JAM:June/July 2004 Issue: The Jazz Disciple Gerald Dunn

The Jazz Disciple
Gerald Dunn
by Tom Fredrick

Gerald Dunn is on the run. Again. At the American Jazz Museum , where Dunn works in the heart of Kansas City 's 18 th & Vine historical district, the rhythm seems relentless. Each day brings a certain velocity all its own.

Increasingly in recent years, AJM activities move at an impressive pace. Museum executive director Juanita Moore, board and staff members, community volunteers, and of course Dunn, deserve accolades. Altogether, their accomplishments comprise a contemporary civic legacy well worth celebrating.

On a typical day in mid April, Dunn settles in for a conversation with a visitor to the museum. Within minutes, he politely excuses himself. It's a pattern that would repeat itself.

First Dunn fields a telephone call from legendary vocalist Jon Hendricks. Bobby Watson, saxophonist extraordinaire, arrives soon afterward, making an impromptu introduction to someone waiting curbside, the producer of an Italian record label. Finally, he caucuses with Moore on a project involving the National Endowment for the Arts. All in a day's—actually a couple of hours'—work. Despite the pace, Dunn is unhurried. He invariably remembers whatever question or comment is left on the table, returning to it with determination and focus. Measured remarks roll steadily forward in unassuming fashion. Only on reflection is Dunn's compositional prowess fully revealed. The sum of words is fully orchestrated, his understated comments reverberating with a quiet, percussive beat.

Echoing the fabled Kansas City four/four beat, what emerge are four key insights. Dunn (one) is passionate about music, (two) has roots running deep, (three) is solid as a rock, and (four) is on a quest.

Passionate about music.
Passion is a powerful thing. A recent film not only portrays The Passion of The Christ , it evokes passionate reactions from moviegoers, the media, and people of all faiths. The story also describes an event inspiring the disciples who lived and worked with Jesus to follow regardless of risk.

Discipleship takes passion. Professor Joseph Hall, Dunn's radio mentor, first applied the term disciple to him. In Dunn's case, the discipline is jazz. Kansas City jazz saxophonists have enjoyed memorable nicknames. Lester Young was the President. During a period when most jazz musicians were labeled cats, someone hung Yardbird on Charlie Parker. Dunn is the Jazz Disciple.

Over the first weekend in May, Dunn traveled to the Oklahoma Jazz Hall of Fame, a trip author Ralph Ellison would have described as “Goin' to the Territory.” Dunn is encouraged by the experience, fueled with a hunger for higher expectations in the context of gigs back home. It was an opportunity to spread the jazz gospel, and the response was positive and energizing.

“A musician must prepare mentally and physically to be your best,” Dunn says, drawing on his background as an athlete, “then be sensitive to and captivate your audience. Once we grabbed the Tulsa audience, we didn't let them go. To spur and feel genuine emotion, it's essential to put one's spirit into music.” Dunn adds, “Performing is a two-way street. People, whether on stage or in the audience, want to feel something! ”

Feeling the music is what epitomizes the Kansas City jazz tradition, which still possesses an unmistakable influence on musicians near and far. In anticipation of mid-May Coda Jazz Fund activities, Hendricks tells Dunn, “I can't wait to get back home! ” An Ohio native known, Hendricks speaks metaphorically of Kansas City 's ongoing central role extending to young and old alike.

Musically speaking, Dunn has a double persona as performer and manager. The Dunn discography features a 2004 debut album as a leader, Live at the Blue Room—Out of the Comfort Zone , with the Jazz Disciples. Formerly known as the Dunn/Freeman Mix, the quartet originated a decade ago. Dunn, pianist Everett Freeman, drummer Mike Warren, and bassist Tyrone Clark, have started composing songs for another album targeted for completion this fall.

Dunn appears on a diverse range of other recordings, including big band and small group dates, playing jazz and gospel material. Critics use superlatives like “shining” and “bluesy” to describe his sound. Jazz historian Monroe (Monny) Nash lends perspective. “Gerald's horn has a classic Texas tone and funk. He knows how to ‘play ‘em where they ain't,' which is to say he knows music and displays a sense of timing, rather than running notes all around. Best of all,” Dr. Nash adds, “he plays Gerald Dunn .”

