Photo Credit_Matt Furman © Rhino-WMG

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From January 3-6, illustrious guitarist and National Endowment of Arts Jazz Master George Benson will host an unprecedented four day musical event at the Wigwam Resort in Phoenix. Breezin’ With The Stars will present a series of master classes, Q&A sessions, signings and jam sessions with a faculty that includes: John Scofield, Esperanza Spalding, Steve Lukather, Lee Ritenour, Tommy Emmanuel, Stanley Jordan and Cory Wong.

In 1977, Benson won the first three of his 10 Grammys for the record Breezin’. It garnered Best Pop Instrumental Performance for the title track, Best R&B Instrumental Performance for “Theme From Good King Bad” and Record of the Year for “This Masquerade.” The range of these awards illustrates the scope of Benson’s success over the years.

As for the idea behind Breezin’ With The Stars, Benson recalls, “Many years ago, me and a great guitar player named Howard Roberts were going to invite people to Portland, Ore., to a musical event. They would stay there for the better part of a week, we’d talk about guitar and there would be all kinds of demonstrations by the greats of our time. I was going to get Kenny Burrell, Joe Pass and some people like that to come up there. But now we’re in a new age and the people who have been invited to Breezin’ With The Stars are the baddest cats on the planet. People from the highest echelon of the music world are going to be there and a lot of people are going to learn some incredible things. I’ll be the first one to try to benefit from that.”

Benson began his recording career as a Pittsburgh preteen and he would go on to perform with artists such as Miles Davis, Brother Jack McDuff, Frank Sinatra, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin and Lonnie Smith, along with Lou Donaldson and Quincy Jones (both of whom passed away after this interview). His latest album is Dreams Do Come True – When George Benson Meets Robert Farnon, a collaboration with renowned arranger Robert Farnon (Tony Bennett, Lena Horne, Sinatra), which was originally recorded in 1989 and finally released this past July after the tapes were discovered in a storage facility.

In the spirit of a role he’ll play at Breezin’ With The Stars, Benson shares some lessons that span his career. He also makes a point to acknowledge guitarist Russell Malone, who passed away in August, stating, “My mind will be on him because he was such a great musician and a great person. He was like a little brother to me.”

In your memoir, you describe discovering Charlie Parker and say, “You can’t be great unless you know what greatness is.” Can you talk about that idea?

After hearing Charlie Parker, my whole concept of music changed. That means my concept of life changed too, because you’re at a place and time that works for you in that moment. Everything is not going to come to you at once. You get it in bits and pieces. But then I had Charlie Parker. Man, could you beat that? No, nobody could.

My father had been trying to tell me: “What do you mean you don’t know who Charlie Parker is? Now I know why you can’t play nothing.” My father was a very strict kind of guy. I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “If you don’t know Charlie Parker, then what do you know?” So I finally found out who Charlie Parker was through his recording of “Just Friends,” and I saw how beautifully placed his expressions were—the tone of his instrument, the way he put together musical values. He put harmonies together in a place I never imagined before, but it all made sense, although I couldn’t play what Charlie Parker was playing. I don’t think anybody else could either. Many have tried and some have come close but there’s only one Charlie Parker.

So I had to get everything I could out of that introduction. I value it as something that was essential to my growth in music and world events.

I once heard you talk about how in a jam session, you’re not just interacting with the other players but you’re simultaneously looking at what they’re doing and learning from them, which is some impressive multitasking.

Well, I can’t underestimate the talent of the next man because he might be playing something that is essential. I’ll miss it if I don’t pay any attention to him. So I’m listening to what he’s playing and how it relates to the harmonies and the rhythms around us. Mostly I’m listening for harmony because I’m a Charlie Parker man, but I’m also amazed at how much talent there is out there, and no two people are alike.

You have to pay attention if you want to get the value of what you’re doing now to mean something to your future. So I get whatever I can get, no matter who that person is.

I find that the people you might not expect to have a lot to say actually do, if you listen. One of my students, he was an intellectual guy. He wasn’t a natural, fabulous guitar player, but musically, he had ideas that far exceeded anything that you would gather by talking to him.

Then he wrote a song, and it had a bassline that never changed during the whole song—it was just a bass riff—but it had changes that came off of that bassline to form different avenues and each one had its own value. He played the bassline for me, and he said, “George what would you do with this?” I said, “Oh, man, this thing is loaded. How’d you come up with that?”

He didn’t know how he came up with it. It was something in his mind that he had to get down, and he figured I was the only guy who would understand what he was talking about. I might be because I’m the only one who ever recorded it and it’s a great song. But it just goes to show you that it doesn’t make any difference who the person is that you have a relationship with musically. Everybody’s got something to say.

At one point during your years with Brother Jack McDuff, you told him that you were frustrated with playing so much blues. Can you characterize his response and how it impacted your career?

That changed my whole life. I got tired of playing Jack McDuff’s blues. I said, “Jack, can’t we play something else, man?” He said, “What’s wrong with the blues? The blues is recognized all over the world and I like the blues.” I said, “Man, everything can’t be the blues.” He said, “Why not? Oscar Peterson plays the blues.” I thought, “You know what? He’s right. He plays things from a blues point of view.”

