Don Menza (born 1936)
Don Menza, born in Buffalo, New York, is a powerful tenor saxophonist, with a dynamic and distinctive sound and soloing style.
Menza relates in his first interview by Les Tomkins that he didn’t come from a musical family. He took up saxophone aged 15 after hearing a Gene Ammons record and is largely self-taught. In the 1950s Menza was stationed with the legendary 7th Army Band in Stuttgart along with Don Ellis, Leo Wright, Lex Humphries, Cedar Walton, Lanny Morgan and Eddie Harris. He describes this as a great opportunity to play, experiment and write.
After leaving the army Menza aimed to start a ‘normal life with a day job’ and stopped playing between 1958 and 1959. He then joined Maynard Ferguson’s Orchestra (1960–62) as a soloist and arranger.
A short tenure with Stan Kenton, and a year leading a quintet in Buffalo, preceded a period living in Germany (1964–68). Back in the US, Menza joined Buddy Rich’s 1968 big band and played on the “Channel 1 Suite” recorded at Caesar’s Palace and known as a classic among music educators and musicians alike.
Menza settled in California and has worked with Elvin Jones (1969), Louie Bellson, as an educator, and in the studios. Menza was a long-time member of The Tonight Show Band, with Johnny Carson. He has recorded a dozen or so albums as leader, and many more as sideman.
His compositions, such as “Groovin’ Hard” and “Time Check”, have become standard repertoire in jazz studies programmes at colleges and universities worldwide.
Biography by Paul Kaufman
I never studied
In his first of three interviews by Les Tomkins saxophonist Don Menza talks in 1968 about his early musical experiments and career. He also recalls working with bandleader Maynard Ferguson and the freedom of playing on his own in Europe
You can also read the original article in Crescendo, June 1968, p12
Don Menza: Interview 1
Image Details
| Interview date | 1st January 1968 |
|---|---|
| Interview source | Jazz Professional |
| Image source credit | Tobias Bar |
| Image source URL | https://commons.wikimedia.org/wi... |
| Reference number | |
| Forename | Don |
| Surname | Mena |
| Quantity | 1 |
Interview Transcription
I'm from Buffalo—that's upstate New York. It's funny, a lot of tenor players come from around there—Sal Nistico, Joe Romano, J, R, Monterose. And Nick Brignola, the baritone player.
Nobody in my family had ever played, or was even musically inclined. One day I heard a jazz record—"Body And Soul". Then the next day somebody let me listen to a Gene Ammons record. And three weeks later I had a tenor saxophone. That was it. I was 15, and I hadn't played till then. I never studied; it was something I went after, and there it is. I learned by practical experience only.
In the army I got a chance to do a lot of experimenting, and to meet a lot of other good musicians. Stationed in Stuttgart, I was in the 7th Army band that is legendary now. Don Ellis was in the band, Leo Wright, Lex Humphries, Cedar Walton, Lanny Morgan, Eddie Harris. Ooh, what a band that was. One of the best I ever played on. I couldn't believe it. I had the opportunity to write for the band; so it was a beginning for that.
Don Ellis was into his experimental things then. He was writing in 5/4, and all kinds of times and sounds. It was quite an experience. Having got to know Don, after the army he invited me to stay in New York with him. And I quit playing. All the way through the army, I'd just told myself I didn't want to play any more. When I got out of the army I was going to go into a normal life. At some kind of day job. So I did—I quit for almost a year, between 1958 and '59. Before the end of 1959 I had started playing again.
In 1960 I went with Maynard Ferguson's band for a year and a half. Wonderful. I did a lot of writing there, too, The great thing about that band was the enthusiasm—bubbling over. Even when everybody was really dragged and depressed and down, making a one-nighter from New York to Chicago—boy, the band used to get up on the bandstand and really cook.
I don't know what caused that enthusiasm. I can't figure it out. We didn't make any money; when we didn't work, we didn't get paid. You know, it wasn't a band where they guaranteed you so much a week, or where you could live off it. It was like a hobby jazz band.
The important thing was, I think, that everybody really had a chance to stretch out and play what and how they wanted to. Maynard let them do that.
