RON CARTER

...on your session, if you want the ultimate double bass performance. “I’ll take a bullet if I’m wrong,” says the great Ron Carter, 83 years old and kicking the asses of bass players a third his age.

Words: Joel McIver Photography: Getty

If your life’s achievements add up to a quarter of what Ron Carter has done in his career so far, you’ll have led a first-class sojourn on this planet. Recognized as a Commandeur de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, a major cultural honor in France, and a prestigious award no matter where you happen to live, Carter has a bewildering array of data on his resumé.

We can talk endlessly about the 2,200-plus recordings that he’s completed, for which he’s earned a Guinness Book Of Records award; we can discuss his classical background and education, or his immersion in New York’s never-more-swinging jazz scene in the Sixties. We would be remiss if we didn’t mention Miles Davis, in whose immortal second Quintet he played alongside Herbie Hancock and Tony Williams; his roles as an educator and prolific author; and the long series of solo and collaborative albums which Carter continues to release to this day.

In the interests of space, though, we’ll focus on Ron Carter in 2021—how he views the art of the double bass, how he looks after himself, and which challenges he faces. Believe us, this man deserves the entire magazine, not just these six pages.

As our Zoom call begins, we’re struck by how stern Carter is, like the terrifying school headteacher you used to fear as a teenager. A few minutes in, though, this melts away, and he starts dropping in surreal humor that has us both laughing. The man is keenly aware of the gravity of his position as the bandleader/bassist of his generation, and—while sticking to a single message of being the best you can possibly be—knows how erratic the music industry can be, especially in current conditions.

Mr. Carter, you’ve been a professional bass player since 1959, when you were 22. What are your priorities in 2021? 

I have a level of expectation about my performance every night. I expect to play the best I can. I hope that the band is aware of what’s going on, and that the guy who’s no longer behind the palm tree is giving them a free harmony lesson every night. If I can get them to comprehend those possibilities, then I think my night has been made. I’ve always felt that I’m on these gigs because someone told me I can help these people, whoever they are, and whatever the project is. I’ve always gone into a project wanting to make the guy miss me when I’m not there.