Road Burn
Charlie Hunter Has Got the Groove, and Won't Hesitate to Take It on the Road
by Dan Ouellette
photos by Michael Weintrob

Charlie Hunter is preparing to go mobile. Again. It's mid-summer, and the guitarist finds himself at home for a Brooklyn minute, taking a breather from a European tour and setting his sights on an upcoming string of domestic dates. So he parks for two days-long enough to walk the dog a few times around the block, maybe take a jog through Prospect Park, squeeze in an hour of percussion practice on two tambourine-like pandeiros he bought in Brazil, track down a new novel and retrieve two amps getting tune-ups after a recent road beating. With time at a premium, we opt for a conversation in motion-one that starts at his Park Slope home, carries on during a stroll to the Bergen Street subway station and continues aboard a D-line train that heads into the East Village, where his amps rest in rehab.

"I need to get a good tone from them for the tour. I'm a stickler for intonation," says the 32-year-old Hunter, who has used his combo bass-rhythm-lead eight-string guitar as the keystone of a career that has not only increased in popularity but also matured artistically.

Once pegged as a mover-and-shaker on San Francisco's early- '90s hip-bop/new-jazz scene, Hunter has successfully steered clear of ruts and dead-ends. While keeping the groove element deep and funky, he's charted a more expansive musical course- developing an acute sense of lyricism and, as evidenced in his striking balladry, a passionate romanticism.

The road's been a factor. On both commercial and creative counts, pounding the pavement for tens of thousands of miles for the last decade has paid off. Sure, he's got a major label recording deal (his latest se1f-titled album is his sixth for Blue Note and seventh overall), but touring-for better and for worse-rules. "Traveling is my bread and butter," he says. "It's the only way I make it. Early on, I established an audience for myself and I try to go out and give them the best music possible, to bring a different kind of music into their day-to-day lives."

Off the train and onto the street Dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, Hunter leads the way under the blistering afternoon sun into the air-conditioned oasis of Tubesville, where owner Blackie Pagano has the amps ready to go. "Hey, Charlie, I love your album," says the tattoos-and-{:hains Pagano, while recommending that he try switching the settings on one box to reverb. "I listened to it and it's very cool and atmospheric, hip while at the same time so old-school."

"That's me: old school/old fool," jokes Hunter, who lugs the heavier of the two tube amps out of the shop in search of a taxi. There's nothing yellow in sight. We walk up to the corner of Ludlow and Houston and set up watch in front of Katz's Delicatessen. Before a ride materializes, Hunter gabs with a guy from a nearby guitar shop who thinks he may have the right- sized bridge pieces for his axe (turns out he doesn't), then runs into a drummer who was on the Lollapalooza-like "Big Day Out" tour they both participated in some 10 years ago.

"I was in the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy back then and traveled on that giant package tour. It was pretty insane," Hunter says after we finally flag a cab, deposit the heavy load in the trunk and hop in for the Brooklyn return.

A great story teller with a quick wit and pronounced sense of humor, Hunter has told me plenty of other road warrior tales over the years-including his childhood days when his mom bundled him and his sister into a bus for a four-year magi- cal mystery tour, his post-high school street-performer gigs in Europe, his Hiphoprisy adventure opening for pop superstars U2 where the headliners had deluxe transit while the support act of agit-rapsters (he was the band bassist) got the scrub treatment, and his own exhausting continent-crossing van jaunts as leader.

"I guess traveling is in my blood," says Hunter, who remark- ably looks the same as when I first met him eight years ago: a brawny, trim physique more the body build of a beefy construction worker than a musician; close-cropped, dark and curly hair; and a thin stirrup of beard that loops from his sideburns to his chin. "I didn't wear shoes until I was 8 years old because my mom was into that crazy hippie thing with the bus-being on the road, stopping at communes, selling blood, playing spoons on the street for spare change, stealing newspapers."

Even when they first moved to Berkeley, they lived a hardscrabble existence on the bus. "1 can remember me and my best friend Gabriel Butterfield-the blues guy Paul Butterfield's son-haunting the recycling center, hunting for deposit bottles, then getting money to see a movie at the UC Theater and buy some treats." The family road trip ended in Berkeley-the university town across the bay from San Francisco that was a hotbed of musical populism. A few years ago in a -conversation at his Berkeley home, Hunter told me that his youthful days were seminal in forging his artistic vision: "Growing up here, we were exposed to all kinds of music, from the Dead Kennedys and Parliament/Funkadelic to Art Blakey. In the Bay Area you have so many different cultures living together. It all gets semi-assimilated into a nonpolarized type of existence where hybridization of music is possible. There are so many genres and vibes to work with. That's what makes the music here so special."