Dunn's mixture of responsibilities includes management roles as entertainment director for the museum and general manager of the Blue Room. “Despite sacrifices, what I've gained is knowledge of the full spectrum. Learning to serve musicians, providing opportunities for others to perform, treating people properly whether talent or the public, are invaluable lessons enabling me to better see things from all sides.”

In the process, suggests Moore , “Gerald is the bridge. He connects our research and historical mission as the nation's only museum dedicated to jazz with the realm of live performance and presentation. His artistic leadership helps keeps the music alive, bringing the jazz past into a bold future.” According to AJM board member Mike Metheny, “Dunn is the best combination of classy gentleman and top-notch jazz artist.”

Dunn's passion for the music brought him to Kansas City . It's obvious he's right at home. Yet his start came from elsewhere, personally and musically.

Roots running deep.
Parker, of course, started in Kansas City . Count Basie came from Red Bank, New Jersey . Young came too, by way of Mississippi and Louisiana . Dunn arrived from Texas .

U.S. Highway 69 runs through his birthright northeast Texas communities of Mineola and Lindale, about an hour-and-a-half east of Dallas . From there, Route 69 winds its way north, first to the Native American Territory of Oklahoma, on through the Free State of Kansas, and then into the jazz mecca of Kansas City.

On saxophone, Houstonian Arnett Cobb was a prototype Texas tenor. Illinois Jacquet grew up in Houston , where he later joined Cobb and Buddy Tate among the foremost practitioners of the Texas style of playing. They formed a group as friendly rivals called the Texas Tenors, touring together in the early 1980s. About the same time, Dunn, an underclassman at Stephen F. Austin University , first met Cobb.

During an early encounter, Dunn played a solo he had memorized. Cobb was unimpressed. After Dunn repeated the same piece with increasing gusto, Cobb finally called a halt, asking Dunn to explain. “I'm playing a Charlie Parker solo,” Dunn responded with confidence. “I think you're missing the point,” said Cobb. “ So did he . Figure this out for yourself. Start with low ‘G'.”

With a single note, played loud and long, time and again, Dunn began a pilgrimage to find himself and his place in the world of music. Think of it as a “G” for “Gerald.” “Cobb taught me to understand a Parker solo is not about the notes,” reflects Dunn. “It's about preparing to find and accept oneself and others.”

Before Cobb's death in 1989, he passed an important mantle—the Texas jazz saxophone legacy—on to Dunn. It was as though Cobb had laid hands on Dunn, sending him forth with a great commission—to seek his own distinctive identity and voice, as a man and a musician.

In effect, Dunn's personal connections to Cobb and Jacquet directly linked him through the generations to Basie and the full Kansas City heritage. He made it official when he moved, attended UMKC, and immersed himself in a musical legacy. Yet Dunn's roots run deeper still, to a bedrock level where the essence and attributes of character are formed.

Solid as a rock
Cobb once released a record called Wild Man from Texas . Jacquet was known for certain wildness on up-tempo tunes or during jam sessions. The album title was a description suitable for Dunn on occasion when younger. Perhaps it's no surprise Dunn gravitated to them.

Dunn's father was assistant Sunday school superintendent and church deacon at Smith Temple Church of God in Christ, where music first claimed Gerald in Tyler , Texas . His original contact with elders came not with Kansas City 's Elder Statesmen of jazz, but in the church where a grandmother was a founding member. His father was a disciplinarian ; he also made the sacrifices necessary to provide Gerald with a new Bundy saxophone for sixth grade.

Dunn's initial radio exposure likewise came decades before his own show on independent community station KKFI-FM 90.1 in Kansas City . Broadcasts originated from church each Sunday for an hour, just a fraction of the services. A member of the Sunshine Band as a child, he was also called upon to deliver recitations at Christmas and Easter.

