A Final Bow for Eddie Alberts

This week we are mourning the passing of Eddie Alberts, whose life ended just shy of his 89^th birthday.  He was a close friend of my family’s, the step-father of a high school classmate, and one of my favorite people in the world.

Eddie came into my life early in my high school days while my father was chasing one of his lifelong dreams.  Trained as a classical violinist, my father loved jazz and big band music.  Somehow—the details are unclear to me now—he met a group of like-minded musicians that enjoyed jamming together.  Badly in need of a bass player, they invited my father to join them if he could solve their low-registered dilemma.  Dad purchased a second hand bass and amplifier, then spent an entire day teaching himself to play.  He blasted the stereo and played along with an oldies station until he could fashion his bass lines to fit to the harmonic structures he heard in his ears. The next night, this group of musicians met at our home and jammed late into the night--a tradition that would carry on for decades to come.  It was a new persona for my dad; the stiff disciplinarian with conservative values was suddenly mellow, emitting a blue-toned cool.

Among this group was Hobie, the clarinetist, a city councilman from a nearby district, Paul, on drums, a prominent dentist and father to my school’s honor society president, and Eddie, the pianist, then an owner of a haberdashery.  It was Eddie who took my breath away.

Eddie was a classically trained musical genius, a perfect-pitched virtuoso with double degrees from a prestigious conservatory who could lay down proper Bach one moment and improvise away some Dave Brubeck the next.  His ear for harmony was equally matched to his piano technique.   Even as he aged, his fingers never lost their ability to dazzle at the keyboard.  I loved to play for him the classical masterpieces that I was learning.  On Sunday evenings, I would perch myself at the piano anticipating his arrival, working out some passage in the hope that he would hear it as he approached our front door.  “Ah,” he would moan with delight, identifying the piece by opus number as he entered, “I haven’t heard that in years.”  After I relinquished the bench to him, he would sit down and play the same passage perfectly--a pianistic sleight of hand effortlessly accomplished.

Switching seamlessly from classical to jazz, Eddie took the lead in the group, pulling liberally from Dave Brubeck (Take Five was a favorite), Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Duke Ellington--transporting them all to new harmonic planes.  If there is one piece I regard as Eddie’s signature it was his incredible rendition of Toots Thielemans’ sparkling jazz classic “Bluesette”.   Its beautiful melody is an apt platform for improvisation; in Eddie’s hands it was a well-schooled lesson on harmonic manipulation and melodic riff.   His gifted ear loved to chase his technical limits, producing understated elegance in infinite shades of indigo.

Over the years, the members of this original group came and went, but Eddie was always its anchor—the harmonic spark that ignited a dazzling musical flame.  Until last week, he was the last surviving member of that wonderful ensemble.  I imagine that my dear dad has been waiting with Hobie and Paul to welcome Eddie, an ethereal Steinway standing tuned for his arrival.  Now they may resume their jam session for all eternity.