Joined:
March 2002
Posts: 14842
Location: NJ | A bunch of years ago, I often visited (and even LIVED for a year) in Cape May, NJ
It’s the Southern-most tip of NJ, straddling the Atlantic & Delaware Bay, and is the oldest seaside-resort town in the US.
In one of the initial summertime excursion of the town, I stumbled upon a local Jazz club, called “The Shire”.
It was there that I met Tim Eyerman.
Tim was a DC-based musician who fronted a band called EastCoastOffering.
He was, without doubt, THE best sax player I have EVER heard!! Bar none. (and yeah, I’ve seen Brecker, and I’ve seen Sanbourn)
This guy just had “it”.
Bends, swells, rapid-fire staccatos, mournful ballads, crystalline highs, smoky lows.
No KennyG-shit here.
His stage rig consisted of tenor, alto, and soprano saxes, flute, alto flute, piccolo, and bass flute.
(If you’ve never seen a bass flute, it’s almost twice the diameter of a regular flute and the mouthpiece-end hooks back around in a “U”, like a long umbrella handle – an AWSOME-sounding instrument that takes a LOT of “wind” t’play). It was never unusual for Tim to SWITCH between three or even four instruments over the course of a song – which he never did in a flashy, or trashy way – it was ALWAYS just about “the sound”.
Tim had a strangely incongruous set of “passions”.
First and foremost, was playing the sax/flute.
Tied for second, was bicycling during the day, and smoking cigarettes at night.
At gigs, there was ALWAYS a cigarette burning – that he would often take a “drag” of while changing instruments.
It was what he “did”.
Even after I’d moved back up from CapeMay, I’d make it a point t’do the 3-hour drive down whenever he played there in the Summer – especially during the Cape May JazzFest.
He knew that I was a fledgling flautist, and always extended some of his flute solos when he knew I was in the crowd – especially the bass flute, which I was always enthralled with.
One night, while they were packing up at end of the night, he disassembled it, cleaned it, put it back together and came over to our table where we were settling the check.
He grabbed me by the arm, pulled me out of my chair and out the door. We went out to a park bench out on the street (which is a big pedestrian mall) where he handed it to me and said “Here! Have at it!!”
Whatta Sound!! The only thing I could equate it to would be playing a LongNeck after you’ve been playing a ukelele all your life. Not being used to it, I almost passed-out from the amount of “wind” I had to expend. It was a musical moment I’ll never forget.
The Shire has long-since closed, and Tim eventually phased Cape May out of his itineraries. I’d heard a while back that he relocated to the Miami area.
I was driving to work this morning with one of the Sirius Jazz stations on, and thought of Tim. Since the “ex” has all of the CD’s, it’d been a while since I’d heard him.
I did an Internet Search to track down some CD’s and stumbled upon a Jazz webpage stating that Tim had passed away a few months ago. Lung Cancer – go figyah’.
Tim was definitely one of those anomalies where he was so GOOD . . . yet, (what I guess would be considered) Fame/Success had continually “eluded” him.
He once attributed it to “f@ckin” politics”. At the time (this was 20 years ago), if you weren’t on GRP records, y’just didn’t get PLAYED on the “SmoothJazz” stations so prevalent at the time.
“Just the Way It IS . . .” he’d say with his weasley smile, snub out the butt in ashtray on the table and go up for the next set.
Thank You, Tim.
I, for one will Miss You.
Sorry for the lengthy diatribe, but I’d long been a proponent of Tim’s music for a lotta’ years . . . figured I owed him “just one more”.
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Tim Eyerman: Thanks for the Memories
Published: June 24, 2007
By Erik R. Quick
There are countless musicians, in any major city, that regularly display an unusual degree of artistry and musicianship. They perform, compose or teach throughout a region and, regardless of their categorized arena, are known to only a few assiduous hobbyists and music fanatics. The musician may, or may not, fantasize about national fame and considerable fortune. But the merits of their relative talents are often unrelated to the degree of monetary success or obvious name recognition.
