Fred Katz

          Ever since I was a young cello student in New York, I had heard of the legendary Fred Katz, America’s first jazz cellist. A member of the Chico Hamilton Quintet, he had moved to Hollywood, where he had composed the music for Roger Corman’s “Little Shop of Horrors”. Somewhere along the line, he landed a job teaching anthropology at California State University at Northridge. Later he became a member of the faculty at California State University at Fullerton, even though he (1) had no degree (2) was not a trained anthropologist (3) was a musician (4) was a cellist (5) was Jewish and (6) his politics went off the left side of the page. (In those days, Orange County was a very conservative place, politically.)

Fred was a creative teacher. Once, he went to the Dean with an idea for a class in Magic. The Dean said, “Fred, baby, I’m already getting so much flak from the academics about ‘gut’ courses, basket-weaving and all.”

          Fred countered, “This is about religion. When I say, ’pick a card’, I’m really playing God.”

          The Dean said, “Give me a two-page outline. You’re on.”

          Fred’s lecture course on Magic was one of the most popular in the school for years. 

          Once, just before Fred was up for tenure, he was holding a debate on the merits of the U.S. involvement in Cambodia, with the President of the University. One of the students threw something at the President. Little non-violent Fred stood up and remonstrated: “We’re not here for that. We’re here to talk. Anyone else who tries that will have to deal with me.” Then he thought, “Oh, boy, what have I gotten into?”

          He went home and told his wife, Lillian, what had happened. He said, ‘Don’t buy any major appliances. There’s no way they’re going to give me tenure.”

          The next week, the President did something unprecedented: he went into the Tenure Committee meeting. Referring to Fred, he said, “I don’t like this man’s politics, but I need him as a teacher.” Fred got his tenure, eventually became a professor, and, after retirement, was named Professor Emeritus.

          I had heard that Fred would be participating in a live radio broadcast of a concert with some of the alumni of the Chico Hamilton Quintet at the Jean Delacour Auditorium of the Natural History Museum in Exposition Park. I drove downtown, hoping to meet him. Because traffic was heavy, I arrived after the concert had begun. I slipped into a seat at the rear of the hall. On stage was a jazz group: There was sax great, Buddy Collette. I recognized a few of the others, but saw no cello player. An old guy was playing some good piano licks. For the next number, the old guy got up from the piano and grabbed a cello. It was Fred Katz, himself. 

          After the concert, I introduced myself, and told him that I had a cello quartet. “Maybe I’ll write you something,” he said. (Gracious of him, I thought, but to me that was the equivalent of the Hollywood “let’s do lunch”.)

          A month later he called: “This is Freddy Katz. Your piece is done.” It was a flag-waver, an up-tempo jazz cello quartet called CORVEE, difficult but fun! 

          We became friends, and more: Periodically, he’d call and say, “Ask me to write you something.” So I would. So he did. Among his compositions which I have published and premiered are those for cello and piano, two celli and piano, cello quartet, cello and bass, violin and cello, cello orchestra, and three songs for soprano, cello and piano. Of the latter, one song is based on the Gabon, a Pygmy book of poetry. (I call that a short song.) The second, “Make a Joyful Noise”, is based on a Biblical text. The third, “I Seek a Gentle Breeze”, is a setting of a poem I wrote in Topanga. 

          Fred has always read widely and exercised an inquiring mind. One year he read the pre-Babylonian writers. The following year, he was studying Oriental numerical mysticism. His music reflects influences of jazz, Judaica, classical composers and anthropology. 

          I once asked him about the satisfaction he got from the performance of his music. He explained that he finds the greatest reward in the process of creating. In true socialist manner, he explained that when we place too great an emphasis on the intellectual product, the song, the symphony, we place the author on a pedestal, separating him from his audience. He said, “artistic creativity is graceful living”. 

          What a lovely template for life! The cabbie who keeps flowers in his cab and finds the most efficient way to get through traffic is living gracefully. The couple who, recognizing that their marriage is over, calmly and equitably divide their “stuff”, are living gracefully. Yo, Fred!