Charnett Moffett was a great bassist, full stop. “Was” is tough to swallow, in the wake of the news of his death of a heart attack at age 54, and it shines a light on how taken for granted he was, which in turn is why I feel the need to begin with this seemingly-obvious assertion. Maybe it was because of his ubiquity in the 80s and early 90s, maybe because his technical mastery was so ludicrous that one could only laugh at times. In any event, he was an extraordinarily mature, versatile, empathic musician and a vital contributor to the sounds on which my generation of musicians was raised.

I’m thrilled that I’ll get to play this weekend with the phenomenal drummer Billy Drummond at St. Peter’s in NYC, as I’ve been a fan of his playing for thirty years now. The first time I heard him was just weeks after I began college – my friend Jeff invited me to go with him to Tavern on the Green to hear the James Williams Trio with Billy and bassist Bob Cranshaw. I soaked in every note for two long sets (this I remember vividly because it resulted in literally sprinting through Port Authority bus terminal to catch the last bus back to NJ). As wonderful as James was, as always, it was a night of Billy giving me what I sometimes refer to with students as “involuntary stank-face.” That is, his playing was so tasty and grooving that it made me grimace in disbelief over and over. Not surprisingly, this is the experience I’ve had ever since when listening to him in different musical contexts.

If I had never met the great saxophonist, composer, bandleader, educator, and activist Jackie McLean, I suspect he would still be one of the more important musicians in my consciousness. I do not, however, have that abstraction. Although I didn’t spend a lot of time with Mr. McLean, every interaction left a mark, as did my time as a student at the Artists’ Collective (the Hartford, CT community organization he co-founded over 50 years ago) and more generally within his musical/spiritual/intellectual orbit (including with my many friends and colleagues involved with the jazz program, now the Jackie McLean Institute of Jazz, at the Hartt School). Even being young and foolish, I appreciated the uniqueness of proximity to such a master and in the ensuing 30 years have only increased my appreciation for that and for the distinctiveness of his musical voice and legacy. Few instrumentalists have had sounds as distinct as his on the alto saxophone, and the seamless way he bounced between blues, bebop, and the most modern jazz (and at times melded it all together) was truly visionary.

The last of the forefathers of Detroit jazz piano has gone on to join his honorary brothers Hank Jones, Tommy Flanagan, and Sir Roland Hanna as an ancestor. No one can question that he was one of the greatest bebop pianists who ever lived (a case could be made that he was THE greatest, but I don’t want to get in any fights here) and nobody has done more to keep the pianistic flames of Bud Powell and Thelonious Monk alight. Even if he hadn’t been much of a player, his legacy would be secure from his pioneering work as one of the most influential of all jazz educators – I could go on for pages about that, but will leave it to the many who studied with him more formally and extensively. I didn’t know him well, but I my one cherished opportunity to have lunch with him back in 1997 confirmed what I have heard from everyone who knew him, that he was a class act through and through. Put all of this together and you get one heck of a high-impact life.

I’m among the many saddened by Slide Hampton’s departure at age 89, but what a life and what a career. I’d been putting a list together anyway, and so I’ll rush this out to provide some earfood for the curious/uninitiated and to invite other Slide-lovers to chime in. This one specifically revolves around currently-in-print sides, though crate-diggers will find a good bit more to enjoy as well. I was first introduced to Slide’s genius by a colleague of his (and teacher of mine), William Fielder, aka “Prof.” Slide embodied the word “virtuoso” both with his trombone and with his pen (I’m excluding tracks he didn’t play on from this list, but that’s another very large and impressive can of worms).

I’m a day late for acknowledging the 77th birthday of the wonderful, important pianist George Cables, but still wanted to take the opportunity to shine a light on a few of the many wonderful moments in his discography. This was not an easy list to narrow down, and I strived for variety, both musical and chronological. Please feel free to spotlight some of your own favorites in the comments.

If Pat Martino’s career had ended with his brain hemorrhage in 1980, when he was in his mid-30s, he would have still secured his place in history through dozens of recordings documenting the jaw-dropping technique that impressed people so much that it almost obscured the extraordinary depth of his authority with soulful blues playing. That he managed to defy the odds and relearn how to play from that point is the stuff of legend, a story that has been widely documented in the world of neuroscientific medicine but is one of the most underrated heroic stories in the jazz canon. Though he is now no longer with us, his second act was also remarkable and I’ll always be grateful for his inspiration and for the fact that he got to enjoy so many additional years of playing and corresponding accolades.