The passing of a jazz giant

It deeply saddens me to share with you that Richie Beirach passed away yesterday.

The last few years were difficult for him, and I take some comfort in knowing his suffering has ended.

I was introduced to Richie by his best friend Dave Liebman six years ago in a moment that changed my life. What began as a long, barely audible phone interview with Richie in Germany grew into years of almost daily conversations, many of them memorialized on video.

It became clear very quickly how extraordinary Richie was: his deep knowledge of music—classical and jazz alike—his passion for all art forms, and above all, his big heart.

Over the years, we wrote several books together, both long-form works and shorter pieces focused on musicians he deeply admired, including Bird, Herbie, McCoy, Billy Strayhorn, and Bill Evans.

Richie would often call and say, “I want to record a video on…” The subjects ranged widely: his outrage over the Russia–Ukraine conflict (his mother was Ukrainian), the Parkland shooter trial verdict, his furious disdain for the film Whiplash, new albums that failed to meet his high standards for jazz, Youtube piano instruction videos he felt did a disservice to young players, and comments from struggling players on my blog, which often prompted him to reach out and offer guidance.

His passion for confronting injustice in the world, for fiercely defending musical standards, and conveying musical principles seemed limitless.

Our long conversations were masterclasses on music theory, 19th- and 20th-century classical music, the anatomy of great jazz recordings and musicians, insights into his iconic recordings, and how someone at the highest level thinks about his craft.

Richie had a razor-sharp, ever-present sense of humor, except when it came to music. The high church of art was solemn serious business to him, and he pulled no punches in his honest evaluations of his or anyone else’s playing.

About a month before Christmas 2022, I asked Richie if he’d be interested in reharmonizing a Christmas carol for my annual holiday recording. He asked which tune. I said, “Oh Christmas Tree.”

“Oy vey,” came the immediate response from this Brooklyn-born Jewish jazz musician.

It took some convincing, but I knew he’d ultimately enjoy the challenge. Over the following week, he kept me posted on his progress, and a few days later he emailed me a photo of the lead sheet. It was brilliant.

After hearing my four-trombone arrangement and seeing the public response to his fresh harmonic treatment, he was hooked. In each of the next two years, he would ask in early November, “What Christmas carol am I reharmonizing for you this year?”

His love of harmony and his generosity were ultimately impossible for him to resist doing this great holiday favor for me.

I once told him he was the armed sentry at the gates of jazz, defending it from anything less than full commitment. He liked that, because he knew it was true.

I’m sure the audition process just got a lot stricter in heaven.

I will miss my friend and mentor deeply. I was privileged to have documented his unparalleled knowledge and life force during what turned out to be the final chapter of his remarkable life.