A Visit With Rudy

Part 1

As a jazz fan, I have long been aware of legendary recording engineer Rudy Van Gelder. After seeing his name for years on the backs of innumerable jazz albums and CDs, I knew he was universally regarded as the dean of jazz recording engineers, and that his name alone insured that the sound of a recording would be of the highest quality. Famous as the creator of the “Blue Note sound,” Van Gelder has recorded more classic jazz albums by far than any other engineer, and the scope of his accomplishments over the last half-century is so extensive as to be almost beyond belief.

Since 1951, in addition to his long association with Blue Note, Van Gelder has also recorded innumerable sessions for other labels, including Prestige, Savoy, Impulse, Verve, A&M and CTI. The sheer volume of his output is staggering enough to contemplate, but when you realize these sessions also represent a huge percentage of those works generally considered to be among the great masterworks of the genre, the magnitude of this accomplishment is more fully understood.

Consider for a moment a few of the all-time classic albums he has captured on tape: John Coltrane (Blue Train, A Love Supreme); Miles Davis (Cookin’, Walkin’, Steamin’, Relaxin’ ) Sonny Rollins (Tenor Madness, Saxophone Colossus); Cannonball Adderley (Somethin’ Else); Lee Morgan (The Sidewinder); Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers (A Night at Birdland, Moanin’); Horace Silver (Blowin’ the Blues Away, Song For My Father); Eric Dolphy (Out to Lunch, Live at the Five Spot); Herbie Hancock (Maiden Voyage); the list could easily go on for a hundred pages.

My own interest and curiosity about Van Gelder has grown steadily over the years, made more personal perhaps by the fact that I was born in Hackensack, New Jersey, the town in which he began recording jazz in his parent’s living room in the early 1950s. When I recently returned to my home state for the first time in almost 40 years, I decided to try and find out what I could about the man, since his present studio in Englewood Cliffs is located very near to where I was staying in Tenafly. I hoped I might at least be able to see the Van Gelder studio building with my own eyes, and experience some sense of the musical magic that had happened there so many times.

To my surprise, the studio’s address and phone number were listed in the phone book. So, gathering my courage, I set off the next morning in a rented car, and was soon driving south on route 9W, checking the numbers on buildings as I went.

I expected this world-famous studio to be rather imposing, with some sort of staff, or at least a secretary/receptionist, with whom I would have to plead my case. But when I came upon the correct street number, there seemed to be no building in sight, only a large growth of trees into which a shadowy driveway disappeared.

Parking in the lot of a nearby office complex, I cautiously approached the entryway, and began walking slowly down the curving driveway. As I rounded a bend, a car suddenly approached from within, with a woman driving and a man in the passenger seat. The car stopped alongside me, the man rolled down the window and said, “Can we help you?”

Trying not to stammer, I said that I was a musician who had been born in Hackensack and, as a great admirerer of Mr. Van Gelder’s work, wondered if it was ever possible to say hello to him. The woman said, “This is Mr. Van Gelder,” at which point the man extended his hand and shook my own saying, ” I’m sorry, but we have an appointment this morning – can you call back at six o’clock?” Needless to say, I did call back that night, and was invited to the studio for a visit.

Part 2

As described in the last issue, during a trip to New Jersey last October I was lucky enough to meet the famous recording engineer Rudy Van Gelder, who graciously invited me to visit him in his studio. Needless to say, I accepted, and spent about an hour sitting in his studio control room talking to this fascinating man. 

I began by telling Van Gelder that there was a good deal of interest in him and his work being expressed via posts on the internet, and wondered if he knew just how much respect, admiration and curiosity his name inspired among jazz fans. He seemed a little surprised, saying that he didn’t get on the net much, and that, while he did have an e-mail account, he had to be reminded to check it from time to time.

Born in Jersey City, New Jersey, Van Gelder had grown up in Hackensack. He graduated from State Street High School, where he played trumpet in the school band. From an early age he was interested in things like photography and ham radio, and remembers making a wooden microphone as a boy.

In Hackensack, Van Gelder’s parents owned a series of three homes. By the time they moved into the third one they were so supportive of their son’s budding interest in sound recording that they had a small control room built off the living room so that he could pursue his hobby more professionally. 

The incredible career that developed over the next fifty years was never planned, “It just happened.” At first it was just something Van Gelder did for his musician friends. But then, as the word started to get out and other musicians heard his work, the phone started ringing and, as he says, it’s “been ringing ever since.”

Van Gelder spoke of the thrill he experienced when he first heard one of his recordings on the radio, a song by Joe Mooney first aired on WNEW by disc jockey Al “Jazzbo” Collins.

Given the fact that he has done thousands of recording sessions over the years, it is not surprising that Van Gelder remembers little about any particular date. He says that, as an engineer, he could never fully appreciate the music as it was being recorded, since his mind was then predominantly occupied with technical considerations. Even now, in remastering some of his earlier works for reissue, he is sometimes startled to realize yet again what “virtuoso musicians” he was recording.

Speaking of reissues, Van Gelder’s latest project is the 24-bit remastering of a series of 100 albums for the Japanese Blue Note label. These are being packaged in miniature cardboard sleeves which are exact replicas of the original LP covers, and are being released without the addition of any alternate takes or “bonus” tracks.

Van Gelder is in favor of this approach, saying that material originally unissued or rejected was not released for good reasons. He said that the omitted material frequently contained the musicians’, and sometimes even his own, mistakes, and that it was unfair to them (and to him) for these to be included on later reissues.

Before I left, Van Gelder showed me the studio’s new piano, a magnificent 9-foot Steinway concert grand. He even let me try it out, which I did with trepidation, while images of Bud Powell, Horace Silver and Herbie Hancock floated in the back of my consciousness.

I had mentioned earlier that it was high time someone did a book about Van Gelder and his amazing career, but he deflected the idea, saying “I’m still at this.” We had been speaking about the fact that he is still learning and improving his skills, when he suddenly asked me, “So, should I retire?”

“Have you got it right yet?” I countered; Van Gelder’s answer was “No.”

“Then I guess you need to keep working on it,” I said.

And I have no doubt that this extraordinary man will do just that, making jazz records with the Van Gelder Sound well into the next millennium.