Charlie Parker was a master, but he came from Kansas City and that’s what they played in Kansas City.

My favorite guy in the world, B.B. King, he didn’t play anything but blues. At one point in his career, he loved jazz music, but he didn’t want to go that route because he was so good at blues. He was a phenomenon of his time.

Jack said a couple other things to me as well that were important. He said, “George, when you play, I don’t know what you’re playing because I can’t hear you. Turn your instrument up, let the people hear what you’re saying. Be dominant, man. Play like you mean it. Let them hear what you’ve got to say.”

Then he said, “Show people a little technique over here, a little harmony over there, some beautiful chord changes and be sure to put some blues in there because blues is street music. That’s what they hear in the street, and they can understand you once you start from that point of view. That’s ground level.” So I sat with that and then I found that when I put in a lot of blues licks and phrases in my playing, I got a much bigger response. So it still lives with me today.

When you initially cut the song “Breezin’,” you brought Bobby Womack into the studio and the impact was substantial. What prompted that?

It’s an incredible story. First of all, when the original version of that song came out on Blue Thumb Records with Bobby Womack and Gábor Szabó, it was a jukebox smash. People wanted me to play it at that time because it was so popular, and I refused. I said, “Nah, the record is good enough where it is. There’s nothing I can add to it. It’s fabulous.” Then, years later, another group put it out, and that record was a hit, too. I said, “Here it comes again.” Sure enough, they started asking me to record it but I refused.

Then, I had a brand new contract with one of the biggest record companies in the world, Warner Bros. Records, and Tommy LiPuma, the producer, said, “Have you ever heard the song ‘Breezin’?” I thought, “Oh, no, here it comes again,” and I said, “Yeah, man, I don’t particularly want to play that.” He said, “Why not?” Then I told him: “I don’t think I can do anything with it that means anything. I’ll tell you what, if you bring Bobby Womack into the studio, maybe he can give us something that I haven’t thought of before, something fresh to the record.”

So Bobby Womack came in and he said, “Man, there’s something I had originally wanted to put on the record, but I never got a chance to do.” I said, “What is it?” Then he sang what became the opening lick and my jaw was on the floor. I said, “Let’s put that on the record.” Now people think that is “Breezin’” but that’s just a phrase on the record. But that’s how it got off the ground.

You also took a song like “On Broadway” and gave it an entirely new life.

This has been following me all my career, but my first impression of a song is usually the best. There’s only one take of “This Masquerade.” There’s maybe two takes of “Breezin’.” “Kisses in the Moonlight” was one take only. “Turn Your Love Around,” one take.

“On Broadway” was recorded during the second show on a Friday night. We had only played it two times live, and that was the second time. So that kind of thing has followed me all of my life.

“Give Me the Night” was a song where we had finished the album and Quincy asked me to come back to the studio. He had one more song he wanted to do. I said, “No, man, I’m tired. I’m out.” He said, “Come on, we got one song. I think it’s a good song.”

So I went to the studio and we spent all night working. Then I got tired and I was all raspy, which is when Quincy said, “George, can you do me one like that?” I said, “Are you kidding me?” He said, “No, I just want to hear it.” I said, “No, I know you, you’ll put that out.” He said, “No, I’m not going to put that out.” Of course, that’s what he put out. It became the title cut and it was a smash.

Speaking of your role as a vocalist, to what extent did your early days as a doo-wop singer influence your playing as a guitarist?

I couldn’t have asked for a better background than to be involved with all of the singing groups. One of the groups that had one of the best songs on the radio was The Skyliners from Pittsburgh. The song was “Since I Don’t Have You” and they were just some kids. Jimmy Beaumont was only 16 years old when he recorded that.

At the time, I was about 16 or 17, and the same people who recorded him came after me. They were going to do a gigantic production on it with Little Georgie Benson but I already was with a singing group. They wanted me to leave the group but my cousin and some of my friends were in the group, so I said, “I can’t do that, man.”

I was aware of the other singing groups during that period when those groups were on top of the world. We copied a lot of their records.

I became friends with a lot of them later, including the great Marvin Gaye, who came out of the group The Moonglows. He was the last lead singer, and we also knew the first cat, whose name was Bobby Lester. He was an incredible singer.

Anyway, that’s the era I came out of. It was a great school to go to because I learned a lot by listening to what they did.

Much later, when I got to New York, people said to me: “Are you a jazz player? Are you a blues player? You ain’t no jazz player. You sound like an R&B player.” But eventually, the radio started playing all kinds of mixed music, and guys like Glen Campbell were crossing over.

That’s when I began trying all sorts of stuff that, in the back of my mind, I had previously said, “I can’t use this because it won’t work here.” Now I didn’t have to think like that anymore. I’d been to the school of life and the school of life was loaded with all kinds of things from different avenues.

