Saxophonist Kenny G talks about his new book and his writing skills

It’s publication day for Kenny G when we speak via phone, and the jazz saxophonist is in a car on the way to a bookstore in New Jersey to celebrate the release of his memoir “Life in the Key of G.” In the book, the musician born Kenneth Gorelick writes often about how he practices his instrument at least three hours every day. So it’s fair to ask the question: On a day as busy as this one, will you get your three hours in?

“No, no, I’m not,” Kenny G says. “But, you know, that’s why I do it every day, because there are days when it’s impossible to do it, and then that’s just factored in. It’s fine.

“I will try,” he continues. “Like, I’ve already got an hour in this morning, and we are on our way to do something in a bookstore, and if we’re there early enough, maybe before we start. If so, that would be fun, too, and that would be OK. “These are the days that happen,” Kenny G says, and it’s possible to sense just a bit of the tension he describes in the book, a lifelong battle between insisting on perfection and accepting one’s best efforts.

It was there again, the 68-year-old admits, when he started work on the memoir written with Philip Lerman.

“I’m always up for new challenges,” Kenny G says. “I thought this would definitely be another new challenge, and I was up for trying to see how it would come out, seeing how my writing skills would hold up. “Those are the kinds of things that get me excited,” he says. “It’s like a puzzle and finding the right pieces to put together.” Puzzle pieces. That’s similar to a description he uses in the memoir to explain how he fit his solos into and around the vocals of singers and musicians such as Barbra Streisand, Chaka Khan, Burt Bacharach and Arturo Sandoval, all of whom appeared on 2004’s “At Last ... The Duets Album.” So are there similarities between writing musical notes and words in a book?

“Life in the Key of G”

In an interview edited for length and clarity, Kenny G how he deals with the negative criticism he sometimes gets from jazz purists, how he’s kept his band together for decades, whether or not it’s true he gave Starbucks the idea for the Frappuccino and more.

There’s a sense in the book that you prefer to live in the present and not look back. What was it like to revisit old, possibly painful memories?

It wasn’t that hard. It didn’t hurt me to remember those things, because those memories aren’t current. So I’m not feeling the feelings of those things. Like, I don’t feel bullied. Now when I think about my mom, it’s really just pleasant nostalgic feelings. I don’t think about the specifics. In recounting the memories, it was almost like just giving the facts of what happened, and not really connecting that much to the feelings, at least in a negative sense. Maybe I’m shutting it out. I don’t mean to. I’d say I acknowledged what wasn’t pleasant but I didn’t linger with it as I was writing it.

One area that often shows up in memoirs, but doesn’t here, are stories about your personal life, your wives, girlfriends, things like that.

Yeah, I just keep that part of my life private. It was an easy decision and I made that very clear from the start that I wasn’t going to talk about any of that, and I never do.

I like that, and I wanted to keep it that way. This book wasn’t going to be about revealing things that happened, or talk about what was failing in my marriages [he’s been married and divorced twice, with two adult sons]. I didn’t need to get into that at all.

Let me ask you about your band. You’ve had some of the same members for 30 or 40 years or so. You must be doing something right.

I’m very proud of that fact. I practice every day. I’m not sure that they all practice every day. In fact, I’m sure some of them don’t, but they still have maintained their level of musicianship after all these years. It’s a testament to how good they are.

And you’re right, I must not be that bad of a guy to work for if they’re going to stick with me for 40 years. I pride myself on being fair and respectful, and I think we have that relationship on stage. Look, I mean, they get the gig. They understand it’s not a democracy. It’s not like we’re a band of six guys equally. It’s my thing. I’m doing all the work. I’m writing the songs, I’m doing the promotion, and yet we have these gigs, so they’re happy with their role.

One thread you address throughout the book is the criticism you and your music have received from jazz purists. Why is that? And how do you deal with it?

I do get it. And by the way, I understand the criticism. I understand it because I know all about the music. I grew up, at least from the age of, let’s say, 18, listening to traditional jazz. Up until then, I was probably just listening to R&B stuff and the Grover Washington Jr.s of the world. But once I turned 18, then I would have been listening to everything from Coltrane to Sonny Rollins to Stan Getz to Miles. So I knew this music very, very well.

I can understand somebody that, let’s say, would listen to a John Coltrane solo and go, ‘OK, that’s going to be my standard for what jazz is.’ And if they hear me play, they’re not going to think that it’s the same kind of music. I get it. That’s a perspective and everybody has a right to have a perspective.

But it doesn’t mean that I have to think what they’re saying is true. I don’t think that what I’m doing is not jazz. I don’t think that at all. I think what I’m doing is just a different way of playing. I’m improvising. I’m improvising melodies, I’m improvising solos. If you come to my concerts you’ll see thousands of notes. I’m showing the dexterity and expertise that people get when they play an instrument for 50 years.

Branford Marsalis once defended you, saying jazz purists should leave you alone because there are different kinds of jazz audiences.

The fact that I’ve sold so many records, I think, is a turnoff to critics. They somehow think that I hijacked the jazz-buying audience, and maybe because they bought my record they’re not buying Coltrane, or they’re not buying a new traditional jazz artist. The fact is that they’re buying my records because of some connection they feel to the way that I play, and that’s the bottom line. You can’t make that happen. It just is.

I’m lucky that the way that I like to play has connected with so many people. It could be just the opposite. I could have played my style of music and people have gone, ‘We don’t like this. This isn’t jazz.’ And then they go, ‘Yuck,’ and I’d be playing for 100 people a night. But fortunately, most of the world seems to like what I do.

Tribune News Service