to-person, listening and learning, longer stretches of concentration with less competition for attention.

"We used to go down to the basement and listen to a stack of 331/3s for 11/2 hours - just listen, and study the music," Perkins recalls. "That was a half-century ago. No one would do that today. The attention span isn't there. The cell phone would ring."

But alongside the criticism is a certain gratitude for having lived a life of music. At one point, Bailey says, "I've had a good time. Not a rich man, but I've had a good livin' with jazz, and I respect everybody here."

To hear some Philly jazz musicians reminisce about playing here, go to www.philly.com/phillyjazzstoriesEndText