A longtime luminary of the keyboard scene, Duke’s resume stretches from collaborations with Jean-Luc Ponty, Miles Davis, and Frank Zappa to his own successful solo career. Two of his iconic songs — the ’70s hits “Reach For It” and “Dukey Stick” — have long been staples in the funk pantheon, and Duke also created an important musical bridge to South America with his classic A Brazilian Love Affair. He has been a musical director for events such as the Nelson Mandela tribute concert at Wembley Stadium, London, in 1988, worked with R&B stars from Dianne Reeves and Jill Scott to Sheila E (who guests on his newest record), and contributed to music education via his involvement with the Thelonious Monk Institute.
Throughout his career, Duke has achieved success through dedicating himself to his craft and collaborating with some truly amazing fellow artists. Keyboard recently visited Duke in his home studio to talk about the funk — past, present and future.
Back when you were in school at the San Francisco Conservatory, what did you want to do with your degree?
The only specific thing I wanted to learn was more about music. I was a composition major, not a piano major. There were all these classical piano players that could play rings around me. I wanted to play jazz. There’s no doubt that I wanted to improvise. I didn’t want to be stuck playing a certain set of notes
What got you interested in jazz?
The very first thing that happened was my Mom took me to see Duke Ellington. That’s what did it. I was like four years old. It was in the ’50s and he was playing swing, but it was kind of odd. I don’t even know if it was the music that got to me more than the man. I could see him doing something with his hands and I didn’t know what it was. Later I found out he was playing the piano and conducting.
But my earliest musical influences besides that which actually pulled me into music — my mom would take me to church every Sunday and I would watch this organ player. I used to listen and I started playing around age 12. Eventually I became the piano player. I found out there was a relationship between what the organist was playing, what the preacher was saying, and how the congregation reacted. It dawned on me that this was something special. Music is a spiritual medium and that’s how you touch people.
What kind of music were you listening to at this point?
Ray Charles, Les McCann, early Ramsey Lewis, Wynton Kelly, who’s a lesser-known pianist, but incredible. Those kinds of pianists began really affecting me because they were soulful, so they sounded like the guys in the church. Eventually I heard Miles Davis and it was over.
You had the chance to work with Miles Davis later in your career. What was that like?
I produced a couple songs on Amandla and Tutu. Miles called me one day and just asked me to play. I thought it was a joke but it wasn’t. I had talked with him a couple times out on the road and he just happened to call. He started cussing and said he wanted me to write him a song. And that’s how it happened. He told me the kind of thing he was looking for and I wrote several things for him. Eventually two particular things went on his records.
Do you feel you met his expectations?
Yeah, he was cool. He called me back after I did it and said that he liked it. The one for Tutu, “Backyard Ritual,” was a demo. I said, “When we goin’ in to record it?” He said, “I’m not gonna change it.” I said, “Why? It’s a demo?” And he said, “I like it cause it sounds funny.” It was supposed to have a real drummer and sax. But he didn’t want to change it; he just wanted to play on top of it. It was never meant to come out on record like that. So it was kind of embarrassing on a certain level. My first record with Miles and it had to be a demo! But that’s what he wanted and that’s what happened.
What was the biggest factor pushing you to branch out from jazz?
I had musicians who kept saying, “You oughta listen to this, you oughta try this.” All of my mentors — whether it was Dizzy Gillespie, Miles, Cannonball Adderley, or Frank Zappa — all these guys made suggestions as to what I needed to incorporate into my musical world and vocabulary. That’s why I’m the mess I am now! Because I look at music with open arms as opposed to being in one narrow style. It’s like a money market to me; I don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket. I figure if I can’t do a straight ahead jazz gig, maybe there’s a funk gig around the corner I can play.
Or maybe there’s a Latin or Brazilian gig I can play. But I had to go to Brazil to learn how to play Brazilian music. It was something I felt couldn’t learn here. I couldn’t find any drummers that could make it feel like those Brazilian records that I had. So I went to Brazil and started working with some local guys and figured it out.
What was your awareness of funk music as it developed? And when did you start getting funky?
Growing up in the ghetto, James Brown was on the radio constantly. But you didn’t hear a lot of Miles Davis on the radio unless you listened to a particular station. Normal am radio was James Brown, the Drifters, doo-wop stuff. I wasn’t drawn to that. I was drawn to the jazz thing. Of course, when I heard Sly Stone, I was like, “Man, this is some different kind of stuff here.” Between Sly and Parliament/Funkadelic, that’s what drew me into the funk.
When I really decided to hit it was in Washington, D.C. at the Cellar Door. Ndugu had played this elaborate drum solo and then he started playing this groove and people started clapping. So I started playing this bass line and when the audience reacted, I was like, “We must have something!” So I looked at the bass player Byron [Miller] and said, “Play something!” He started playing and the guitar player came in, and that’s how it was born. Months later we went in the studio and we came up with “Reach For It.” That was my first funk track that really made it. We recorded a whole reel of tape and whittled it down to about four minutes. That’s what happened on Dukey Treats. For the funk tunes, we just went in and played.
What was your first synthesizer?
Back when I was with Zappa. He said, “George, you should play synthesizer.” I had seen Ian Underwood, who was also in the band at the time, and he had this ARP 2600. I took the manual and the 2600 home and messed around with it but I couldn’t get anything but squeaks out of it. Not interested. Zappa says, “I still think you should play synth. I’m going to buy one and put it on your piano and maybe you’ll bump it and a sound will come out that you like.” So he bought a Minimoog and put it on top of my Fender Rhodes. One day I hit it and I found out you could bend a note on it and I was like, “Whoa!” I found out you could play the blues on it. That’s what drew me into it, not the fact that you could get all these weird sounds.
