Fresh Air - Roots of Rock and R&B: Dion and Allen Toussaint

Episode Date: September 1, 2025

All week we're revisiting archival interviews with key figures in early rock and roll, rockabilly and R&B. We listen back to a 2000 interview with former teen idol Dion. Plus we’ll hear an interview Terry Gross recorded in 1988 with New Orleans songwriter and producer Allen Toussaint. And jazz critic Kevin Whitehead profiles jazz saxophonist Art Pepper, who was born 100 years ago today. Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

Life is a mystery for those of faith or no faith. Ye gods with Scott Carter is the podcast that makes sense of how we make sense of life. Each week we talk to celebrities, scholars, and mere mortals to unearth what on earth we believe and what we don't. Listen to Ye gods with Scott Carter, part of the NPR Network wherever you get your podcasts. This is Fresh Air. I'm Terry Gross. Today we conclude our archive series R&B, Rockabilly, and Early Rock and Roll, with Alan Toussaint, who will hear from later, and Dion. If you've ever dismissed Dion as a former teen idol whose talent or relevance didn't survive the oldies era, what you hear today is likely to change

your mind. He's a great singer, deeply influenced by the blues and country music. I interviewed him in 2000. He brought his guitar, and we're going to hear him perform some of his own songs and some of the blues and country songs that influenced him. Dion had his first hit, I wonder why, in 1958 with the Duwop group, the Belmont's, named after Belmont Avenue in the Bronx neighborhood in which they lived. Dion's other hits included A Teenager in Love, Where or When, Donna the Prima Donna,

Run Around Sue, The Wanderer, and Later, Abraham, Martin, and John. His fan, Bruce Springsteen gave the introduction when Dion was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1989. Dion recorded a couple of Springsteen songs on his album Dejaune, which was released in 2000 and was the occasion for our interview.

We started with a track from that album, Dion singing Springsteen's If I Should Fall Behind. Should we lose our way If as we were walking Our kind should slip free I'll wait for you Should I fall behind Wait for me We swore that we would travel

Darling side by side And we help each other To stay in stride But each lover's step far So differently Girl, I'll wait for you If I should fall behind, wait for me Now everyone dreams

I'm a love lasting and true Dionne welcome to fresh air Good to be here What's it been like for you finding new material I think a lot of people when they think of your songs They think of the songs you did when you were very young That were some of them very explicitly teenage songs Like teenager in love or even The Wander

It's a song about It's a song of a young man Who in some ways is real hot stuff So I mean, you're not a teenager anymore, and the song that we just heard is a real adult song. Has it been difficult for you to find songs that reach your audience that you like and that are adult songs? I don't know. Songs to me have always been kind of like a diary, you know, say when I did teenager in love, maybe I was 16. Those questions in that song, even though it's a very simple song, and it seems like kind of clap trap or something, but it's

nut to the unknowing year it would seem you know if you just listen to the surface of it but it had a lot of heart it had a lot of soul and it asks some relevant questions that you could ask today you know and songs like i wonder why it was the first hit record i had you know we were we didn't know how to write lyrics too too good but so we invented this kind of percussive rhythmic sound you know we'd make up these sounds we'd go down to the apollo theater and hear the horn players and we'd come back to the neighborhood and give the vocal group I'd conjure it you know I'd recruit guys and say do this do that you know and I'd try to get them to sound like the horn section down at the Apollo theater like a song like Ruby baby I would

you know all of a girl in the Ruby yes her name I have to go Ruby Ruby Ruby baby it was like They were like horns, you know. And all that stuff was arranged, you know, the group was a poor man's horn section on the street corners. That's what it was. Even when I did Run Around Sue and they were... That was a horn section that I heard at the Apollo Theater. I just brought it back to the streets and gave it to the guys to sing. Let me go back to the beginning with you.

When you were first listening to music, you wrote in your autobiography that Hank Williams really influenced you early on. When you were a kid growing up in the Bronx, what did you hear in Hank Williams? Well, Hank Williams seemed like so total to me, so committed to the lyric, he would actually rip the ends of the words off at the end of the sentence. It sounded like he'd bite into the word and rip it off. You know, he would do like, well, I can't sing like him, but the kind of idea, like, the first song I heard him do was like, Yeah, and I left my home down on the road around, told my pa was going to step in the night

and get the honky-tonk blues. Yeah, the honky-talk blues. Well, Lord, I've got um, I got the honky-talk blues. You know, you see, I'd stop into every place in town. And he'd rip the word right off like, I got it, and there it goes. You know, and he was totally committed, physically, lyrically, musically, spiritually. I just said, what's this guy talking about? And see, I had a guy on the streets that really helped me out a lot, too.

