Dusko Goykovich

Dusko Goykovich was born in Yugoslavia before leaving to pursue his life in jazz in the United States and Europe. Highly regarded for his tone and style, he has recorded prolifically, first with his own bop quartets and quintets and then with his own unique style of Balkan jazz. Most recently, he released "Samba Do Mar," a wonderful set of Latin and Brazilian tunes, with Hungarian gypsy guitarist Ferenc Snetberger. He toured Japan with his latest quartet and took time to talk with Michael Pronko about jazz, a little politics and the development of his own sound.

MP: Where did you hear jazz when growing up?

I was in school in Belgrade after the war. Actually, it was forbidden to hear jazz. They'd say, "You don't like our folk music? You don't like Stalin? Tito? Our music is not good enough for you?" I'd think, "Well you know, I just play trumpet." Jazz was capitalistic American music. I hated Soviet marches and all that shit. The folk music is beautiful, though, and played that in high school. There were no jazz records. The only chance to hear jazz was on the Voice of America radio program. They would play the latest jazz records for one hour every night at midnight. We'd listen and copy a few bars, and hope that maybe a couple days later they'd play it again so we could copy down a few more bars. They had an American library and we could listen to some LPs, and maybe borrow an arrangement to copy from Count Basie or Duke Ellington.

MP: So, jazz was not accepted?

In those days it was really forbidden. You can't imagine. When we were in high school, we went to the cellar of this friend. Unfortunately, the window was broken, so we had to put mattresses over it, so the guys on the street couldn't hear that we were playing jazz. Otherwise, the guy in the next house would report you. We had a few records, and a few friends, but that was it. Then, after Tito broke up with Stalin, they suddenly said, "OK, we want jazz." Jazz came to the radio finally. It showed that we weren't in the eastern bloc anymore.

MP: So, how did you get from the cellar to Berklee?

Everyone was trying to get out of Yugoslavia at that time. In the summertime vacation from school, I said I would like to go two weeks to hear the bands in Munich, to learn something to bring back home and improve the band. That was what I said, but I had to bribe them, of course. They let me have a visa, I went and I didn't go back for ten years. I went to Frankfurt, which was a jazz center, and played in a radio band. There was a Jazz at the Philharmonic tour then through Europe, and these guys knew Frankfurt was a jazz town. So, after the show, all these guys, Dizzy [Gillespie], [Thelonius] Monk, Elvin [Jones], everybody came down to play with us. They just loved to jam. I learned a lot playing with them.

MP: So from there, how did you get to the States?

I went to the Newport Jazz Festival with a youth orchestra in 1958. Those guys there said, "How do you like America, you want to live here?" I said, "Yeah, it's great, I'd like to come back and study." But I forgot about it. A year later, I got a letter from Berklee offering me a scholarship. Wow. Man, the best school in the world for jazz. Dave Brubeck, Voice of America, and Down Beat Magazine had a scholarship for foreign students. When I got that letter, I couldn't believe it. I'm going to the States, I thought, wow, you know. The day I got that letter, I was sitting in a coffee shop with Oscar Pettiford, Art Farmer and Stan Getz. We were jamming late and then went for breakfast. I asked them what they thought. Art said, "Yeah, I think you should go." Stan said, "Yeah." Oscar said, "Yeah, man, go." But I needed a recommendation. So, Stan Getz said, I'm going to write you a recommendation." So, he took the menu, all covered in oil, and started to write, "We think this young man is very talented and should be admitted, signed, Stan Getz." Oscar wrote below that, " Same here, Oscar Pettiford." And Art wrote below that, "I agree, Art Farmer." So, I sent that oily letter with another from Kenny Clarke, and that was good enough. I got the scholarship. I finished up eight semesters in a year and a half. Didn't miss one day.

MP: So, Berklee was a good experience?

That was a great thing. I learned a lot there. I knew how to play in a big band, Radio Cologne, one of the best big bands in Europe, and how to jam and all that, but I wanted to learn composing and arranging. Those days there were not so many colleges like today. Today you have colleges all over the place. Thirty-five years ago, it was Berklee, so I grabbed the chance. The Radio Cologne band was in was the best jazz band in Europe at that time. The bandleader said, "Don't go, stay here, you got a good salary, good music, what do you want to go there for?" But, I really wanted to learn the arranging and composing.

MP: Did you join big bands after Berklee?

During those eighteen months, I got a call from Stan Kenton, Duke Ellington, and Count Basie to join them, but I thought if I left, I would never go back. Finally, I went with Maynard [Ferguson] because he called right after I was finished. I stayed a year and a half with him, and then went to London. I settled in, but the next day, Woody Herman called me. I stayed with him for two years. I went all over the place, from New York to L.A. That was in the 60s, and everyone was alive. It was great. They were beautiful. I wanted to live like a regular American jazz musician. You know, sit in the back of the bus, travel, play, and see places. We even had a State Department tour to see Africa in 1965. They sent us to Africa, Tanzania, Uganda, those places, "black Africa," they called it then, for two and half months.

MP: How did people react to jazz there then?