As often as not during grammar school years, Dunn sat with deacons at the front of the church, agonizing while friends his own age sat in the back continuing to have fun. A consequence of cutting up during services and Sunday school, he also faced the requirement of being among the first to come forward in response to altar calls.

Though not fully appreciated at the time, there was some benefit sitting as a boy among men. These were real men, men who held Bibles in their strong hands. Dunn read along with them, learning to take up the sword of the Spirit, the word of God. It was natural for a child named Gerald—in other words, “ruler with the spear.”

If Dunn's father represented justice, his mother was mercy. A junior-high bike accident knocked out his tooth, which would have prevented playing the saxophone. The dentist considered it a lost cause. Mary Dunn, refusing to accept no for an answer, searched high and low before finally finding someone willing to save the tooth. Dunn considers her an “angel” to this day.

Dunn first grew enraptured by gospel music. Later, he practically wore out his parents, not to mention the needles on their record player and his first vinyl records, with growing enthusiasm for jazz.

Dunn is quick to recount and credit those who provided early pivotal influences during formative years. Devora White served as choir director and organist. Hubert Almany was a school band director, Darryl Holt was a first college teacher.

After Dunn came to Kansas City , others came alongside to assist him and his mission. Ahmad Alaadeen, Eddie Baker, Nathan Davis, Bobby Watson, Todd Wilkinson, Daahoud Williams, and of course Eddie Saunders, plus a list of others as long as Dunn's gratitude and respect run deep.

Ultimately, Dunn chose obedience rather than rebellion and his essence became deep respect for elders, unwavering duty to professional craft. He still cuts up these days, only with a saxophone as weapon of choice. The licks he took at home and school, he now gives out with the instrument. “I heard long ago, and since came to believe,” says Dunn. “you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

Dunn remains comfortable in church. On the sad occasions when one of Kansas City 's jazz musicians dies, he invariably attends the funeral to pay last respects. All too often he's the youngest person—by far—in attendance.

Feelings of respect are mutual. When saxophonist Saunders chose not to travel to Europe in late April with The Kansas City Jazz Five, he proffered Dunn in his place. “Gerald is a true professional,” says Saunders. “He's the player best qualified to handle any variety of music, all with a good old saxophone sound. Plus his phrasing is strong and he knows how to tell the story of every song.”

Dunn considers it among the greatest honors of his life to be asked. The group played several gigs over eight days in Germany . It was an odyssey of sorts for Dunn, but his real quest is not geographical in nature.

On a quest
Dunn is still seeking, looking for answers. He believes, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” The jam session, as fundamental to Kansas City jazz style as the four/four beat, remains central to the quest.

One Wednesday morning, Dunn sat inside with a visitor, taking the earliest possible opportunity to resume a conversation begun elsewhere in the museum exactly four weeks before. It was quiet, at last. The two were alone except for an occasional interloper passing through to view exhibits integrated into performance space. Just thirty-six hours earlier, the place was jumping with music during a jam session visited by the artist formerly—and once again—known as Prince.

In the midst of the nationwide Musicology tour, Prince brought his New Power Generation band to the Blue Room. By quarter-past eleven, about the time things normally wrap up, something memorable happened. Players returned after a break rather than dispersed for the night. During the proceedings, Dunn raced home and returned with his own instrument. Once back, his rich sounds filled the room, setting a standard for others to follow. School remained in session until sometime after 1:30 a.m.

“Prince is like Miles Davis,” according to Dunn. “What he did, everyone would begin to follow. Trying new directions. In fact, Miles liked Prince,” he suggests, “because of his individuality.”

In subdued tones, Dunn continues, “I've lived and worked in New York , where it's often said, ‘If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.'” The cool delivery belies a fire burning deep within, an apostolic commitment to the quest. “Believe me, if you can make it in Kansas City , you can make it anywhere.”

