DATE: Tuesday, November 11, 1997            TAG: 9711110077

SECTION: DAILY BREAK             PAGE: E1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY JOHN-HENRY DOUCETTE, STAFF WRITER 

                                            LENGTH:  169 lines

JAZZ DISCIPLES ODU STUDENTS ARE PAYING THEIR DUES TO EARN A PLACE AS "HEAVY" PLAYERS IN THE HAMPTON ROADS MUSICAL WORLD.

THEY GO OUT together and listen to locals such as Woody Beckner and Eddie Williams. They practice. They jam in the alley beside the Dumbwaiter. They are good enough to hang tough with said locals.

Chris Brydge and Jeff Smith are students at Old Dominion University, and they are almost heavies.

Brydge, 24, is a big tattooed bassist with a mop of dark hair on his head and a thick goatee. Smith, 22, clean-cut and mellower than his friend, plays saxophone.

They will play a free concert at Chandler Recital Hall at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, with ODU Professor John Toomey and drummer Rich Mossman.

It will be a big show for ODU's jazz program. It has two serious players in Smith and Brydge, who are also fresh faces on the local scene. It is small, and largely ignored except when name players roll into town.

But Jazz music exists in Norfolk. Not that light favorites stuff. Real, heavy, blowing squeaky darts of sound through your head jazz.

``You wanna look at `Litha'?'' Toomey asked at a practice for the Chandler show.

``Litha'' is a cool one.

Chick Corea wrote it, then played it with Stan Getz blowing blue on top of it. The progression has lots of space. ``Litha'' is an opportunity for a seasoned player to make beauty.

On this evening, Smith handled the horns as the quartet ran through the song.

Brydge on bass assigned notes with his left hand fingertips, then pulled them out with his right hand. The instrument was as big as it was brown, but Brydge wrapped around it as he played.

Smith glanced clinically at his music and closed his eyes. He swayed side to side. Deep in ``Litha,'' in which he and Toomey soloed, he concentrated.

All followed Toomey, a lean middle-aged man who, eyes closed, brought the tune to a close. Folks smiled at the end of ``Litha,'' but nobody smiled bigger than Brydge.

``I ain't playing this song no more tonight,'' he shouted. ``That was the best we ever played that mother.''

In his practice room, which is tucked near the back of the house on 49th Street in Norfolk he shares with his girlfriend, Brydge explained the concept of being a heavy. A heavy is a serious player. Not a student - a disciple.

For many years, Brydge was pretty light. He explained:

``I used to be, like, a singer in punk rock bands and s---, and we could never find a bass player, man, so I said screw it and went down to a pawn shop and bought a $150 bass.

``So I was playing every day, but I wasn't practicing scales or anything. I was probably doing what every garage band player does. Learning songs off the radio. I was doing the hard-core singing thing. . . . I guess I did that a long time.

``Until I was 19, I guess.''

The practice room was occupied by music stands and stacks of jazz CDs. Brydge has ``invested'' a couple of thousand bucks in jazz CDs. This has not thrilled his girlfriend.

In the practice room, there are faces on the wall.

Charles Mingus, Ornette Coleman, Charlie Hayden and a framed sheet of jazz-guy stamps.

``Christine got 'em for me at the post office,'' Brydge said.

With an audience of portraits, Brydge and Smith hang out and practice a lot. They've been playing ``catch-up'' for the past few years, Brydge explained, getting on top of their scales, learning songs and how to improvise with seasoned players.

Smith arrived, having just negotiated a gig with a skittish club owner who wanted ``an introductory rate'' and brevity.

``He goes, `You aren't going to freak out and play any 30 minute solos, will you?''

All the players work with each other in different combos, and they often take turns as ``leaders.'' Mingling personnel is another big reason for the use of standards in playing. That way, all the players have common ground.

People who drink like to hear ``April in Paris'' and, from time to time, songs outside of the jazz norm. This happened at a recent big-band-style gig where Smith played. The leader informed them that there was a request for ``Proud Mary.''

``Did you know it?'' Brydge asked.

``No,'' Smith said. ``He said, `Just fake it.' ''

``Did you?''