There was a guy in Bronx, New York City. His name was Willie Green. And he was the superintendent of a tenement building in my neighborhood. And, you know, basically what I do is like black music, filtered through an Italian neighborhood, comes out with an attitude, yo. So Willie Green would be playing me all this John Lee Hooker stuff and, you know, Sonny boy Williamson. He'd be playing like... Go on down the road.

Stop it, Fannie Me. Tell my baby what I heard of boyfriend say. So I start me talking. Why, Lord, tell everything I know. I'm going to break up the sign to find Oh Lord Jack And some people got to go Jack

Jack gave his wife $5 go down Town gets some You know, you do stuff like that Or Yeah, and I Woke up this morning Round for my shoes

Yeah Some telling me, child got Do's a walking blend Yeah Woke up this morning Look around For my shoes, child You know, I'll live this morning, child

There's a walking blue Some people tell me That they worry blue's in bed That it's worth so feeling I'm going to ever care, Some people tell me that they're worried blue thing ain't bad, Oh, but they're the worst of being And I'm going to ever care to day No, no, no

And I'm a walking Walking blue got there walk You know, he'd do stuff like that So I'd go into the studio And do the white version of that No, no, really, but it sounds like what I'm hearing from you You heard country music through Hank Williams You heard all these blues recordings.

And what you found was this kind of Bronx version. And a little doo-wop. Yeah, well, that doo-wop was that for you. This really, like for you, native version of all the music that you were loving. Right. It kind of... But it was authentic because it was your music. You weren't just doing stuff in the manner of somebody else.

Well, Willie Green. Again, the guy who was doing this, he told me, he said, Deon, he said, right about the people in the neighborhood, right about the things you know. And to me, when I looked around my neighborhood, we had characters like Frankie Yunk, Yonk, Joe BBI's, Ralphie Moch. There was a guy in my neighborhood, they called him Shakespeare.

He used to say, like, to be or not to be, which is my apartment? I thought I'd get you with that, Terry. But we had a lot of characters. You know, so, and they seem bigger than life, like The Wanderer. His name was Jackie Burns. He was a sailor who got tattoos all over him, you know. And every time he'd date a girl, he'd get a name tattooed on his body.

You know, this guy was like, you know. Flo on my left arm, Mary on my right. Janie is a girl, I'll be with the night. Little girl asks me. Which one I love the best I tear open my shirt I show Rosie I'm my chest I'm a wanderer

Yeah I'm the wanderer I roam around around around around Around around Play that thing every year and it But this This guy would walk around With his tank top on With all these names all over

You know What'd you think of him? Did you like him or? He was a He was kind of a loner. He would like, I didn't know him that well. But he just seemed bigger than life because he was older than me, and he was in the Navy.

Right. And he would come back and he'd have this kind of, you know, you know, and I kind of featured myself, you know, kind of like a street corner poet, you know, burnt to the bone with the fire of this new rock and roll music. So I was like, you know, over there saying, well, could this guy, you know, I'm like, how can we put this guy to me?

music, you know. And I don't think he ever knew the song was about him. He took off a, see, I don't even know if he's alive today, but, but the wanderer is a sad song. It says, I roam from town to town. I go through life without a care. I'm as happy as a clown with my two fists of iron, but I'm going nowhere. It's about a real, a real, a guy who just is stuck in a very kind of shallow lifestyle, you know. Before you, you, you started listening to rhythm and blues and, and blues music and stuff like that. I know when you were 11, you used to sing in a bar in your neighborhood, and it sounded like you were a real local attraction.

What did you sing when you were 11? Ah, yeah. I would do, I knew 70 Hank Williams songs. Would you believe that? I would even sing his Luke the Drifter series, you know, in the world's mighty gallery of pictures. hang the scenes that are painted from life. I was like 13 years old.

I thought I was a philosopher. I didn't even know what I was singing about. I sang Honky Tonk Blues. I sang Jumballaya. If you, an Italian from the Bronx, I had no idea what Jumbalaya meant, but it sounded so good and felt so good coming out of my mouth, you know?

Goodbye, Joe, me gotta go, me on my own. You know, Jambalai, I didn't know what gumbo. I didn't know what gumbo was. I knew what rigatone was, but gumbo I had no idea. And, you know, I got caught up in this music. And I guess it's like anybody else when you get caught up into something. It just took me away.