Conversation suddenly stops. Someone is heading his way. “Gotta go,” is Dunn's simple tagline. As he leaves, the sound of footsteps tapping on stone tile keeps a steady beat, one-two-three-four. Despite his abundant accomplishments in life and music, one is left with the conviction Gerald Dunn has only just begun.
Tom Fredrick






	Search our site:		The Jazz Disciple Gerald Dunn by Tom Fredrick Gerald Dunn is on the run. Again. At the American Jazz Museum , where Dunn works in the heart of Kansas City 's 18 th & Vine historical district, the rhythm seems relentless. Each day brings a certain velocity all its own. Increasingly in recent years, AJM activities move at an impressive pace. Museum executive director Juanita Moore, board and staff members, community volunteers, and of course Dunn, deserve accolades. Altogether, their accomplishments comprise a contemporary civic legacy well worth celebrating. On a typical day in mid April, Dunn settles in for a conversation with a visitor to the museum. Within minutes, he politely excuses himself. It's a pattern that would repeat itself. First Dunn fields a telephone call from legendary vocalist Jon Hendricks. Bobby Watson, saxophonist extraordinaire, arrives soon afterward, making an impromptu introduction to someone waiting curbside, the producer of an Italian record label. Finally, he caucuses with Moore on a project involving the National Endowment for the Arts. All in a day's—actually a couple of hours'—work. Despite the pace, Dunn is unhurried. He invariably remembers whatever question or comment is left on the table, returning to it with determination and focus. Measured remarks roll steadily forward in unassuming fashion. Only on reflection is Dunn's compositional prowess fully revealed. The sum of words is fully orchestrated, his understated comments reverberating with a quiet, percussive beat. Echoing the fabled Kansas City four/four beat, what emerge are four key insights. Dunn (one) is passionate about music, (two) has roots running deep, (three) is solid as a rock, and (four) is on a quest. *Passionate about music. Passion is a powerful thing. A recent film not only portrays The Passion of The Christ* , it evokes passionate reactions from moviegoers, the media, and people of all faiths. The story also describes an event inspiring the disciples who lived and worked with Jesus to follow regardless of risk. Discipleship takes passion. Professor Joseph Hall, Dunn's radio mentor, first applied the term disciple to him. In Dunn's case, the discipline is jazz. Kansas City jazz saxophonists have enjoyed memorable nicknames. Lester Young was the President. During a period when most jazz musicians were labeled cats, someone hung Yardbird on Charlie Parker. Dunn is the Jazz Disciple. Over the first weekend in May, Dunn traveled to the Oklahoma Jazz Hall of Fame, a trip author Ralph Ellison would have described as “Goin' to the Territory.” Dunn is encouraged by the experience, fueled with a hunger for higher expectations in the context of gigs back home. It was an opportunity to spread the jazz gospel, and the response was positive and energizing. “A musician must prepare mentally and physically to be your best,” Dunn says, drawing on his background as an athlete, “then be sensitive to and captivate your audience. Once we grabbed the Tulsa audience, we didn't let them go. To spur and feel genuine emotion, it's essential to put one's spirit into music.” Dunn adds, “Performing is a two-way street. People, whether on stage or in the audience, want to feel something! ” Feeling the music is what epitomizes the Kansas City jazz tradition, which still possesses an unmistakable influence on musicians near and far. In anticipation of mid-May Coda Jazz Fund activities, Hendricks tells Dunn, “I can't wait to get back home! ” An Ohio native known, Hendricks speaks metaphorically of Kansas City 's ongoing central role extending to young and old alike. Musically speaking, Dunn has a double persona as performer and manager. The Dunn discography features a 2004 debut album as a leader, Live at the Blue Room—Out of the Comfort Zone , with the Jazz Disciples. Formerly known as the Dunn/Freeman Mix, the quartet originated a decade ago. Dunn, pianist Everett Freeman, drummer Mike Warren, and bassist Tyrone Clark, have started composing songs for another album targeted for completion this fall. Dunn appears on a diverse range of other recordings, including big band and small group dates, playing jazz and gospel material. Critics use superlatives like “shining” and “bluesy” to describe his sound. Jazz historian Monroe (Monny) Nash lends perspective. “Gerald's horn has a classic Texas tone and funk. He knows how to ‘play ‘em where they ain't,' which is to say he