In tune to the end

Saying farewell to Taras Kovayl, a musician's musician

BEN WILLIAMS
JAZZ ARTISTS OF CHARLESTON

Taras Kovayl was one of the performers at the Charleston All Stars on May 30 at Mistral.

The Lowcountry and its jazz family recently lost a mighty musician in Taras Kovayl, a composer, pianist and arranger extraordinaire. When I got word the afternoon of July 18, about 30 minutes after he passed, I was perplexed.

Taras' death was a big curve in the road for me. It didn't destroy my faith or crash my belief system, but it pushed them. I knew he had health problems, but I also knew he was doing everything he could to help himself.

So why did it come to this?

I had just spoken to him a few weeks ago at a gig at Mistral restaurant. Jazz Artists of Charleston produced this year's Piccolo Spoleto jazz series at the live-music-friendly French eatery, and the show offered May 30 was by the Charleston All Stars, a band of longtime Charleston jazz musicians: bassist Wayne Mitchum, vocalist Ann Caldwell, drummer Quentin Baxter, saxophonist George Kenny, guitarist Joe

Wilson and Taras.

Disclosure: I'm a member of the board of JAC, a nonprofit advocacy group, so I was privy to the inner workings of the series. In fact, Quentin and I produced this band of veteran stars for this event. JAC values age, experience and tradition, vital attributes in an improvisational art form, and this band represented more than 150 years of performance experience.

The last time I saw Taras before Piccolo was at a gig at Charleston Grill, just a few weeks earlier. He was sounding terrific, and in good spirits. He had battled cancer the last several years, but remained strong through all the ups and downs. When he got up from the piano after the first set, he came over to say hello. We got caught up on each other's well-being. I hadn't seen him in months. For a year or so before that he had to come home from a running gig in Hawaii, one he loved, because of his failing health. He spent that year trying to get right so he could go back.

During that conversation he was beaming. He said he had been cleared by his doctors to go back to work. He said he had quit smoking and drinking and had changed his diet.

He was praising the Lord. He talked about a spiritual faith that I had no idea he was in touch with. I've listened to him and hung out with him for 15 years and as best I recall, we talked much more about secular stuff, not sacred. He was several years past an earlier diagnosis of death. But now, his eyes were gleaming and he was looking forward.

His glass of club soda seemed to please him as much as my glass of wine pleased me. I was happy for him. He was the picture of health.

When Taras came up the steps the afternoon of the Mistral gig to do the sound check, I was startled. He didn't look well, although his spirits were high, as always. He was an eternal optimist.

But at Mistral he was a shadow of his former self. He was pale, somewhat drawn and not quite as quick to smile. When he started to play, however, his music was full of brightness and sunshine. He was nattily attired, as always, and at the show that night he was indomitable. The flourishes and tremolos he was noted for swirled around the room bringing joy.

"It was all I could do to play and not listen to him," said Joe Wilson, who called me with the news of Taras' death. On the bandstand that night, George and Wayne could be seen shaking their heads in wonderment as Taras drove them to new musical heights.

Steven Sandifer, a local drummer and JAC board member, engineered the gig. I ran into him at Kudu Coffeehouse the day after Taras died and as we talked — probably consoling ourselves unwittingly — he remembered experiencing the same feeling about Taras from behind the soundboard at Mistral that day.

Steven went on to recollect his early days of playing jazz around here, and how encouraging Taras had been to him and how he gave him opportunities to play, often testing the limits of Steven's abilities, having more faith in him than he had in himself. Steven did a nine-month stint with one of Taras' more well-known bands, Brazil, the Latin jazz house band at Mitchell's.

What Taras did for Steven (and many others) is part and parcel of the values-laden jazz tradition. Before there was such a term as "tough love," older jazz musicians would teach, inspire and encourage younger ones, many times by busting their chops, getting in their faces to teach a lesson, often times appearing to diminish their worth as human beings along the way. Steven remembers Taras' sometimes gruff but heartfelt and well-meaning style of instruction as he passed the torch.

He was a great talker as well and had strong opinions about most things. He seemed to know no fear, always moving ahead. We're all going to miss Taras, especially the jazz family. He played all around the world in his career: on cruise ships, in Japan, in clubs, restaurants and concert halls, everywhere. For years he was one of the musical directors for Charleston's long-running, Broadway-style show, "Serenade." From 1984 to 1985, he played keyboards and did some arranging for the iconic jazz/rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears.

Marc Collins of East Cooper Baptist Church has announced a memorial service for Taras at 11 a.m. Friday at Seacoast Church, 750 Long Point Road, Mount Pleasant.

The last time I heard Taras' voice was that night at Mistral. For all I know, it was his last gig.

I was the host. I've done this often enough, but you're always a little jittery before you hit. This night was different. I knew what was going to happen on that stage. I couldn't wait. There were these masters whose art I had enjoyed for many years, and I got to introduce a bunch of them to the festivalgoers and thank them personally and publicly for all they had done for the musicians — and for me — over the years.

The JAC series was groundbreaking and exciting, but the All Stars were my favorite.

When I called the band up on stage and the applause started, Taras said as he passed me, "Thanks a million, Jack, you're great."

Thank you, Taras. You're the greatest. This one's for you.