Why don't we pause here and listen to the first Dion on the Belmont's recording, which is I wonder why, with those great harmonies. That's a good attitude song. Yeah. Let's hear it. And what year is this, yeah? This is 57 beginning. And you were how old?

I was 17. Okay, let's hear it. Did, do, do, do, do, do, do-d-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da. No, I love you like I do. No, why I do. Don't know why I love you. Don't know why I care. I just want your love.

share I wonder why I love you like I do is it because I think you loved me too I wonder why I love you like I do like I do I told my friends that we would never heart they laughed and said that you would break my heart I wonder why they think that we will part. We will part. Bar. There's a song that you wrote on the new CD that I really want to play, because I think your singing now is really similar to what it's always been.

I don't think, I think some of the material has changed, but I think your singing still has everything in it that you've been talking about, all those influences, the urgency that you've been talking about. So let me play a song from the new CD, but before I do, I want you to introduce it for us. And this is called Every Day That I'm With You. Tell us about writing this, what inspired it. Well, this is a story, but I'm going to tell it.

The CD's called Dejanou, and the song that you're about to play, in fact, the whole CD, all the songs in it are a movie soundtrack for a movie called The Wanderer that Chaz Palminteri wrote a screenplay for. And I was writing these songs for different scenes in the movie. and the movie got bogged down this year, so I just released the CD. But anyway, every song on the CD is written for a certain piece of the movie.

This song was written for a montage scene in the middle of it. I traveled with Buddy Holly and Richie Valence on that tour. We were co-headlining a tour, and we were on this little yellow school bus, not one of these luxury line custom-made coaches today

it was just a yellow school bus we were riding through the Midwest in 1959 February of 1959 and it was cold it was like 30 below zero we were freezing but we really kind of bonded on this tour Richie Buddy and myself

because we had the first fender guitars that were issued these new stratacasters and we were in a kind of a competition to see who would make them ring the longest. And two weeks into the tour, Buddy got kind of fed up with the bus breaking down, and he was trying to recruit people.

He chartered a plane. And he said, because the more people he'd get aboard, the lesser would cost. So he said, you know, it'll be $36, he tells me. And he hit the magic number for me. I grew up with my parents screaming and yelling at each other for the rent, in Bronx, New York City at the time was $36.

So my mind hadn't stretched out to that place where I could spend the whole month's rent on a 45-minute plane flight to Fargo, North Dakota. So I said, no. So he gives me his guitar, he says, here, he says, you know, take care of my guitar, he says, and you better take care of it, you know. So he took his laundry.

That's what he wanted to do. He wanted to get a haircut. He wanted to do his laundry. It gives me the guitar to take care of. So now I'm wondering, I wonder how his guitar sounds compared to mine. So I go in the dressing room and I take the guitar, I'll plug it in

and I'm saying, I was telling Chaz Palminteri as he's writing this story around this book, The Wanderer that I wrote. And the movie was called The Wanderer. So he said, you know, we could do a Buddy Holly song here in the movie. Like, it doesn't matter anymore. I said, let me write something

to go through me sitting in the dressing room, playing his guitar, and singing with, and while this scene takes place of them leaving, us driving to Fargo, arriving the next morning. So this song was written for that scene because I thought I could capture this thing, because in my heart, I've always wanted to express this relationship that, you know, that I ponded at times or reflected on at times

that I had with Buddy Holly. and it came out in this song. And I just want to say for our listeners who don't know the end of the story that Buddy Holly took this plane that you decided not to take, the plane crashed killing Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper. Right. So, and the other thing is, so Chas Pomerary's movie is your biography? That's what he's trying to do?

Yeah, he wrote a screenplay around this, around your biography, The Wanderer. All right. So that's what this whole album is. It's actually a soundtrack. In fact, I don't think... I don't think it would have came out as good if I tried to write songs and put out an album. I kind of did it inadvertently.

I kind of backed into it, you know, and it's interesting the way it came out, you know. So let's hear every day that I'm with you this song that's, I guess, inspired by Buddy Holly and about that chapter of your life. This is a song written and performed by Dion from his new CD, DeJon. on New.

