by Bill Milkowski

This interview was excerpted from the August 1997 issue of Modern Drummer.

In mid-December of last year, Tony Williams came to New York to play a week-long engagement at the Birdland nightclub, located in the heart of Times Square. It was a rare trio gig with longtime rhythm section partner Ron Carter on bass and Mulgrew Miller, a key member of Tony's superb quintet of the '80s and early '90s, on piano. The night I attended they swung mightily on mostly standard fare,inishing their blazing set on a buoyant note with Bobby Timmons' "Dis Here," a tune closely associated with the great alto saxophonist Cannonball Adderley. Tony played loudly and proudly throughout the set (too loud, according to the New York Times). But then, he never was one to make any apologies for the way he played. As he told me in a Modern Drummer interview back in 1992: "I like to play loud. I believe the drums should be hit hard."

 Between sets, I spoke with Tony backstage. He looked strong, if somewhat overweight, and seemed contented with married life. (Colleen, his wife of three years, was in attendance at this gig.) He was in genuinely good spirits and exuded that typical Tony vibe--two parts ebullience mixed with San Franciscan consciousness and a touch of macho swagger.

 I had conducted a phone interview with Tony a couple of months earlier in connection with his latest recording project, Wilderness, on the newly formed Ark 21 label. It was his first release since 1992's The Story Of Neptune, the last of six excellent albums by him on the Blue Note label. Unlike propulsive bash-athons like Lifetime's Emergency and Turn It Over or revelations in timekeeping like the series of landmark recordings by the Miles Davis quintet of the late '60s (Miles Smiles, Sorcerer, E.S.P ., Nefertiti, Filles De Kilimanjaro) or classy swinging vehicles like Angel Street, Native Heart, and The Story Of Neptune,Wilderness is a romantic, enchanting, and highly ambitious orchestral project that showcases Williams' often overlooked composerly vision. The following contains excerpts from a lengthy and very casual interview with the late, great drummer.

BM: How did this Wilderness project come about?

TW: Actually, it all sprung from the piece "Wilderness Rising." I put that together thinking of it as a hymn, and it just manifested into so many other ideas. I had been working on the piece since 1994. And as it became more complete I played it for my orchestration teacher [Dr. Olly Wilson, head of the music department at UC-Berkeley]. He suggested that it would sound great in the orchestra, so I decided to make it an orchestral piece. And it kind of grew from there.

BM: This is such a far-reaching project. It's so ambitious and goes in so many directions. Were you concerned that it might scare away those people who are needing it to be a single thing that they can more easily market?

TW: That's true, it could happen that way. A lot of people want everything to be in their comfort zone. And if it's not they're either threatened by it, they're fearful of it, or they resent it. I understand that. I'm just glad that there was somebody who wanted to do it and do it right. We put it together, mixed it, did the artwork, and now it's out on the street. I'm just so grateful for that.

 Now the other part of it is, I was talking to Pat [Metheny] the other day and he said, "You're going to have to get ready for all the slings and arrows of the jazz community." And I'm ready for that. I mean, I've been through it so often in my life.

BM: Yeah, people must've been outraged when you came out with Lifetime.

TW: I gather they were.

BM: And yet there's a whole other generation that viewed Lifetime as a touchstone for some music that was deep and meaningful for them...like me.

TW: Me too. It was something that had to be done at that time. But I'm so used to it [negative criticism]. I expect things like that to happen. I have to do things and I know that there's going to be a certain level of people that are going to cry out, "Why did you have to do that?" And it's very curious.

BM: Do you feel like this is an artistic breakthrough for you?

TW: Sure, yeah. It's the first time I really got a chance to hear something that I've written and orchestrated. That alone is a big step for me, especially coming from where I come from and feeling like I've been fighting my way uphill.

BM: Against what, the perception of being a drummer?

TW: Maybe that. A lot of things. Against myself more so, I think. Just my own imperfections...the things that people have inside them that hold them back, like being your own worst enemy--things like that.

BM: We all have that tragic flaw.

TW: Yeah, and that's why I like to learn and study, because I really understand that it's helpful for me to just keep going and following my dream. All my life there have been people who told me what I can and cannot do, or what I'm not supposed to do. If I listened to those people I would never have made this record. That's the way it's been all my life. So maybe I'm fighting uphill against that kind of stuff, too.

BM: In our previous interview together [July 1992 MD] you mentioned that drummers don't get respect in general, that there's a stigma about drummers.

 TW: Well, everybody knows that. I mean, the drumset is an American invention--it's an American treasure--but it isn't afforded the dignity that people afford, say, the harmonica. That's just a fact of history.

 The whole concept of the drumset itself is unique--unique throughout the world. The drums of Africa, India, and Japan--they're not played with the feet and hands at the same time. What we have is a unique configuration in the musical history of the world. And it isn't really afforded the kind of dignity that it should have.