Saxophonist Hans Teuber is a silent firecracker. Nothing escapes burning under the effect of his dry humor. For this pale skinned, fair haired, South Carolinian wears a perpetual grimace which looks like a frown to people who don't know him and a smile to those who do. He draws himself, with droll, often misdirected modesty and self-deprecating humor as a loner, (though he is married) and only a fair musician, (though his phrasing is truly sublime), a dreamer who aspires to an ever unavailable higher state of synthesis, combining the streams of his life and music.
"Columbia, SC had some real authentic Bebop players. They played real fast, crisp tempos," Teuber says as he eats sushi on Broadway. "I could never synthesize what I was hearing at home with what I was hearing when I played out at night on the black side of town."
At home, Teuber was influenced by the hymns of the American church which his mother taught and played as a professional church musician and by the Western Classical music his father played on his french horn. "My influences were so varied, I could never seem to get them to work together. I was attracted to Arthur Blythe and Clifford Brown, now that's two different worlds, two completely different metabolisms. Clifford's the epitome of fast thinking."
Teuber rarely gives himself a break. While he acknowledges that few if any trumpet players have matched Brown's inventiveness and subtlety, it is still Brownie's example to which Teuber aspires. "Great Bebop players think fast. I'm working on that but it still frustrates the Hell out of me," he says, swallowing broiled eel.
But playing fast isn't what Seattle bandleaders have hired Teuber for. They want his feathery voice on alto and his trademark solos which meander and twist in soft conversational phrases which sound like an old southern woman telling a cherished story. "Seattle's been very good for me," Teuber says. "I don't think I could have found my sound any other place. It's not complete yet but now, most of the calls I get are for me. They're not calling because they just need another sax player--which is great. Before I moved here, I thought it was just wonderful to get a job. then I discovered there was way more to it."
Teuber works as a sideman for Brazilian pianist Jovino Santos Neto, the Jay Clayton Project, plays in the big bands of Chuck Metcalf, Jim Knapp, Jay Thomas, the Mingus Big Band, and Wayne Horvitz's New York Composer's Orchestra, and keeps his secretive exploratory project, Area 51, with bassist Jeff Johnson and drummer Tad Britton floating quietly along. "Jeff's like my big brother, I've learned a lot from him outside the scope of music," Teuber says. His grimace turns up briefly, preparing a humorous anecdote. "We were in Japan a couple of years ago and we became Japanese," he says flatly. "We knew we'd become Japanese because we were going to the public baths everyday and bathing each other. I'd be like 'Jeff. you want me to get that spot on your back?' When we play together, we get into a familiar space, an area of our own and the music we create is always inventive."
Though Area 51 doesn't play in clubs very often, Teuber thinks it's been his most fruitful endeavor. "When you're with your people in your space with a mutual sense of humor, you're not going to try to sound like anybody else," he says. "You're trying to have a conversation and you can't do that by repeating someone else's bits. Sure, you can make a joke or a reference to someone else but then you're really in for it. You'll never know how to answer if you're not doing you're own thing."
Though most of Teuber's solo material is original, he can't stand himself (or anybody else for that matter) copping a riff off one of the greats. "Take Stan Getz, if anyone else does his thing, it means nothing," Teuber says with disdain. "But if Getz does it every time he plays, it's still a beautiful invention. He can play that riff the rest of his life and it will always be beautiful. Copping someone else's style kind of bums me out. Joshua Redman is a technically superior cat but he confuses me. The other day I heard a track on the radio. It was real clean and sounded just like Dexter Gordon. I said to myself, 'Dex.' Then the D.J said Josh Redman. Hell, he sure is doing a good job on Dexter."
Though Teuber admits emulating is an essential part of learning to play, he says making a record should be a wholly integral undertaking. "My favorite discovery right now is Lucky Thompson. He's in his own area, very cool. He's so subtle. The piano player will be playing a blues and Lucky will take his chords and go way up to some horrible key like A and it's no problem. He still sounds beautiful," he says. "The standard way to play that might be in a key like B flat. He's crazy going after the A, it's the hardest key to play yet he goes for it on his own record. He didn't take the easy way out. He's got such beautiful tone. It takes real genius to play like that."
Teuber was on his way to play two gigs in Brazil with Santos Neto when this interview was taken. "We have a gig at the mouth of the Amazon River. I've been in love with the music of Brazil since I was a kid, so this is like a dream come true," he says, relating back to his "only" childhood friend, a Russian kid who grew up in Brazil. "It's this whole Ram Das thing. We're supposed to play until everyone is churned up in a frenzy. I don't know what's supposed to be happening while we do this, but I'm looking forward to finding out."
This month Teuber is in New York, trying on the big city to see if it fits. "The sheer community of New York amazes me. There are people everywhere, twenty feet above you and twenty feet below you. They're all stacked up," he says with mock awe.
Teuber promises he'll be back in Seattle sometime soon because the pace seems to suit him. "I'm a romantic at heart. A lot of young players want to come out fast and furious, they do their best to destroy romanticism." The grimace returns. "If I destroy romanticism, I'm not playing music anymore. For me, playing is like falling in love."
interview copyright 1995, John Atkins
hypertext copyright 1996/1999, Gregory J. Rosmaita