Journey to Japan (PT1 - Introduction): In October '99 I, along with my wife Kelly, daughter Céline and her governess Meghan Hart, took off on a trip to Japan. I'd been to Japan many times before – about 20 times I think, over a period of about 45 years. But this time was different, for I was going not to perform but to receive an award – the Praemium Imperiale. For those of you not familiar with this honor, the Praemium Imperiale was established in 1987 on the occasion of the beginning of the second century of the Japan Art Association. Prince Hitachi, following the wishes of Prince Takamatsu, established the award to recognize achievements in the Arts as the Nobel Prize does for accomplishments in Science. The five categories in which the Prize is awarded are: Music, Theatre/Film, Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture. In June of '99, I had been invited to a press conference in Lincoln Center. It was an impressive affair hosted by David Rockefeller, Jr. with many distinguished guests, including Prince and Princess Hitachi, Sir Edward Heath, Prime Minister Nakasone, Richard von Weizsacker, Umberto Agnelli and Raymond Barre, and Ryuzo Sejima, Chairman of the Japan Art Association. It was at this conference that I was publicly named as one of those nominated for the prize. The nominees in the other categories were: Pina Bausch, for Theatre/Film Anselm Kiefer, for Painting Fumihiko Maki, for Architecture Louise Bourgeois, for Sculpture I accepted my nomination in the names of former Jazz greats – Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and other timeless artists in this idiom – whom I felt should be the true recipients of this honor. The Awards ceremony itself was part of a week-long celebration held in Tokyo in October. Upon our arrival at Narita airport, we were greeted by a delegation from the Japan Art Association, and at that time were introduced to the gentleman who was to become our interpreter and general aide throughout the trip, Mr. Russ Yost. The first few days were primarily rest days in order to orient ourselves to the new time zone we were now in. Then, on Wednesday, October 27, the formalities began. First was a press conference held in the Hotel Okura, a place I had stayed many times before. Each of the laureates made a short speech, followed by a few words from each of the International Advisors. Then the five of us fielded questions from the international press corp that was in attendance. After this, I attended yet another press conference, this time to introduce the release of the new Oscar Peterson Multimedia CD-ROM and the volume of transcriptions entitled Oscar Peterson: Note for Note. Representatives from PG Music and I answered questions from the Japanese press about this new project. I pointed out that over the years of my career, I haven't had time to answer many of the queries of musicians and listeners alike about my approach to the piano and about the great trios and quartets I was fortunate enough to have. It's my hope that the CD-ROM and book will go some way to answering those questions and will serve to both to enlighten Jazz players and to encourage listeners to deepen their interest in this artistic medium. In the next OP Journal installment, I'll continue the report of the week of ceremonies in Japan for the Praemium Imperiale. Hope you're enjoying it.

Ray Brown (2002): This piece represents a celebration rather than a memorial to a dear friend and a phenomenal talent: Ray Brown. I abstained from doing this earlier for several reasons. First and foremost I did not want my remarks and feelings to be an incursion on the salutations that were being bestowed on Ray and the sorrow that pervaded these last weeks since his passing. I decided to wait until October partially because I wanted to salute him on his birthday this month, which falls on the 13th. I also wanted to wait until some of the grief had lessened, to take a look back at a guy that was not only a genius on his instrument, but selfishly and more importantly, a very, very close buddy of mine. Most people knew Ray as a phenomenal bassist and a happy person. I knew Ray in a much more personal sense because of having had the opportunity to play music with him. Within the structure of our musical offerings and friendship, an extremely strong bond existed, fed by the admiration and intuitive feelings that we had for each other, which only became more amplified the longer we played together. The sort of unspoken language that we used on stage is best exemplified by a recording that I cherish highly within my repertoire. I am referring to an album recorded by Norman Granz in New York that was titled "Ain't But a Few of Us Left." Looking back at this year's losses, I find this to be a most prophetic titling. The album featured Milt Jackson on vibes, Grady Tate on drums, of course Ray on bass, and yours truly on piano. There was no pre-arranged plan as to how this particular tune was supposed to go down, musically, other than the fact that the intro would be a dialogue that Ray and I would share. The dialogue that took place between us on the introduction I feel exemplifies the intuitive sensitivity that we had between us, especially considering the fact that nothing was written down or pre-conceived prior to the rolling of the tape other than what key the blues was supposed to be in. As I chartered my way through the intro, Ray punctuated my musical words with the most sensitive musical ideas that one can imagine, only serving to enhance and inspire me to continue what became a short conversation between us. I treasure this album with the inward feeling that this is about as close as we could ever get to truly playing the blues. Throughout the rest of the album I am continually pleased and amazed at the tight cohesion that Grady and Ray achieved, allowing me to introduce various rhythmic fills throughout their backing. I have this album in my car and whenever I drive somewhere I prefer to play this tune as a source of warm feelings and a closeness with Ray, Bags and Grady. It just makes me feel good! After my introductory concert in Carnegie Hall, Ray and I started out on the road as a duo, giving us the opportunity to cement a close and treasured friendship. We hung out together after the gigs, we ate together most of the time and we got into trouble together at the odd times. We were like brothers and unknowingly forged a bond that was to last to his death. Included in this segment are various photos primarily taken during our operation as a musical duo. Many of our pranks and schemes are outlined in my autobiography, A Jazz Odyssey. The pictures included on this site are just a few glimpses of us and more importantly, Ray, during that early period of the duo. I feel Ray Brown led the way certainly in the bebop era, in setting the pattern of playing rhythmic bass parts behind various "cooking" soloists. His harmonic concept in this aspect remains unparalleled, and to this day, thanks to recordings, his bass sound remains unparalleled. The jazz world has lost one of its founders. Upon hearing of Uncle Ray's passing, my daughter Celine (seen in Ray's arms in the Babysitter photo), went to her room and composed the following prose in Uncle Ray's honor, while playing my "Hymn To Freedom." God bless his soul, a man of the future has gone. He was so close that he made our hearts sing. We will miss him so. God bless his soul. A man of care has gone. He has left us in a very sad way. Heaven is where he should be. Our love will never die, we miss him oh so much. He will always remain in our hearts. Now we've set him free. God bless his soul. A man of strength has gone. He has left us in a very hard way. But, Heaven is where he should be.