So I began to express myself wholly, letting it all hang out, and that became the secret to my success. People began to say, “Hey, that sounds like something I heard years ago. I like that song.” I think, to this day, that’s the reason why we’ve been very successful in the music world.

After appearing in bands led by organ players throughout much of 1960s, at one point in the ‘70s, you formed your own group with two keyboard players but no one on organ. What led to that decision?

Well, we had a genius young fellow from Detroit, Stevie Wonder, who started playing different keyboards with different sounds. Something tells me he was looking for a guitar, but the guitar didn’t play what he wanted to hear. So he had the Clavinet and something called The Dream Machine, but there was only one or two of those in the world, and they were very expensive. I couldn’t own one of those, but I could own a Clavinet. So I found a guy who could play the Clavinet. His name was Jorge Dalto, and he was from Argentina.

The thing about him was his upbringing was playing Argentine folk music, but he also wanted to be a jazz player. So he found his way to America through Chicago. He married a nice, beautiful Latino lady, and they moved to New York. One day, I went to Buddy Rich’s nightclub down on the east side of Manhattan, and he was in there playing. I heard him play and I said to myself: “This fellow is a monster.” So I took his number. Here’s the problem, I called him a year later and he said, “Mr. Benson, what took you so long?” I said, “Hey, man, I’ve been trying to put my thoughts together.”

I already had Ronnie Foster in the band. I met him when he was 15 years old. He was from Buffalo and I had heard him when he sat in with Jimmy Smith at a rehearsal, and he played so spectacularly. He had great chops and ideas. So I had hired him in the band. He didn’t think he could play keyboards. He thought he was an organ player only, but I said, “Man, I think organ is getting ready to pass on to another thing. The world is going to keyboards now.” He said, “George, I’m not a piano player.” I said, “One thing I know after playing with Herbie Hancock is I can determine who can play a piano and who cannot.” [Laughs.]

So I put him in the band, and then I also had the new kid. I call them kids because they were in their early-to-mid 20s. By that time, I had reached my early 30s. So we went out on the road with that combination of two keyboards, an idea that I got from Stevie Wonder’s records. I loved the mixture of those sounds. It sounded full and it was very improvisational.

I went on the road with that, and we scared everybody to death. Since we had no hits, we went out as an opening act, but when we left the stage, half the audience left with us because nobody could follow that band. After a while, it became noticeable because the people we were supposed to open for started canceling our gigs.

Lucky for us, we went to the studio and recorded the album Breezin’. If that hadn’t come out, I’d still be struggling to work in the nightclubs.

You had a classic Miles Davis experience when he invited you to record with him, then on two consecutive days, he showed up, played one note and left. Did you have the expectation that something like that might happen? Did you think it was a prank of some sort?

Well, he had a reputation, so you’d expect anything from Miles. It had nothing to do with his musicianship. His musicianship was new and exciting, even though it wasn’t a thousand notes per second. I don’t think Miles could ever compete with Clifford Brown, who was the greatest jump player in my mind.

I loved what he did, though. All that experience he had with the great Charlie Parker paid off. I noticed that he didn’t try to continue that, but the excellence of his music showed through everything he played, and he carved out a career that nobody ever imagined.

His reputation as an individual varied though, depending on who you were talking to. So he came to the studio, took his horn out, played one note in the microphone, then packed up his instrument and walked out. The first time I said, “Wait a minute, maybe he doesn’t want me on the date.” Then I came back the second day and he did the same thing. So I said, “Next time I’m going to stay at home.”

Later, he called me up at my house and said, “Hey, man, I hope you’re going to show up tomorrow” I said, “Miles, I don’t want to take your money. It doesn’t make any sense.” He said, “Oh, we’re going to record something, man. Come on down to the studio.” And we finally ended up recording something.

I remember Tony Williams was trying to tell me how to approach the music and Miles said, “Shut up, Tony. Play your drums. And on second thought, put your drums over in that corner. You’re playing too loud, man.”

Miles had life experience, and he played with the most prestigious jazz musician in history. He tried to quit every night, but Charlie Parker wouldn’t let him.

So I saw Miles from different points of view, but there was something about him I really liked. When he opened his mouth, I learned something every time.

Other artists have invited you to join them in so many varied projects over the years. What is it about your playing or approach that you think accounts for that?

I never know what people are going to bring to me. They’re always asking for something that I don’t think I do, but they must think I can do it.

It’s like when someone came to me asking, “Hey, how would you like to be on a record with Lou Donaldson?” I said, “Wait a minute, that’s an established artist who’s got a great reputation and he’s a great player. Why does he want me on a record?” They said, “Well, he wants you and he wants Lonnie Smith, too.” I said, “Oh, I can understand that. He gets a package, he gets a sound and he knows what he’s looking for. Let’s see what that is.” So I went to the date and sure enough, there were some things that I could relate to.

That’s when I began to understand that people have a different view of you than you might have of yourself. They see you differently than you see yourself. Do you want to stop that? The answer to that is no. You need to allow yourself to see what you represent to others. It helps you move past getting stuck in your own mind.