We had done some dates with Zappa and the Mahavishnu Orchestra. Jan Hammer was playing the Minimoog. So I said, “I can’t do that, too. I need to find something else!” So I found this guy I knew who did effects things like ring modulators. That was Tom Oberheim. Tom says, “I’ve got a synthesizer for you! It’s called an ARP Odyssey.” He showed it to me and I said, “That’s my axe!” so I would sound different than Jan Hammer. I still have it.
Did you ditch the Minimoog after that?
I used to play Minimoog and ARP side by side on top of the Rhodes. But I think most of my personality came out of the Odyssey. It had a different sound than the Minimoog and for what I was playing at that time, it seemed to work better for me. But the Minimoog is a great instrument, so I can use them interchangeably. I’m really not a Voyager guy. I don’t have one. I have three or four Minimoogs around here already. But I like the idea of being able to save your patches.
How competitive was the keyboard scene back in the fusion heyday?
Maybe things have changed nowadays but back then, it was all love. The guys that really can play, they respect other guys’ talents. If we’re onstage together, which has happened, we might make each other rise to the next level. I used to go see Oscar Peterson, who was one of my early heroes. That’s a piano player there! He’d see me walk in the room and he’d go to another level, doing stuff that I could only dream about playing. Anytime I’d go see Oscar after that, I would sneak in and not let him know that I was coming so he wouldn’t go to that other level. I didn’t even want to see it!
How much of a sense of community was there between the fusion bands back in the day?
We were all getting funky and we all had our own take on things. What Billy Cobham and I were doing was very different from what Herbie Hancock was doing and very different from what Weather Report was doing. We all used to tour together when fusion was big, especially in Europe, where we played soccer stadiums for thousands of people. And we’d all be watching each other. We became very good friends. There was a lot of love and a lot of jamming, too. There was a lot of talk about music, about where we thought music should go, where we could take it to the next level, and that’s how the music grew.
I don’t know if there’s as much of that going on now as there was then. Maybe there is and I’m just not aware of it. Whatever the new thing is, it’s gonna have to come from the underground.
EXCLUSIVE KEYBOARDMAG.COM CONTENT
Duke on 1993’s jazz/orchestral album Muir Woods Suite: Serious black orchestral writers don’t often have the opportunity to have their works performed, so I realize I am blessed to have this chance. Though I don’t do this for a living, the challenge along with its rewards make the whole thing worthwhile. Besides, I’ve always liked breaking down barriers.
Duke on musical style: Style of music is irrelevant! The important message is the freedom of creativity and thought, building on what came before and taking that idea to new levels. That’s the only way the music will truly evolve and become an extension of what came before.
George Duke and Robbie Gennet’s Interview, continued
Do you see any great players out there on the scene, either on or off the radar?
I just left New Orleans where I was doing a thing for the Armstrong Summer Camp and I met some guys down there who are just incredible players. Older guys. We did a little thing and played and I was like, “Man, how come nobody knows about these guys?” I don’t get to New Orleans a lot so I never knew them. I knew the Meters, but that’s just surface for what’s really going on there.
What keyboard/piano players influenced you the most early on?
Wynton Kelly was a big influence on me. Bill Evans, who used to be in the Bay Area all the time. I saw him as a teenager at the Triton. The whole Sergio Mendes thing became an influence on me, the whole Brazilian thing. I was just a sponge. Cannonball Adderly took me down to Brazil and I met Milton Nascimento and a whole bunch of other people and that started a whole other thing.
My uncle had a bunch of 78s. There was one of Woody Herman. I don’t even know what the song was but I used to wear that record out. It was swing and I had never heard anything like that on the radio. So it kinda drew me in. Anything he had; Duke Ellington, a lot of Count Basie. They didn’t become my influences but that’s what drew me to the music.
What is your relationship with Herbie Hancock like?
I have a lot of pictures of me and Herbie back in the day with afros as big as my piano. Herbie and I have been friends for a long time. We’re involved with the Thelonious Monk Institute now. He brought me into that organization to be music director for a lot of these shows they’re doing. It’s between him, Wayne Shorter, and myself, plus Tom Carter who runs the organization. It’s a great thing for kids. Herbie is really into the music. And I love his heart because he’s such a great jazz player but he’s opened his eyes to other kinds of music and incorporated that. So he really learned from the Miles Davis school. I’m the same way.
DukeSpace
Webpage: www.georgeduke.com.
First piano: We had an upright piano in the house that my mom bought for $15. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough for me to play and learn on.
First Rhodes: A silver sparkle top used with Jean-Luc Ponty in 1969.
Perfectionism in jazz: I’ve always felt that Miles Davis’ blown notes were part of his musical canvas. If he played all the notes spot on, would his music have felt the same? I doubt it!
The definition of jazz: Jazz is an attitude that has the blues at its core. Jazz musicians are spontaneous composers versed in the art of theme and variations, counterpoint wizards, rhythmic voodoo doctors, melodic swans, and harmonic oceans, creating what has yet to be created, constantly searching, assimilating, and birthing a new music child.
Definition of funk: Funk is a growth, a mole off of the soul thing. A lot of people called it soul back then and it kind of evolved out of that to me. A lot of it was funny and that’s what drew me to it. [Longtime Duke drummer Leon “Ndugu” Chancler] brought this Funkadelic album over to me called Mothership Connection. He put it on and I was hooked!
Definition of the “Dukey Stick”: It was, and still is, a magic wand in the tradition of Star Wars, but with a finely tuned funk alignment.