Every day I step down trouble. Heather knows that's what I do. Every day I raise my fist for the struggle. Every day that I'm with you. Every day I wake up hung. Yeah, and I try to get my film Anyway, it's a great big country And I've got time to kill

My interview with Dion was recorded in 2000 He turned 86 in July Last year, he released the album Girlfriends, featuring duets with female singers. This year, he released the single New York Minute and had a new book called The Rock Rock and Roll Philosopher, a collection of conversations with a friend. After a break, we'll conclude our archive series, R&B, rockabilly, and early rock and roll

with Alan Toussaint, the great New Orleans pianist, singer, songwriter, and producer. And jazzist Kevin Whitehead will remember alto saxophonist Art Pepper, who was born 100 years ago today. I'm Terry Gross, and this is fresh air. Keeping up with the news can feel like a 24-hour day. job. Luckily, it is our job. Every hour on the NPR News Now podcast, we take the latest, most important stories happening, and we package them into five-minute episodes, so you can easily squeeze them in between meetings and on your way to that thing. Listen to the NPR News Now podcast. Now. To conclude our archive series, R&B, Rockabilly, and Early Rock and Roll, we have the interview

I recorded with Alan Toussaint, who is in our studio, at the piano, and sang some of the early hit songs he wrote. Toussaint was an important but mostly behind-the-scenes figure in New Orleans' rhythm and blues during the 50s and 60s, when R&B was shaping the sound of early rock and roll. Early in his career, he was the chief songwriter, producer, arranger, and pianist for minute records, which at the time was the most important New Orleans record company. He and a partner formed their own label in the 60s. The songs he wrote and or arranged and produced include working in a coal mine, mother-in-law, lipstick traces, ruler of my heart, it's raining, right place wrong time, Lady Marmalade, Yes We Can, and Southern Nights.

Among the musicians he worked with were the meters, the Rolling Stones, Paul Simon, the band, and Paul McCartney. After stepping out from behind the scenes, Toussaint also became known for his own recordings and performances, including his collaboration with Elvis Costello. Toussaint died in 2015 at the age of 77. I spoke with him in 1988. Alan Toussaint, welcome. Back to fresh air. Thank you. I'm going to ask you, I'm going to start with a request.

To play one of the songs, one of the first songs that was a big hit for you that you wrote. Mother-in-Law? Oh, yes, it was one of our very first ones. This was originally recorded by Ernie K. Doe. Right. Did you play it for us, Your Way? The worst person I know Mother-in-law

Mother-in-law She worries me so Mother-in-law Every time I open my mouth She steps in and try to put me out How could she stoop so low Mother-in-law Mother-in-law, mother-in-law, mother-in-law, why Satan could have been her name.

Mother-in-law, mother-in-law, to me, they're about the same. Mother-in-law, mother-in-law, if she'd leave us alone, we would have a happy home sent from down below. Mother-in-law Mother-in-law Mother-in-law I come home with my pay mother-in-law She asked me what I've made

Mother-in-law She thinks her advice is a contribution But if she would leave That would be the solution And don't come back no more So how old, mother-in-law, mother-in-law, mother-in-law. So how old were you when you wrote that? Oh, let's see.

I guess 21. Were you married? 22. Oh, no. But mother-in-law was a national joke. That's true. It really was at the time. Things have changed.

The mother-in-law themselves weren't natural jokes, but most comedians used to use that. That's right. So how did you first start writing songs? Well, I came up imitating most people that I heard on the radio. I imitated most piano players, of course, and most all kinds of music. And after I would play and become totally saturated with it, I would sit and randomly play around. So little melodies came, and that started my writing.

You know, I think two of your influences have been Fats Domino and Professor Longher, two of the great New Orleans musicians. Do you think that, that, I mean, I think. they can be heard in your style. Would you play something of theirs and tell us how they affected you? Oh, yes. Well, Professor Longhair,

I must say, of the local people, local meaning New Orleans and the New Orleans area, has been the strongest influence on my playing and even some of my writing the way I construct certain things. Early Professor Longhair, things like... When I first heard that as a child, that just knocked me out. And later on, Professor Longhair began to add things to his music like,

Yes, he was very, very important to learn that when you were young. Was it hard to learn that when you were young? Not hard. very exciting. Once I heard it, I could get involved. It was just the idea of it, how unique it was to me. It was

off the beaten path of most other things that were all generally related in some fashion, but Professor Longhair didn't seem related to anyone else who was out there at the time. I remember one of your early recording sessions was filling in for Fats Domino

because his piano track hadn't been laid down yet. You really could play in Fat's Domino star Professor Longhairs and Ray Charles. How did you learn how to play like Fat's Domino? Well, Fat Domino was flooding the market. He had so many recordings out, and he discovered a secret to success with triplets. So as a child, I could immediately hear what that was, and most of his recordings had that in it, except for one, the Fat Man, which I thought it was very exciting, but he never recorded any more like that, which was a very different kind of piano. It was kind of raunchy-like.