knows music and displays a sense of timing, rather than running notes all around. Best of all,” Dr. Nash adds, “he plays Gerald Dunn .” Dunn's mixture of responsibilities includes management roles as entertainment director for the museum and general manager of the Blue Room. “Despite sacrifices, what I've gained is knowledge of the full spectrum. Learning to serve musicians, providing opportunities for others to perform, treating people properly whether talent or the public, are invaluable lessons enabling me to better see things from all sides.” In the process, suggests Moore , “Gerald is the bridge. He connects our research and historical mission as the nation's only museum dedicated to jazz with the realm of live performance and presentation. His artistic leadership helps keeps the music alive, bringing the jazz past into a bold future.” According to AJM board member Mike Metheny, “Dunn is the best combination of classy gentleman and top-notch jazz artist.” Dunn's passion for the music brought him to Kansas City . It's obvious he's right at home. Yet his start came from elsewhere, personally and musically. *Roots running deep. Parker, of course, started in Kansas City . Count Basie came from Red Bank, New Jersey . Young came too, by way of Mississippi and Louisiana . Dunn arrived from Texas . U.S. Highway 69 runs through his birthright northeast Texas communities of Mineola and Lindale, about an hour-and-a-half east of Dallas . From there, Route 69 winds its way north, first to the Native American Territory of Oklahoma, on through the Free State of Kansas, and then into the jazz mecca of Kansas City. On saxophone, Houstonian Arnett Cobb was a prototype Texas tenor. Illinois Jacquet grew up in Houston , where he later joined Cobb and Buddy Tate among the foremost practitioners of the Texas style of playing. They formed a group as friendly rivals called the Texas Tenors, touring together in the early 1980s. About the same time, Dunn, an underclassman at Stephen F. Austin University , first met Cobb. During an early encounter, Dunn played a solo he had memorized. Cobb was unimpressed. After Dunn repeated the same piece with increasing gusto, Cobb finally called a halt, asking Dunn to explain. “I'm playing a Charlie Parker solo,” Dunn responded with confidence. “I think you're missing the point,” said Cobb. “ So did he* . Figure this out for yourself. Start with low ‘G'.” With a single note, played loud and long, time and again, Dunn began a pilgrimage to find himself and his place in the world of music. Think of it as a “G” for “Gerald.” “Cobb taught me to understand a Parker solo is not about the notes,” reflects Dunn. “It's about preparing to find and accept oneself and others.” Before Cobb's death in 1989, he passed an important mantle—the Texas jazz saxophone legacy—on to Dunn. It was as though Cobb had laid hands on Dunn, sending him forth with a great commission—to seek his own distinctive identity and voice, as a man and a musician. In effect, Dunn's personal connections to Cobb and Jacquet directly linked him through the generations to Basie and the full Kansas City heritage. He made it official when he moved, attended UMKC, and immersed himself in a musical legacy. Yet Dunn's roots run deeper still, to a bedrock level where the essence and attributes of character are formed. *Solid as a rock* Cobb once released a record called Wild Man from Texas . Jacquet was known for certain wildness on up-tempo tunes or during jam sessions. The album title was a description suitable for Dunn on occasion when younger. Perhaps it's no surprise Dunn gravitated to them. Dunn's father was assistant Sunday school superintendent and church deacon at Smith Temple Church of God in Christ, where music first claimed Gerald in Tyler , Texas . His original contact with elders came not with Kansas City 's Elder Statesmen of jazz, but in the church where a grandmother was a founding member. His father was a disciplinarian ; he also made the sacrifices necessary to provide Gerald with a new Bundy saxophone for sixth grade. Dunn's initial radio exposure likewise came decades before his own show on independent community station KKFI-FM 90.1 in Kansas City . Broadcasts originated from church each Sunday for an hour, just a fraction of the services. A member of the Sunshine Band as a child, he was also called upon to deliver recitations at Christmas and Easter. As often as not during grammar school years, Dunn sat with deacons at the front of the church, agonizing while friends his own age sat in the back continuing to have fun. A consequence of cutting up during services and Sunday school, he also faced the requirement of being among the first to come forward in response to altar calls. Though not fully