Hunter, who got his first guitar at 10, immersed himself in tunes from the '60s to the mid '70s early on. A music omni- vore, he listened to everything, regardless of stylistic bulwarks. He gravitated to the soul music of Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye. He burned through a rock phase that made him a lifetime fan of Jimi Hendrix. And he still treasures the old blues records by Muddy Waters, Little Walter and Buddy Guy that his mother listened to. After ear-opening exposure to Charlie Christian and Charlie Parker at 18, he dug in and got dangerous, focusing on technique and dedicating himself to transcribing their solos on guitar.

Given that hometown Berkeley High's esteemed jazz program at the time was churning out future stars (including Joshua Redman and earlier alums Peter Apfelbaum and Benny Green, among others), it would make perfect sense imagining Hunter in the practice room riffing away with the others. Guess again. "I just barely made it to school each day because I was playing in all these Motown, reggae and blues bands in bars every night, " he says, noting that he also formed his own rockabilly band called the Grease Monkeys. "I was a naughty kid who went through that crazy, angst-driven hysteria a lot of teenagers experience. Because I was from a low-income family, I was tracked into the lowest level of academic classes. You didn't get a chance to develop much self-esteem there, so I decided to focus on something that made me feel good. I graduated by the skin of my teeth."

Having schooled himself in the genre-bending basics, Hunter assimilated it all and in his mid-2Os came up with a distinctive roiling-chunky-funky blend of urban jazz. This high-energy and improvisationally sharp music proved immensely appealing to the younger generation who packed into San Francisco neighborhood hangs like the Elbo Room and night spots like the Up and Down Club that catered to the burgeoning Post- post-bop scene.

Most of the people who came to see his bands-first his guitar-sax-drum outfit, then his twin-sax quartet as well as the three-guitar T.]. Kirk attack squad-were in their 2Os. Of course, jazz pundits convened and argued: Is Hunter retreading the pop-jazz '7Os or is he on to something new? And, do we really want all these young kids dancing in the clubs?

Nonplussed, Hunter shrugged it off, covered Mingus ("Fables Of Faubus") and titled one of his earlier groove creations "Dance Of The Jazz Fascists." Both appeared on his maiden voyage, the 1993 Charlie Hunter Trio album, featuring saxophonist Dave Ellis and drummer Jay Lane, released on pop imprint Prawn Song/Mammoth.

The band, already a continental roadrunner, was invited to join two l.ollapalooza alt-rock tours where grunge fans told the leader they hated jazz, but loved their music. It didn't hurt that the trio had put its own twist on the Kurt Cobain tune "Come As You Are" that showed up on its 1995 Blue Note debut, Ring, Ring, Ring! At the time Hunter said, "Guys who love guitar relate to me. One said, 'You shred way more than my favorite metal dudes.' We're seeing young people have a whole new attitude toward jazz." Why? 'They're probably tired of M1V beating up on them and cramming corporate music down their throats."

Charlie kept kicking out the jams throughout the '90s. He recorded a pair of T. J. Kirk albums for Warner Bros. (a now-dormant project that brilliantly wed the music of Thelonious Monk, James Brown and Rahsaan Roland Kirk.) And he kept up a steady flow of Blue Note releases: 1996's Ready...Set...Shango!, the 1997 Natty Dread covers series disc, 1998's Return Of The Candyman with his group Pound For Pound and last year's Duo with drummer /percussionist Leon Parker. ..~at distinguishes Hunter from ..other working musicians his age is that he's consistently played by a change-of-pace philosophy, putting a varia- tion on the theme each outing. Instead of serving up a mesmerism of grooves, he shakes it up like a major league hurler who first delivers a hard one right down the pike, then a slow curve that's followed by a wobbly knuckleball, then a cut fast- ball that's not overpowering or flashy, but effective. Hunter's sound colors have mor- phed as configuration and instrumentation have altered.

After putting his horn section on hiatus (the sax chairs filled over the years by Ellis, Calder Spanier and Kenny Brooks) and changing drummers (Scott Amendola came aboard) , Hunter went for anew , polyrhythmic sound on Return Of The Candyman by enlisting vibes ace Stefon Harris and Latin percussionist John Santos. After that he stripped down to a duo setting (drum and guitar), then for the latest brought back the brass (saxophone with trombone) and added two other percussionists.

