Jack Gilfoy passed away in his sleep on Saturday night. Jack was, among many things, a fantastic drummer. And bandleader, educator, and studio owner. He was a powerfully swinging jazz and big band drummer who led his own groups, and played for countless others here in Indianapolis and all around the country, including being Henry Mancini’s main drummer for 30 years. He was professor of jazz studies at the IU School of Music here at IUPUI. In the mid-’70’s, he owned the Bloomington, IN studio where the Gizmos polished early tracks, and a young John Cougar recorded his Mainman-produced LP debut, “Incident On Chestnut Street”. He was a truly tireless champion of Indiana music, and was one of those first-generation pioneers who worked creatively to help build a vibrant music business infrastructure right here in sleepy ‘ol Indiana.
I had the pleasure of both knowing and working with Jack. Being a relative latecomer to jazz, I was a bit intimidated by his reputation in the early days of the Quintet, but one night in 1996, I got up the nerve to introduce myself and book him for a gig at Rick’s Cafe. I was playing five nights a week there at the time, neededd a bigger pool to talent to draw from, and people said, Call Jack, he’s a sweetheart, he loves to play and would be happy to do it. So I called him, introduced myself, and sure enough, he said he’d love to play. Then that day, whoever I had scheduled for bass bagged out on me, and I couldn’t find a sub. Oh well, I guess I’m playing bass. Then I remembered, Oh shit, Jack Gilfoy’s coming tonight! I had played bass a little bit through the years – in some rock bands, in the studio – but jazz bass is a whole ‘nother animal. It’s everything. You gotta swing, you have to have great time, you have to read complicated charts. And for me – do all that while singing….
But Jack was so cool. A giving, listening, aware, egalitarian musician – which isn’t always the case with people blessed with talent and success. It was just three of us – myself, Jack and the wonderful Kevin Anker on piano. I really tried to lock in with Jack – while not trying to seem like I was trying to lock in with him. While also trying to stay out of Kevin’s way, and sing, and deal with the loud people yelling and blowing smoke in our faces, and occasionally dealing with the ADAMS PARTY YOUR TABLE IS READY – ADAMS PARTY YOUR TABLE IS AVAILABLE shocker that would shriek through the same main speakers mounted up in the ceiling that we were playing through. And then thinking Holy shit, I’m keeping up with Jack Gilfoy !?!
At the end of the set, Jack looks up and says: Hey man, wasn’t this supposed to be a quartet? Oh well, I knew it was coming – where’s the real bass player, dudes? I didn’t sign on to babysit while Junior’s cutting his teeth, all of that. Kevin tells him, ummm, the bass guy bagged out and Tim’s filling in. He looks at me and shrugs.: Wow, it’s fun, it swings – why don’t you just do it like this all the time?
Why not, indeed? I spent the next month reminding myself of the glorious, unlikely fact that Jack Gilfoy didn’t think I sucked.
Our paths continued to cross through the years with various small group gigs. I recorded an early version of the Busselli-Wallerab Jazz Orchestra at the Jazz Kitchen one night, and he played is ass off (as usual) and was kind, cheerful and helpful (as usual) as I struggled with the remote recording. And one night recently when I was stuck for a drummer w/ the Big Band, he stepped for me in a pinch, read the charts cold, and once again, played his ass off.
And, it just so happened, I was playing bass that night.
So, thanks, Jack (and I know I told this you this at least once in person) but it’s little victories like that night at Rick’s that help keep one moving down the path. Thanks for all the good-hearted inspiration, to myself and so many others (let alone all the gigs you helped by sending your college students out to do a ‘field report’ from a real, live gig.) I’d like to express my heartfelt condolences to Jack’s wife, Sue, and all the family and friends who loved him, and to the Buselli-Wallerab family, who will miss sorely his presence tonight at the Jazz Kitchen. We’ll miss you, Jack.
