With Gigi and our daughter, Jessica, in the early 1970s. Jessica was a beautiful baby, though it took her a couple of years to finally grow some hair. During the Mwandishi period, I had enough to spare.
After leaving the Miles Davis Quintet, I started my own sextet. In the early ’70s, we took Swahili names—mine was Mwandishi, meaning “composer”—and the music started to get pretty far out. From left to right: Buster Williams, Bennie Maupin, Eddie Henderson, Julian Priester, and me.
In 1972, we added synthesizers to Mwandishi, bringing a white hippie Ph.D. named Pat Gleeson into the mix. From left to right: Patrick Gleeson, Bennie Maupin, me, and Buster Williams.
Music technology of the 1970s and ’80s was still pretty limited, but Bryan Bell helped us find ways around the limitations. He could improvise on equipment the way musicians improvised on their instruments.
In this photo for the Sunlight album, I’m surrounded by eleven keyboards, which is a lot for a guy with only two hands. Shortly after this, we finally figured out how to control multiple synths from one keyboard.
Jamming with the great Carlos Santana in the ’80s.
The first time I was asked to play with Joni Mitchell, in 1979, I made the mistake of assuming she only did folk music. She’s one of the most versatile and skilled musicians I’ve ever played with.
At the same time I was pushing the limits of electric music, I still loved exploring traditional jazz sounds. In 1977, Chick Corea and I did a stripped-down tour: just two guys and two pianos.
Me with my beloved 1963 Cobra, the first car I ever bought—right after Donald Byrd talked me out of buying a station wagon.
After the untethered space music of Mwandishi, I decided to come back to earth. I started a funk band that became known as the Headhunters. This is the touring band (clockwise from top left):
Bill Summers, Paul Jackson, Bennie Maupin, Mike Clark, and me.
V.S.O.P. was meant to be a Very Special Onetime Performance at the 1976 Newport Jazz Festival. But people liked hearing classic jazz so much, we decided to keep it going (left to right): Tony Williams, me, Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter, and Freddie Hubbard.
On stage with the very cool robots that Jim Whiting designed for Godley & Creme’s “Rockit” video.
Winning my first Grammy, in 1984, for “Rockit.” The first time I heard scratching, on Malcolm McLaren’s “Buffalo Gals,” I knew I wanted to use it on a record. From left to right: Bernard Fowler, Grand Mixer DXT (formerly D.ST), Anton Fier, JT Lewis, me, Wayne Brathwaite, and Jeff Bova.
On the set of Round Midnight with the great director Bertrand Tavernier, who made the risky decision to film the music scenes live rather than taping the music in a studio setting.
With my mom on Oscar night. I loved doing the music for Round Midnight, but I never imagined I’d be nominated, much less win.
Switching to clavitar meant I could stand out front on stage like a rock star.
I’ve been playing with Wayne Shorter for fifty-three years now, and I’d gladly play for fifty-three more. He’s more than just an amazing, creative, gifted musician—he’s my best friend.
In the 1970s and ’80s, Stevie Wonder and I got into an amiable competition, with each of us trying to buy Serial No. 1 of whatever new electric instrument came down the pike. Stevie’s a creative genius, and a good friend.
With Quincy Jones and the Montreux Jazz Festival founder Claude Nobs. I met Quincy back when he was a young trumpeter in the early ’60s, and in the ’80s I approached him about starting a partnership.
When I played “Rhapsody in Blue” with Lang Lang at the 50th Grammy Awards, it was the first time I’d played a serious classical piece in public since college.
With my sister, Jean, and brother, Wayman, in the 1980s. My relationship with Jean grew complicated when she told me she wanted to become a professional singer; then, just a few years after this photo was taken, she died in a shocking accident.
With Gigi and my parents at Vice President Gore’s house in 1998.
In my home studio. From the days of cutting and splicing tape to making music with iPads, I always get excited to see what’s coming next.
More than forty years after I started practicing Buddhism, I still chant every day.
Gigi, Jessica, and me. My family has always supported me through good and bad—even when the bad got worse than anyone expected.
Herbie Hancock Page 36