John Young

John Young

Date Posted: August 01 2008

Written By: John Bany

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Remembering John Young

By John Bany

I worked with pianist "Young" John Young quite regularly for over twenty-five years, starting in 1978 at Rick’s Café Americain, backing various artists two weeks at a time, five nights a week. The drummer for these engagements was always Barrett Deems. Barrett's birthday was on March 1; John's was on March 16. Every year, John would send Barrett a card with five dollars in it, and then Barrett would send it right back in a card for "Young" John!

We backed Buck Clayton, Scott Hamilton, my moldy fig soul mate (a "moldy fig" is a younger musician that prefers and specializes in an older style of music), and Joe Venuti. Joe was seventy-three or seventy-four, had been around the block a thousand times, and had seen it all and then some. The normally obstreperous Barrett sat quietly at attention when Joe was on the bandstand. Joe’s great respect and fondness for John was obvious.

During Joe's stay in Chicago, the four of us went into Curtis Mayfield’s studio to do some things Joe said he always wanted to get recorded. Among the compositions Joe selected was John Young's signature piece, "The Love Theme from Spartacus." That Joe chose to record that piece was the ultimate compliment to John and gives a deeper meaning to the word "poignant."

For years my group, The Men of Note (Eddie Johnson, tenor; Ryan Shultz, bass trumpet; Charlie Braugham, drums; John Young and me on bass), appeared Tuesdays at Andy’s, and we always ended the night with "The Love Theme from Spartacus." The waitresses always requested it, as did customers who knew about John. John, along with Greg Fishman and my son, Martin, are on the only album under my own name, John Bany Sings, But Not Enough to Hurt His Playing.

In August of '95, during one of Chicago's deadliest heat waves, my son Martin and I and John Young played out on Navy Pier—out in the open, no shade—from about noon to four, two days in a row. My good buddy Steve Hashimoto was there with his band both days. Both days were over 100 degrees, and we did sunscreen and lots of water. Martin, twenty-four at the time, really had me worried. After unloading and setting up the drums, he already looked red and overheated.

I was out front on the mic, wearing my David Gage stick bass. I turned around and looked at Martin—he looked terrible. Then I looked back at John, seventy-three at the time, with his trademark white polo cap on his head, just as cool as the proverbial cucumber: calm, cool, collected, and smiling that wonderful, sweet smile. He was playing on a tiny electric piano—he could really make that little thing swing! John's demeanor helped my son and I both get through those two days.

One time, John had to be in the hospital (Rush North Shore in Skokie) and I visited him every day he was there. His wife, Jessie, formerly a nurse herself, was there every day. She is as sweet and soft-spoken as John. What an inspirational pair! Hospitals make me nervous. John and Jessie were both serene and relaxed. Being there with them, I felt good. The adage "familiarity breeds contempt" is often true, but not with Jessie. I remember watching her watching John with Von Freeman at Andy's on a Saturday night and thinking, "She's still acutely aware, as she always must have been, how exceptionally gifted and deeply talented John is. She knows he's truly one of the greatest of the great musicians."

I got to know the great drummer Marshall Thompson (mostly while playing with Eddie Higgins) and I said, "When I grow up, I want to be just like Marshall." After knowing John, I changed it to, "When I grow up (emotionally and spiritually), I want to be just like Marshall Thompson and John Young."

John suffered a pinched sciatic nerve, which caused him extreme pain. Over the years, he would never complain. But it kept getting worse—his walking became slower and more labored. One night, not too long before our tenure at Andy's ended, John was having a more-difficult-than-usual time of it. I asked, "John, are you feeling okay?" He replied, "I've been better." That worried me—it was the most I'd ever heard him complain.

John was the only piano player who didn't complain about the durable but difficult old Knabe piano at Andy’s.

The owners, Dick and Scotty, both had exceptional "street smarts," and knew the club needed a tough "Mack Truck" of a piano to endure the pounding it would get three times a day, every day!

I knew a few very fine pianists who wouldn't take a job there because of it. John would glide and float over the keys with his incredible light touch and never complain. (I'm sure Andy's would appreciate my adding that they have acquired a beautiful Yamaha grand—previously at Pops For Champagne—that all the piano players love.)

John played with the deepest of musical knowledge, of emotion and spirit, and with humor. His paraphrasing was witty and sharp, and came from out of nowhere. John would be only four-bars into the first set and you’d hear his unmistakable laugh.

You can still hear John in his earlier days on the wonderful vintage jukebox at the Green Mill. Many of us can still hear John in our heads, and always will. He was so dearly loved by all who knew him and will, therefore, be so dearly missed.

Other musicians feel the same way about John Young as I do:

Charlie Braugham: During the 1990s and early 2000s I was afforded the opportunity of performing in ensembles with John Young. His mastery enabled me to feel as good as I ever have in fifty years of trying to play music. Knowing John Young is a privilege I'll treasure always.

Eric Schneider: I first heard John Young at the Jazz Showcase when it was at the North Park Hotel. His style was idiosyncratic in the best possible way. No one sounded like John and John sounded like no one else, but those who know their jazz history should hear the heavy influence of Earl Fatha’ Hines. He sometimes would play a snippet of Fatha’s early theme, "Deep Forest," and wink at me. He swung like hell and was an ideal accompanist for the likes of Gene Ammons, Sonny Stitt, Dexter Gordon, "Lockjaw" Davis, et al.

Many years later I had the privilege and pleasure of having John in my group at Andy's, with either Eddie Johnson or Von Freeman, and later, Greg Fishman. Even on the rare occasion when the bassist or drummer sent a swing-proof sub, John still sounded great. Some of the best John Young committed to posterity was recorded by Harry Porterfield. Beg, borrow or steal a copy of that recording—it’s the essence of "Young" John Young. He was remarkably consistent. He was a beautiful, unique human being, and his playing and spirituality are sorely missed.

Greg Fishman: John Young was not only a world-class pianist with an original style, but he was also a fantastic human being. I'll always treasure my memories of playing with him. I learned much from him on the bandstand by the example he set musically. Also, he was a true master in the studio. Take after take, he was consistently brilliant.

On breaks during gigs, John would often tell me stories of the old days, and of playing with Sonny Stitt, Ben Webster, and countless other jazz greats. John came to every gig with a smile on his face, and ready to play and enjoy the music. In three years of working with him, I never heard him have an off night, nor say a bad word about anyone. I'll miss him dearly.

Tommy Muellner: I've had the distinct pleasure of listening to many live performances of the great "Young" John Young over the years. John was one of the finest jazz pianists in the world, and he never ceased to amaze me! We’re lucky to have called him "Chicago’s own." Bob Cranshaw (long time bassist with Sonny Rollins) once commented that he learned everything he knows from John Young. It's also been said that Ahmad Jamal learned a whole lot from him as well. And, of course, there’s no doubt that John certainly influenced many prominent Chicago pianists and musicians.

Not only was John a marvelous pianist and improviser, but a real "sweetheart" as well. John was one of the great "laid back" pianists, the likes of Barry Harris, Tommy Flanagan, Hank Jones, Ahmad Jamal, and others.

He said more in one chorus than most, by simply playing less. One time I was sitting in on a couple tunes at one of John Bany’s jam sessions, and when I walked off the bandstand John Young said, "I knew I should have had your fingers broken a long time ago!" He was just being the nice "cat" that he always was, but coming from someone of John’s enormous stature it sure meant a lot to me. In a world often filled with chaos and din, I'm very thankful to have heard the "melodicism" of John Young!

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