Marcus Roberts: From Marsalis to Morton

Many young musicians have to go through years of scuffling before earning the recognition due them. There’s been no such struggle for Marcus Roberts.

Discovered by Wynton Marsalis in 1982, when he won an International Assn. of Jazz Educators Convention contest in Chicago, he joined the Marsalis group in 1985. Today, at 27, he is an educator himself, recently an artist in residence--playing and teaching--at Jacksonville (Fla.) University in his hometown.

Roberts now has overlapping careers as leader of his own band (heard last year in the luminous, blues-rooted album “Deep in the Shed”), as composer, and, as solo pianist on his brand-new release “Alone With Three Giants” (both on Novus/RCA). Tonight, he will share the stage with pianist Ellis Marsalis at Ambassador Auditorium in Pasadena in solo and duo performances.

Roberts credits much of his success to the influence of Marsalis’ son Wynton. “Those years on the road with him were the most enriching experience of my life,” he said recently. “Wynton is a remarkable man; he can forge a unit out of any group of musicians, encourage their development both musically and personally. Working with him as a sideman gave me a stability I could never have had if I’d tried to have my own band first.

“To this day, though I’m no longer with his band, he’s always ready with advice for me or for anyone who needs his help.”

The help of another, and younger, Marsalis--Delfeayo--has also been invaluable. All three Roberts Novus/RCA albums--his debut was 1989’s “The Truth Is Spoken Here”--were produced by the 25-year-old, who also plays trombone.

Of his new release, Roberts said, “I wanted to pay tribute to three pianists who are connected in terms of stylistic development.” There are 15 cuts: Six are compositions by Duke Ellington, who rose to prominence in the 1920s; six are by Thelonious Monk, a figure of the ‘40s. But Roberts’ third choice was curious. Instead of choosing Earl Hines or Fats Waller, both truly dominant piano forces of the 1930s, he selected three tunes by Jelly Roll Morton, who among other wild statements claimed that he “invented jazz in 1902.” Roberts naively states that Morton was an influence on Duke Ellington.

Ellington’s view, shared by many musicians during Morton’s lifetime (he died in 1941), was somewhat different: He once stated that “Morton played piano like one of those high school teachers in Washington; as a matter of fact, high school teachers played better jazz. Among other things, his rhythm was unsteady.” Ellington added that Morton was far outclassed by such East Coast pianists as James P. Johnson (Fats Waller’s mentor) and the legendary Willie (The Lion) Smith, who actually was an influence on Ellington.

Told about this, Roberts said: “I hate to disagree with Ellington, the genius of American music. I didn’t have a lot of respect for Morton’s music either, until I learned how to play it. What got me into Jelly Roll was my participation in an event they had honoring him at Lincoln Center. It struck me as being very well-organized music; also, if you listen to the early Ellington records, it’s clear that whether Duke studied Morton or not, other pianists whom Duke listened to surely did. So be it by osmosis or directly, you can hear the New Orleans style in his compositions as well as his piano.

“I realize it’s important for me to listen to Earl Hines and the people Duke admired, but it takes a long time to absorb all of recorded jazz history. That’s something I’m going to spend the next few years doing.”

Roberts’ heavy involvement with impressions of other pianists, at a relatively early stage in his career, would seem to work against the development of his own personality. How, amid all these Duke and Monk and Morton acknowledgements, can there be a Marcus Roberts style?

His carefully worded answer made logical sense. “To me, the style is there right now, just because I’m the one who’s playing. I’m quite content with the level of identity that is already present.

“To me, there are many different levels of personal identity. It’s not just the basic notes that are being played. There are several other variables. One is the touch; another is the way you use the pedal; then there is your concept of how you want to use each register of the instrument, how you improvise, the different moods you create.

“In 1982, when I was in college, I asked Count Basie that question: When did he start working on becoming Count Basie? He told me, ‘I didn’t really work on it. Certain things I liked, others I didn’t, and over a period of time the question of who I was came up more and more, but it was never a conscious thing with me.’

“I’ve always remembered that. The bottom line is, if you hear me play any piece at this point, my own or someone else’s, nobody else is going to play it just the way I do. That isn’t to say that what I’m playing is necessarily great, but given those variables I listed, I’m not going to sound like anyone else in the world. That’s my personal feeling, and I’m happy with it.”