``No.''

``So who played it?''

``The band,'' Smith said, shaking his head. ``They hire a jazz band and we're playing rock tunes.''

``Man if someone told me to play `Proud Mary' . . .' '' Brydge began.

He never finished the thought. The men know there are plenty of Proud Marys in their future. It is sobering because egotism accompanies the jazz scene.

The emotional language of jazz begins with a player's intellectual understanding of an instrument. Mastery of the technical precedes the ability to emote with a metal tube with little levers on it or a big hollow wood thing with strings slung across it.

Players who can't make the local cut have a hard time getting second chances. The attitude pushes the talented to excel, but there are some things players feel are beneath them. Such as ``Proud Mary'' and, at times, other players.

Smith, who lives in Portsmouth, picked up the sax when he was in fifth grade. His mother and a band teacher made the decision for him.

``When I got to high school, about ninth grade, I just started practicing a whole lot,'' he said. ``I don't know why. Nobody ever told me to practice. . .

``My senior year, I started getting into more traditional jazz. Charlie Parker. Stuff like that.

``Then I came to ODU and hooked up with Chris. I was the only one listening to jazz and I hooked up with Chris, and he was the same way.''

``Jeff was looking for friends,'' Brydge laughed. ``Jeff came up to me and asked if I'd be his friend.''

The two soon hooked up with local players such as Beckner, a talented guitarist, and other local players.

A lot of this good fortune may have to do with the scene, Brydge suggested. It is small enough so that raw players can get regular gigs and network, even with players from Richmond and Williamsburg.

Toomey led a gig at the Bienville Grille. It was a good house with tables of diners and folks drinking near large works of modern art on the wall.

Brydge played bass. The drummer was 44-year-old Howard Curtis, a highly regarded player his co-workers compare to Elvin Jones, who played with John Coltrane on many classic recordings.

During the first set, Smith arrived wearing a jacket and holding his sax case. He listened by the door, standing near the bar. There was more playing, then a break. Smith took off his jacket and assembled his sax for the second set.

Curtis and Toomey got a little something at the bar and spoke of their students.

``Both are real dedicated players,'' Curtis said. ``Pretty much every gig I see a growth. They've put a lot of time into studying the tradition, and it comes off in their playing.''

``Both Jeff and Chris have an exceptional amount of dedication to the music,'' Toomey said. ``They have an eclectic approach and keep abreast of the brand new CDs.''

More than that, the professor said, they are not playing safe.

``It's intimidating to ask people to make things up as opposed to playing from music,'' he said. ``It's sticking your neck out on a line.''

A woman tottered up, said something to Smith and tottered off. Smith shook his head.

``What are we playing?''

``I'm about to find out,'' Toomey said, rooting through music.

``Maybe `Lost in Boston,' '' he said. `` `Litha' for sure.''

Another set began.

Toomey played at an upright piano, amplified for the room. His back faced the audience and his lean body hunched while he played. Harold's drumming was melodic and smooth. It locked well with Brydge's bass lines.

Smith worked himself in nicely.

Another evening at Brydge's place. Smith, fresh from midterms, told a war story from the Bienville gig. It was about the woman who spoke to him before the second set.

``She came up and said, `Do y'all know how to play ``Take Five?'' ' So I said, `Yeah,' and she said, `OK, thanks.' ''

Then she walked off. Amen.

``Yeah,'' Brydge laughed. ``We know how to play it - but we'd rather not.

``Now if somebody threw $20 up on the stand, then yeah.''

``Musical whores.''

Not really.

There's nothing whorish about ``Litha.''

Now that is a solid, heavy tune, Brydge said. Not many folks play it around here. It is not as widely requested as ``Proud Mary,'' but it has a good melody built on steady-blowing chords and room to solo.

``It's a pretty kicking tune,'' Brydge said.

Smith, sitting back, smoked a Camel. Brydge spoke his friend's turn.

``It's just a cool tune, man.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by Jim Collins/The Virginian-Pilot

Chris Brydge...

Jeff Smith...

Brydge, Smith and veteran jazz guitarist Woody Beckner...

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