"Hey, I'm growing musically," he says while we're stuck in traffic as we reenter Brooklyn. "I'm letting it grow where it's supposed to go naturally. Lucky me. Unlike some of my friends who are in the pop music world, I can grow where I want My next record isn't predicated by the sales of the previous." Hunter's muse led him to New York in 1998. Several years ago when I asked Charlie if he'd ever leave the Bay Area for the Big Apple, he scowled. "No way. Why should I go there, pay a lot of rent money to live in a closet, and be miserable?" I remind him of that statement. "Well, I grew up and became a man," he says with an exuberant laugh. "It was definitely a hard move, but I'm glad I did it I've met so many inspiring people here that I feel like a kid again when I was first learning how to play the guitar."

His was a classic case of small town vs. big city. "When I was in the Bay Area, I felt that if I wanted something to happen I was the one who had to generate my own wave to surf. In New York there are a lot of waves. You can just relax and then catch the wave you want to ride. If I had stayed in the Bay Area, I would have eventually drowned."

So far, Hunter is in peak swimming form. His first recording after the move was Duo with Parker, followed by Charlie Hunter. On the latter, unlike earlier records, he plays in a variety of settings, ranging from solo to sextet For the first time since Natty Dread, the brass is back (on four tracks, with tenor saxophonist Peter Apfelbaum and trombonist Josh Roseman) while percussion continues to playa leading role (a three-man rhythm team joins him on three tracks) .Returning to the scene is Parker, who Hunter cites as a simpatico spirit They perform as a duo three times-remarkably so on the rousing rendition of Monk's "Epistrophy" and the soulful" Al Green."

Hunter takes liberties to play more expansively on guitar and bookends the disc with two beauties: the juicy groove original "Rendezvous Avec La Verite" and the sumptuous solo interpretation of Donny Hathaway's hit "Someday We1l All Be Free." It's a show-stopper of beauty and tenderness. It reminds me of the night I saw Hunter and Parker play in New York last year, when the pair slowed the pace down for a stunning version of the ballad "You Don't Know What Love Is."

What's next? "I've been wanting to get a singer for awhile," Hunter says. "That per- son could play for part of the set, then also improvise with the band." He doesn't have anyone in mind at the moment, but he lists qualities as if he's thought about taking out a personnel ad: "I'm looking for someone who's got a nice tone to their vocals, can sing rhythmically, can write lyrics. I want to compose some original music with vocals. That's where I'm heading."

At one point a few years ago, Hunter dreamed aloud about recording an album with a fun cast of singers. Is that around the next bend? Maybe, he says. Is there a wish list? He refuses to go on the record about that. But the clues aren't that difficult to find. Earlier this year he showed up on r&b singer D'Angelo's CD Voodoo (Hunter even shares co-writing credit on two tunes) , and recently he shared a few double bills with Kurt Elling where the label-mate vocalist joined the band for a couple of tunes. Not a bad start if they come on board. But as the taxi inches down Seventh Avenue toward his house, Hunter says that for now he's intent on getting maximum mileage out of his latest CD- which means more cities and dates, more van rentals and hotel rooms. "1 have that nomadic streak in me, but I also like being home," he says. "But the reality is, since I'll probably never make a cent off the sales of my records, I have to tour to make enough money to pay the rent."

And what about the hypothetical future when the road becomes a less appealing place? 'The whole idea is playing better gigs for more money so you can tour less," he says. "But I don't have expensive tastes, I don't spend a lot of money, I don't live beyond my means. And for now, it's important to me to play a lot, to see my fans, to keep moving."

We end our conversation on the subject of books. Hunter is a voracious reader. He cites two of his recent favorites: Cryptonomicon, an epic 918-page novel by Neal Stephenson about the links between World War II cryptographers and today's computer hackers, and Russell Banks' latest, Cloudsplitter, a piece of historical fiction on John Brown told from the point of view of the 19th- century abolitionist's brother. Hunter had told me, "I like being in control of my own destiny," in talking about the rigors of making it as a musician in a culture that values profit over art. I can't help thinking about another of Banks' novels, Rule Of The Bone, the story of a young guy, Chappie, who renames himself Bone and embarks on a journey to find himself.

While there are more differences than similarities, Bone vaguely reminds me of Hunter-he's scrappy, has a tattoo (Charlie's got three from a time, he says, when he just wasn't thinking clearly), lived in a bus for a spell and has the high- way as his middle name. While Bone has an aimlessness that Charlie seems to have never possessed, they share a survival instinct, a wisdom that comes from experience and a spirit that overcomes the odds. The sad story of Bone's life ends with a vague hope. There's no doubt with Charlie. He's around for the duration.