he never played like that again except maybe on one other tune. The rest of them was, uh, uh, turned out to be mostly like the one I want you to know that I played on it. Right, right, right. Dave Bartholomew who knew that I could play like most of the folk that were out at the time called me in to play on a Fats Domino Recording session. We were up to two tracks at that time, so we could do wonderful things. and he called me in to play like Fats would play this song and I went in and did That's really great

I guess if you're just joining us as Alan Toussaint And I should say, you know, I always You know, whenever I've said your name One day it would be to Saint and one day it would be Toussaint. So I asked you how I should really say it, and you said Toussaint. But your father's side of the family used to say Toussaint? My father used to say Toussaint, without a tea on the end.

It seems very common for New Orleans families to have different pronunciations of their names. Oh, yes, Bonnerese, Bagnaris. Yes. We're listening to my 1988 interview with Alan Toussaint. We'll hear more of it. After a break, this is fresh air. I'm going to ask you to play another song of yours, a song that you wrote.

Maybe do another one of your early hits? Well, Lipstick Traces, the guy, Benis Spellman, that sung the bass part on Mother-in-law, he didn't know what it was worth at the time we were doing it, but when Mother-in-law came out in Seoul and went to number one, let's say, Benny Spellman that sung the bass part made sure that everyone within the sound of his voice got to know that he sung that part and he would go around, he would gig

based on he sung the low part on mother-in-law and he encouraged me with much force to write him a song that he could use that concept and one result of that was this song, Lipstick Tracy You're pretty brown eyes

You wave me hair I won't go home no more Because You're not there I've got it bad Like I told you before I'm so in love with you Don't leave me no more

Lipsick traces on a cigarette Every memory lingers With me yet I've got it bad like I told you be I'm so in love with you Don't leave me no more Won't you come back home Or won't you come back home

Because I'm crazy about you can't do without you Won't you come back home Lipstick traces On a cigarette Every memory lingers With me yet I've got it bad like I told you before, I'm so in love with you. Don't leave me no more, leave me no more, don't leave me no more, leave me no more.

Mother-in-law, mother-in-law, don't leave me no more. I guess you can see how that happened. He really owed you one after you wrote that for him. Oh, thank you. I love it when you can do both parts as you're singing the high part and the low part. Oh, thank you. Yes. Another song you wrote that was a big hit, I guess it was the early 60s working in a coal mine? Oh, yes.

The Lee Dorsey recorded it? The Lee Dorsey, yes. Now, I remember when I interviewed you a few months back, you explained that you had never been in a coal mine when you wrote this song. Now, I don't have never been. I don't know anyone who's ever been in a coal mine. And I don't know why that came. Lee Darcy was a great inspiration for me. When it was time to write for him, I would just sit back and begin to listen to the sound of his voice.

And one day, while sitting on St. Philip Street in New Orleans, I heard him saying, working in a coal mine going down, down, down. I have no idea why. But he was a great inspiration. His voice sounded like a smile to me. And I wrote lots of songs for him, yes. Would you do it for us?

we'll give it a go Working in the coal mine Going down down down Working in the coal mine About to slip down Working in the coal mine Going down down Working in the coal mine

About to slip down Five o'clock in the morning I'm already up and gone Lord I'm so tired How long can this go on now Working in the coal mine Going down, down, down Working in the coal mine

About to slip down Working in the coal mine Going down, down, down Working in the coal mine About to slip down Of course I make a little money hauling coal by the ton But when Saturday rolls around

I'm too tired for having fun Too type of fun now, working in the coal mine. Going down, down, working in the coal mine about to slip down, working in the coal mine, going down, down, down, working in the coal mine, about to slip down. Lord, I'm so tired. How long can this go on? Sounds great. Songwriter, pianist, producer, singer Alan Toussaint is my guest. And I'm going to ask you to do another song. I've been listening to a lot of Irma Thomas lately. She has a new record out, and you wrote some of her early songs, and you wrote a song she sings on her new record, as a matter of fact. I'm going to ask you to sing one of her earlier songs that you wrote for her called It's Raining. Would you do that? Looks like it's going to rain all night

And this is the time I'd love to be holding you tight I guess I'll have to accept The fact that you're not here I wish this rain would hurry up and in My dear I've got the blue so bad I can hardly catch my breath

And the harder it rains the worse it gets This is the time I'd love to be holding you tight But I guess I'll just go crazy Tonight Is there a story behind Is there a story behind writing the song?

