Chet Baker

Chet Baker - balladeer - and one of the saddest people on the planet. Hard to say why. Perhaps the transition from Oklahoma to L.A. didn't sit well. Or maybe it was the years in prison in Italy that did it to him. Or the four wives. The broken jaw. The heroin addiction. Hard to say. He didn't seem to weather morphine too well either. Nonetheless, one thing's for sure. When he decided he'd finally had enough, throwing himself out of that hotel window in Amsterdam, he took along the one thing that meant anything at all to him: his trumpet.

You can say a lot of things about such an act: over-indulgent romanticism, the irresponsible and auto-destructive penchant of heroin abuse, pure, twisted foolishness.

You judge.

But I'll tell you what I see. When I imagine Chet wavering before that window sill, staring at the sky and clutching his horn, I see love.

When I think of Baker's music, I think of honesty and simplicity. I think of numbers like 'Embraceable You', 'Forgetful' and 'Little Girl Blue'. When he sings 'Motivo di Raggio di Luna' ('Moon and Sand'), you feel as if you're shadowing his naked footprints; you can smell the sea salt, taste it on your lips. His trumpet breaks emulate the same, straight ahead 'Hey... this is me' soft caress. You never get frills from him, only exactly who he was, and exactly who he had to offer as a voice and presence. In the end, Chet didn't play ballads; they chose him.