appreciated at the time, there was some benefit sitting as a boy among men. These were real men, men who held Bibles in their strong hands. Dunn read along with them, learning to take up the sword of the Spirit, the word of God. It was natural for a child named Gerald—in other words, “ruler with the spear.” If Dunn's father represented justice, his mother was mercy. A junior-high bike accident knocked out his tooth, which would have prevented playing the saxophone. The dentist considered it a lost cause. Mary Dunn, refusing to accept no for an answer, searched high and low before finally finding someone willing to save the tooth. Dunn considers her an “angel” to this day. Dunn first grew enraptured by gospel music. Later, he practically wore out his parents, not to mention the needles on their record player and his first vinyl records, with growing enthusiasm for jazz. Dunn is quick to recount and credit those who provided early pivotal influences during formative years. Devora White served as choir director and organist. Hubert Almany was a school band director, Darryl Holt was a first college teacher. After Dunn came to Kansas City , others came alongside to assist him and his mission. Ahmad Alaadeen, Eddie Baker, Nathan Davis, Bobby Watson, Todd Wilkinson, Daahoud Williams, and of course Eddie Saunders, plus a list of others as long as Dunn's gratitude and respect run deep. Ultimately, Dunn chose obedience rather than rebellion and his essence became deep respect for elders, unwavering duty to professional craft. He still cuts up these days, only with a saxophone as weapon of choice. The licks he took at home and school, he now gives out with the instrument. “I heard long ago, and since came to believe,” says Dunn. “you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.” Dunn remains comfortable in church. On the sad occasions when one of Kansas City 's jazz musicians dies, he invariably attends the funeral to pay last respects. All too often he's the youngest person—by far—in attendance. Feelings of respect are mutual. When saxophonist Saunders chose not to travel to Europe in late April with The Kansas City Jazz Five, he proffered Dunn in his place. “Gerald is a true professional,” says Saunders. “He's the player best qualified to handle any variety of music, all with a good old saxophone sound. Plus his phrasing is strong and he knows how to tell the story of every song.” Dunn considers it among the greatest honors of his life to be asked. The group played several gigs over eight days in Germany . It was an odyssey of sorts for Dunn, but his real quest is not geographical in nature. *On a quest* Dunn is still seeking, looking for answers. He believes, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” The jam session, as fundamental to Kansas City jazz style as the four/four beat, remains central to the quest. One Wednesday morning, Dunn sat inside with a visitor, taking the earliest possible opportunity to resume a conversation begun elsewhere in the museum exactly four weeks before. It was quiet, at last. The two were alone except for an occasional interloper passing through to view exhibits integrated into performance space. Just thirty-six hours earlier, the place was jumping with music during a jam session visited by the artist formerly—and once again—known as Prince. In the midst of the nationwide Musicology tour, Prince brought his New Power Generation band to the Blue Room. By quarter-past eleven, about the time things normally wrap up, something memorable happened. Players returned after a break rather than dispersed for the night. During the proceedings, Dunn raced home and returned with his own instrument. Once back, his rich sounds filled the room, setting a standard for others to follow. School remained in session until sometime after 1:30 a.m. “Prince is like Miles Davis,” according to Dunn. “What he did, everyone would begin to follow. Trying new directions. In fact, Miles liked Prince,” he suggests, “because of his individuality.” In subdued tones, Dunn continues, “I've lived and worked in New York , where it's often said, ‘If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.'” The cool delivery belies a fire burning deep within, an apostolic commitment to the quest. “Believe me, if you can make it in Kansas City , you can make it anywhere.” Conversation suddenly stops. Someone is heading his way. “Gotta go,” is Dunn's simple tagline. As he leaves, the sound of footsteps tapping on stone tile keeps a steady beat, one-two-three-four. Despite his abundant accomplishments in life and music, one is left with the conviction Gerald Dunn has only just begun. Tom Fredrick RETURN TO JUNE/JULY 2004 MAIN INDEX © Kansas City Jazz Ambassadors 1996-2004. All rights reserved.