In those days, the 60s, America was not so welcome in Africa. There were all the revolutionary governments. When we played in Uganda, Idi Amin was sitting there in the first row. We didn't know about him then. One day, we played outside a big music school outside of the city. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, the African sun was incredibly hot in this huge sports field with thousands of people. The stage was in the middle with all of the people completely surrounding it. They opened up to let us in, and then circled in after us. A guy from the embassy, green from the heat, said, "Actually, we don't know how these guys are going to react. They never saw a trumpet or saxophone before, and know nothing about jazz." They came from all these villages and were standing there with their spears. He said, "If they like it, they won't smile, they will go, 'Ha'." And if they don't like it, they'll go 'bu,' so be ready." Woody said, "Don't worry about it, don't worry about it, I've been all over the world." So, Woody had the drummer, Jake Hanna, start with an intense drum solo. We were all waiting. Then they all went "ha." So, we were fine. The state department sent the jazz bands in first to all these places, Africa, Russia and wherever. So, if we survived and came back, then the diplomats could come in, and later the businessman could go.

MP: Now, you have your own big band, too, sometimes?

That big band is just occasional, but it's very interesting. I was in Serbia playing and the promoter said, "Hey the president wants to talk to you." I said, "The president of what?" He said, "The president of Serbia." "What does he want to talk to me about?" "I don't know, he wants to meet you. He loves jazz." I thought we'd have to go to a big office and wait there in a tie and things like that, but he said the president was coming to the jazz club. Half an hour before we're supposed to meet, I see bodyguards in the place walking around checking it out. He sat down and said, "For the 200-year celebration of modern Serbia, I would like you to call the best musicians you know to make a band. We want to show the world we are not just bad Serbs, with only war and killing, but also have music and tradition." I said to him, "If I can speak freely, we jazz musicians very seldom have the chance to speak to politicians, certainly not the president of a state. In my life, I heard all kinds of promises from politicians. Then, after everyone votes and you win, you forget the promises. If you are really serious about an 18-piece band, guys coming from all over, it costs money. So, if you are really serious, write it on a piece of paper, sign it, and then I can do it. Otherwise, it's just talking." He said, "OK. For this, we have money."

MP: So, how did you get the band together?

I picked five or six guys I know from Belgrade, the best musicians I know there, then, I picked up guys from all over Europe, England, Belgium, Italy, Germany, France. I wanted to get an American musician, too and one Japanese, Tomonao Hara. I got it all arranged. So, on the day of the concert, the president comes in, all the attaches, all the ambassadors, everyone, back stage in this huge hall with a huge backstage room. He met all the cats in the band. The funny thing was when I was announcing the cats, this guy from France, this guy from England, I said I have two guys from the States. The year before the States and NATO had been bombing Serbia. I said, "They are not bombers; they are jazz bombers." So these two guys stood up, and everyone went wild. Serbians love jazz, but they do not like being bombed. It took some time to cool off, but they welcomed these guys in the band.

MP: So, Europe must be a great place to live and play jazz?

I've been in Munich 30 years. It's centrally located so I can go all around, three days here, three days there, Sicily, Spain, Holland, Switzerland, Scandinavia. Well, I thought about staying in the States, but to join a really good jazz band, you have to be a bitch. New York is filled with great trumpet players. I come from Europe, so to play with Art Blakey or Horace Silver, I'd have had to wait five years, or until someone dies. And then, with them, you had to play the music they have in the book. I wrote some arrangements for Woody and Maynard's bands, but I wanted to do this thing that I wanted to do. In my head, I had all these melodies and ideas that I could hear. I learned to write it down, but I didn't have a chance to play it or record it, because I was always working for another band. I went back to Europe, so I could get my own quartet or quintet.

MP: That's when you started working on your own sound?

That's when I started the Balkan jazz. As a kid, I'd heard all those melodies from Macedonia, Serbia, very rich music. In those days in the States, you played 4/4 or 3/4, but Balkan music has 5/5 and 7/13 and all these other rhythms. I grew up with that, and I wanted to do that in jazz. I was one of the first to put that rhythm into jazz. A little area like the Balkans, you have all these different influences and all these different nationalities: Rumania, Hungarian, Serbia, turkey, all these countries mixed up in one pot. So many rhythms and so many things, and I realized that this is my music and I want to put it into jazz, this is my music. Today, they call it Balkan jazz. It's even in the encyclopedia. If I had stayed in the States, it would have taken much, much longer. It's a great satisfaction to play in your own style.

MP: So, in Europe you could develop your own sound your own way?

It's my own style, but that's not easy. It takes your whole life to do that. Or maybe I'm slower than some other people. I considered myself a bebop player. Bop, blues, ballads, I loved that. But in between , I wanted to put my own sound. I used to talk with Miles, and he told me that if I really wanted to be a jazz musician, I had to have my own thing. At least your sound and the way you play has to be original. I used to talk with Miles, he didn't talk to everybody, but I think he liked me cause I was the guy from the sticks, the Balkans, you know. Wherever he was playing, I'd go see him. I didn't have two dollars and he'd just bring me in. After I saw him one night, I ran into him the next day in the old Birdland at the bar. I asked him what the name of a song was he played the night before.  He didn't talk much, his voice was not good, but he looked at me and he said, "It's not what you play, man, it's how you play." It took me a long time to realize what he wanted to say. You can play anything, a Swedish folk song, some Spanish music, but you have to play it in your own way.

(Jazznin, October 2004)