Picture Miami/Fort Lauderdale in the ‘70s: small and quiet, lots of birds, flowers and trees. Lots of artists too.

There were loads of clubs and hotels to gig at, and the whole area was an inexpensive place to live with a great climate.

As a community of players, we shared ideas and band gigs, and had a great time musically and socially.

Three natives of Fort Lauderdale had a trio called “Woodchuck” who played Hammond B3, guitar and drums. They were bad to the bone: somewhere between Jimmy Smith, The Band, Mahuvishnu, Mountain and Hendrix.

A lot of this potpourri/original styling was growing in south Florida, but these guys were exceptional. They really rocked, were impossibly loud, and drew an enthusiastic young crowd.

And they were kids—17, 18 years old!

The drummer, the youngest, was eventually to become a unique and genuine legend in his own right: Jaco Pastorius.

Jaco was a drummer before he was a bassisto maestro, and he never stopped playing the tubs.

By 1970 he was locally established, doing some commercial club gigs and jazz gigs while still underage. He was also doing some session work with yours truly, perhaps his first. We did some jazzy jingles for pop-jingle legend Bob Swanson ("See the USA in your Chevrolet").

Other session work was some bizarre, hippie/Bowie/Zeppelin tunes done in Miami at Criteria Studio. Just one studio, four tracks at the time.

Jaco and I became good friends. We gabbed incessantly about music and the technology of recording and all sorts of other things.

Jaco wasn’t your typical late teen—he seemed like he’d been around forever. He had a wry mumbling deadpan style of speaking that sounded somewhat cynical and pessimistic. But he always had a lilting happiness with a matching quirk in his eyes and smile. 

One day, I was practicing in my back porch with jalousie windows—like glass Venetian blinds, opening up onto a back yard with a few orange, coconut and banana trees. I was playing on my silent set with metronome a clickin’, and saw a lanky figure open the garden shed door, get out a pair of hedge clippers, and wander around. If you lived in south Florida in the 1960s/70s you wouldn’t think a thing of it!  Back to the paradiddles ‘tween hands and feet… “Why is this metronome dragging?”

Shortly I heard a knock on the back door. Jaco would never interrupt practice! But I opened the door and there he stood, clippers in hand and several long green branches from the orange trees.

So in one long, drawn-out monotone sentence he says…”Heey Kremer, not bad on the singles, doubles, triples 6/8, 12/8 rule, sonics man—expression! Ratamacues suck though man, more practice—you’ll get ‘em, I know ya. Hey, I showed ya this before, ya need to prune these freakin’ things regular. Practice clipping in 2/4 er sumpin’. I mean really—these ain’t part of the tree branches! They’re friggin’ parasites man! I keep tellin ya, they’ll suck all the oranges and vibes virtually away! Jus’ think. No more wine coolers! What’s doin’!? Saw ya last week, Hal Blaine City. So I know you changed yer heads by now. Sure can use ‘em. I keep breakin ‘em once in awhile.”

Jaco often borrowed my drum heads for his own set. I was happy to pass them along. (I keep my drums tuned wet, near the low end of the tom-tom resonance. When the heads stretch where they won’t project at this tuning, they are far from dead and can be used if tuned up higher.)

His welcome visits occurred every few weeks. This from a time when you never kept your doors or gates locked.

Jaco, of course, went on to uniquely influence every bassist to follow. He became quite famous, literally overnight, but he never forgot his old friends. We won’t forget him either.

Find out more about Jaco Pastorius here.
And, check out this video of Jaco performing live.

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More articles by Ward Lionel Kramer on PSW:
Record Great-Sounding Drums Using Only Four Tracks