I’m from the old school. I was raised in Los Angeles, and jazz has always been a major force in my life. So the recent death of Chuck Niles represents the eternal silence of yet another force that went into molding what I think of as “me.” In my mind, jazz, Chuck Niles, and who I am today are all a part of the same continuum. Rahsaan called us “Eulipians”–a brotherhood with a unique perspective, who thrive on a riff, and simply yawn at the self-serving delusions of society's pretentious demagogues.
I can't even begin to describe the impact that this grand old cat has had on my life over the years. I first came across him when I was a kid listening to "The Knob”--Radio station KNOB. Man, people talk about how tough KBCA was, and it was nice, but nobody in the history of radio swung it like The Knob. They had people like Tommy B, Tolly Strode, Stevo, and of course, the ever swingin' Chuck Niles. Man, those cats never let up. They swung it 24-7 like it was their last day on Earth--and every one of them had an encyclopedic knowledge of jazz. There was never a lull in the music. Every time you thought they couldn't possibly get any tougher, they'd kick it up a notch. By the end of the day I'd be exhausted.
Chuck Niles and his cohorts at The Knob not only provided me with a Ph.D in the world of Jazz, but laid the foundation for a way of life that has served me quite well over the years. By the time I was 16 I too had gained a wealth of knowledge into the beauty that contributed directly to who I was. And later in life, when life was a bitch, I’d only have to consider my roots to know that I had what it took to carry on. They put a swagger in my outlook that stood up to the most severe adversity, and a love of knowledge and respect for achievement that has allowed me to truly overcome. So these cats didn't just spin records, they were educators–they provided a foundation and philosophy of life upon which many young cats like myself have based our lives. And at the same time, they also promoted a tradition that assured the viability of modern jazz–a tradition that's sadly missing today. Nevertheless, Chuck continued to stoke the flame right up to his final days with a new generation of believers at KLON, now KKJZ, in Long Beach.
Today we live in a world of hip hop, Nikes, and jogging suits. But Chuck represented a different world--a world of bebop, Florsheims, and Brooks Bros. suits. His was a world of unspoken class, magnificent ladies, and shinny new Cadillacs glistening against the Moonlight; of Ray Brown's sweet bass struttin' down uncharted avenues of the blues; of Charlie Parker's bittersweet song, as he tried with all his might to serenade the angels; and of course, a passionate young Miles with his muted horn, sweetly brooding Stella By Starlight into a smoke filled night.
When I think of Chuck, I think of beautiful days and sweeter nights; a time when the promise of tomorrow was more tantalizing than the chilling passion of the night before. So the passing of this swingin’ old warhorse also represents the passing of a magnificent era, an era reminiscent of an elegant lady–a lady that Chuck now lovingly escorts into the mist.
Eric L. Wattree
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