Although Washington, D.C. is not often thought of throughout the country as a gathering of local and masterful musicians, it has its, perhaps surprisingly, inordinate share of stunning musicians. Saxophonist Buck Hill and drummer Nasar Abadey are obvious current jazz examples in this city. Shirley Horn toiled for many years playing dingy clubs in tattered strip malls and clubs while recording on the Danish Steeplechase label, before Verve waived a contract before her. Washington, D.C., however, recently lost Tim Eyerman; few have even noticed.
Eyerman was a multi-instrumentalist, playing alto, tenor, baritone and soprano saxophones, flue, piccolo and bass flute, oboe and percussion—all with equal ease and aplomb. He briefly played in the United States Navy Band. He taught for some time at a high school for the arts, and he led his “East Coast Offering” group for decades. He was twice nominated for a Grammy award and performed from local clubs to national festivals.
Eyerman was one of the first jazz musicians I ever witnessed in concert, and I have many fond memories of his good natured performances, continually erupting with striking musicianship. The listener never knew what he would play; any of the aforementioned instruments were candidates and almost all were utilized during a set. He used to play a small club in Alexandria, Virginia called the “219”. It is located (it remains operational, although the music presentation has been drastically curtailed) on the second floor of a relatively ornate New Orleans restaurant. Although the upstairs bar area was framed by a low ceiling, the stage opened to a second story loft; the listener could sit at tiny tables before the musicians, or ascend the stairs to the balcony, and peer down upon the group. Twenty years ago, the venue regularly hosted Eyerman. Legendary guitarist Steve Jordan also played with much frequency (“Rhythm Man” [University of Michigan Press], Jordan’s autobiography, has some photos of him taken in performance at the club). In any event, it was an unforgettable imprint on an impressionable teenager just beginning to listen to jazz seriously.
I can’t pretend to be an emphatic and unfailing follower of Eyerman’s music. Much of it was transparent and appeared to pander to a “smooth jazz” fan base. But one had only to listen closely to find something of interest; the thematic material was often jubilant, and sometimes poignant. The playing displayed a technical prowess and ease with a deft turn of phrase. Although Eyerman often focused on “fusion” efforts, the music was never vacuous. It remained emotional, distinctive and tasteful.
Bad luck or star alignment; for whatever the reason, Eyerman never received his undoubted much sought after national recognition. I am probably one of only a handful of people to actually possess his first self-produced LP, “Unity”, released in 1977. He recorded an album for MCA (“East Coast Offering”) and several for Mesa/BlueMoon (“Jazz on L“ is one such title). Nothing remains in print. He has no entries on Amazon.com. EBay.com is bare. He had no website. There are neither articles regarding his recent efforts, nor news of his death, on the web. He once commented and lamented that “Kenny G once opened for me!” Perhaps his seemingly unending supply of apparent optimism was crushed. I have no idea, as I never spoke to him about his professional situation. In any event, he relocated from Washington, D.C. to Miami Beach five years ago. He was at work on a performance manual when he succumbed to lung cancer at the age of sixty.
I can’t proclaim that I often return to Eyerman’s albums. I do, however, reminisce about the wonder and discovery of live performance and the exuberance displayed by a musician in the joy of music. For some time, Eyerman teetered on a precipice of potential fame, and fell back into relative obscurity and anonymity. I imagine that many musicians drown in such fear. I never had either the courage or the temerity to become a musician. But the premature death of Tim Eyerman can serve to remind us of the innumerable artists who do not enjoy the benefit or satisfaction of relative renown, but nevertheless make a distinctive impression and share much joy.
The Washington Post had a brief and obligatory obituary. It simply recounted his life in bare dates and sterile statistics. The final time I saw Eyerman, almost eight years ago, was completely unexpected. I arrived at a “singles event” organized by the Smithsonian Institution. The evening’s entertainment, meant as mere background noise to the often stilted Washington set, was Tim Eyerman. Although it has been some years since I last saw him, he was instantly recognizable. I vividly remember his crystal toned bass flute surrendering to a ballad. He played beautifully. I listened intently, lost in the musicianship. I met no one that evening. |
R.I.P. Tim Eyerman