I, for one, used to get really depressed on the band. And, now that I look back at it, I guess I was more bugged at myself than anybody else. Because there were many things that I couldn't make, and I'd really get up tight about it; I'd find all kinds of excuses to put down other things.
Sectionwise, it was fantastic. Lanny Morgan was playing lead alto, with Willie Maiden and Frank Hittner. The band was fairly stable while I was in it—almost two years. The trumpets were Don Rader, Chet Ferretti and Rick Keifer. Rick's in Cologne now. He was in the Greger band with me; he's with Kurt Edelhagen now.
As well as being, like, one of the cats, Maynard was a great leader. It was very, very conducive to playing good jazz; he was beautiful for the whole spirit of the band. Outside of the money thing; that was the only drawback. It seems like you've really got to pay some dues if you're dedicated to jazz.
It wasn't like a big band—that was the idea of it. He kept it small; and everybody in the band was a soloist—with the exception, I think, of the lead trumpet player. And sometimes the lead trombone, who really couldn't stand up and play a whole bunch of jazz. But even then, he used to have that when Slide Hampton was in the lead chair, and a few of the other cats.
So it was no easy problem for Maynard, with the band never becoming a big commercial success. It's a shame; because when they look back on it in another ten years, it will be considered one of the really great bands. I'm glad to see that he's getting a little active again in Europe.
I left Maynard to go to a money job. I went to play with Stan Kenton—and stayed for about six weeks. It was such a letdown; not because the band wasn't good or anything. It's just that I didn't get to play as much as I did on Maynard's band, and I was making all kinds of money. I suddenly realised what I had done, and panicked. I left Stan Kenton, went back home—and quit playing again.
Well, I didn't really stop playing. This time I went home and did a lot of practising; we started a small group in Buffalo with Sam Noto and a few more local musicians. It enabled me to get myself a little bit more together.
Right then, in 1964, I just didn't know what I wanted to do. I didn't want to go in Woody's band at the time. Nor did I want to go back with Maynard's band; they were starting to scuffle even more about bread. I knew Dusko Goykovich from 1956 when I was in the Service; he gave me Max Greger's address, and said: "Write him a letter." So I wrote Max, told him who I was and what records he could get to hear me on. Three weeks later I was in Europe.
What a switch that was! Now I was working and I was getting a chance to play jazz on my own. I couldn't believe it. I had so much time off from my studio gig, almost every night I was running some place to play. Not immediately—it took me four or five months to really get the jazz thing going. But once I did, it was beautiful. I was given my own record date while I was there; then after a year and a half I made the record with Max. Not to mention all the commercial things that we did. My writing had full scope, too.
The four years in Europe was priceless experience. Through working in the studios, I learned to play all the saxophones and flutes. I hadn't played flute before, other than a very small amount with Maynard.
Musicianship, I found, was of a high general standard. The only thing was the studio. The band really wasn't a jazz band; so it was kinda hard when Max decided he wanted to make jazz things. As far as the small groups were concerned, there are quite a few good rhythm players in Germany. Which was no surprise; I knew that from the army days. It was just a matter of getting back, finding out who were the new young cats, where they were and how to get them together.
And in Munich, at the new jazz club, the Domicile, an awful lot was going on jazz-wise. I was able to play every night for the last two years of my stay. Really beautiful; a very exciting scene. That I really miss. Since I left Munich, I haven't had any chance of stretching out the way I could there.
Of course, I get to play quite a bit on Buddy's band. But it's a completely different kind of playing in big bands. You talk to Sal Nistico, or any jazz player, he'll tell you this. It's the way it should be; you should listen to what's going on around you and build upon that. Because if it has nothing to do with the overall context, what's the sense of playing it? Buddy has a pretty straight-ahead band. I sit there, and he plays right in my ear. And I dig it. I dig drummers that really beat on them, you know. I think that’s the way drummers should play. There comes a time to get sensitive; but when it’s time to swing and to really lay it down, he does it.
Copyright © 1968, Les Tomkins. All Rights Reserved.
