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“I was involved in a lot of film sessions as the
only African-American musician in a 75-piece
orchestra, and I thought as a writer I could help
change that situation,” Clayton said. “But when it
looked like the doors were starting to open, it became
less interesting to me. I realized I was getting
into it for the wrong reason; I’d be focusing on a lot
of music and an environment that doesn’t define
me. If you’re lucky enough to work with the great
directors or producers, then fantastic. But to work
with unqualified shlocks who are telling you what
to do, and have no taste in music ... I always say
that jazz saved my life. I don’t make the kind of
money that a successful film writer makes. But I
smile a lot.”
Instead, Clayton focused on establishing the
Clayton–Hamilton Big Band as a primary locus
for his musical production, transmuting vocabulary
from various Count Basie “New Testament”
and Woody Herman arrangers, Duke Ellington
and Thad Jones into his own argot in the process of
creating a book. As the ’90s progressed, he served
as arranger-for-hire, producer and conductor on
numerous recordings and high-visibility concerts,
adding to his duties administrative responsibilities
as Artistic Director of Jazz for the Los Angeles
Philharmonic from 1999 to 2001. While multitasking
amongst these activities, he also taught at
the University of Southern California (he retired at
the end of the 2008–’09 academic year), developing
a comprehensive bass pedagogy.
38 DOWNBEAT OCTOBER 2010
In discussing his first principles as a bassist,
Clayton referenced his initial encounter with Ray
Brown at a weekly “Workshop in Jazz Bass”
course at UCLA in 1969, which he rode four buses
to get to.
“Ray came through the door, took out the bass
and showed the whole class what we had to learn,”
Clayton recalled. “He played every major scale,
every minor scale, all the arpeggios in every key.
Later, he brought in recordings of Charles Mingus,
Richard Davis, Ron Carter, Israel Crosby,
George Duvivier, Sam Jones and Scott LaFaro,
none of whom I’d ever heard of. He saw how
hungry I was, so in love with the whole thing, so
he’d invite me to his recording sessions or club
gigs in the area. I can pick out Ray in the middle
of a 150-piece string orchestra. But he still has lessons
for me, whether about tone, how to handle a
groove from one tune to the next, and on and on.”
Mentorship evolved to friendship and ultimately
productive partnership in Super Bass, the
three-contrabass ensemble that united Brown,
Clayton and Christian McBride from 1996 until
Brown’s death in 2002. Most tellingly, Brown
bequeathed to Clayton his primary bass—Clayton
played it at Dizzy’s and in Orvieto. “It’s like a talisman,”
Clayton said. “It’s as though by touching
this instrument, I am infused with confidence, not
egotistical, but as if to say, ‘You’re touching this
bass, the music needs this, you can supply this.’ I
tell my students that creativity begins from noth-
ing and silence. When you touch the instrument,
before you play a note, allow some silent moments
so that you are immediately cool and chill
and calm—and then give the music whatever it
demands.”
Clayton’s personal rectitude and groundedness,
his impeccable craft, his insistence
on privileging ensemble imperatives above
solo flight, his staunch identification with the
bedrock codes of jazz tradition, can impart the
superficial impression of aesthetic conservativism.
But his comments on what he considers
distinctive about his voice reveal an incremental
sensibility.
“The changes and contributions I make to the
structures we work with are inside, subtle, upperlevel
things,” Clayton said. “I was inspired by the
way Israel Crosby, with Ahmad Jamal’s trio, superimposed
within his bassline a tune on the tune
he was playing. Or when Monty played a solo,
the way he would anticipate my bassline and harmonize
it before I created it. Now I’m listening to
Terell, and create my bassline based on a melody
fragment he’s just played in his solo.
“Our ultimate goal as musicians is to become
one with our instrument, and singing is the barometer
that tells us this is happening. In fact, any time
that my playing starts to go south, all I have to do
is remind myself, ‘Oh yeah, I’m not singing,’ and
it automatically clicks back into place.”