Well, with Irma Again, she was sitting right there that day And it was raining And Armour was a great in inspiration for me. I could write for her all day long, and sometimes I did. And she was sitting there, and it was raining, and I could see the rain hitting on the wind of pain, and it was just perfect, yes. Well, it has really been such a pleasure to hear you play and sing. Thank you so much for joining us, really. Thank you very, very much. My pleasure.

Alan Toussaint, recorded in 1988. He died in 2015. He was 77. And with that, we conclude our archive series R&B, Rockabilly, and Early Rock and Roll. I hope you enjoyed it. After a break, our jazz historian Kevin Whitehead remembers alto saxophonist Art Pepper, who was born 100 years ago today. This is fresh air. Jazz saxophonist Art Pepper was born 100 years ago today. He started on clarinet at age 9 and debuted on record with Stan Kenton at age 18. Pepper had an intensive and creative of alto saxophone style that kept his services in demand, but owing to personal problems, he'd drop out of music from time to time. Then in the 70s, after a long hiatus, Art Pepper came roaring back. Our jazz hysteria and Kevin Whitehead has the detail.

Art Pepper's tune Mambo Koyama from 1978, when the saxophonist was enjoying one of the great jazz comebacks after 15 years laying low. His return would soon get a further boost from his candid autobiography, Straight Life. As Pepper tells it there, he was an unloved kid, afraid of everything from closets to clouds, who then discovered two things he loved. Music, early, and a few years later, the addictive narcotic heroin. In his book, he makes the first time he shot up sound like coming home. Art Pepper, the jazz musician, got early exposure in Stan Kenton's 1940s big band.

All the young alto players, Doug Charlie, Parker's fleet brilliance, but Pepper had his own bright tone, warm inflections, skittery phrasing, and floating swing field. Art Pepper on Stan Kenton's Dinaflow, 1950. Other West Coast leaders sought Pepper out, but he could burn a little hot for L.A.'s new cool jazz scene. Shorty Rogers showcased him on an arrangement of Over the Rainbow, which barely contained Pepper's energy and creativity. And then, you know, I'm going to be able to be.

And then, I'm going to be. And then, I'm going to be. And I'm going to be. Art Pepper's lifeers' life could be a mess, but he played with a lot of heart. Art Pepper's life could be a mess, but he played with a lot of heart. You really hear it on a pair of stark blues with bassist Ben Tucker from 1956. On Blues In, pepper balances, elegant lines and woozy splats as if bearing his internal contradictions. One thing Art Pepper fretted about, a lot, was that African-American colleagues didn't respect him enough, Pepper being white and ever insecure.

He was anxious before a 1957 record date with Miles Davis's rhythm trio, fearing they'd cop an attitude. But they couldn't have been nicer, and the album Art Pepper meets the rhythm section was an instant classic. Pianist Red Garland had suggested you'd be so nice to come home to, where Pepper warms up his solo with some thick, slabby low notes. I don't know, and I'm a lot of it. And then, I'm going to be, I'm going to be. I'm going to be. Art Pepper made more fine albums through 1960. Then he didn't make one of his own for 15 years.

To be a drug addict was to be outlaw, and art did a few stretches in California prisons, followed by a stint in a drug rehab program. He made sound like jail all over again. But he kept playing and keeping track of new developments, in particular John Coltrane's way of mixing form and freedom. Comeback Pepper wrote some new style tunes like Mambo Coyama and the sleek and streamlined landscape. The tomb landscape was a staple of Art Pepper's last years when he performed and recorded often. I saw him a few times toward the end, and his playing was a marvel,

sometimes a bit rougher, but with his old, beautifully sculpted phrases, and headlong rhythm. Here he is on Landscape from a festival set at the Kennedy Center. Art Pepper May 1982 on his final concert. His abused body had been failing, and he died two weeks later. That Pepper made it to age 56 owed much to his wife and co-author Lori Pepper, who's issued many late-period live dates, like the one we just heard on her widow's taste label. In the end, the saxophonist got all the acclaim he'd been craving from peers, critics, and audiences.

Art Pepper's last studio dates were a close-listening duo with an African-American pianist he bonded with, who's still with us, the formidable George Cables. With Art Pepper's final performances, the old outlaw went out in a blaze of glory. Kevin Whitehead is the author of New Dutch Swing, Wide Jazz, and Play the Way You Feel. Tomorrow on Fresh Air, our guest will be Jane Fonda. At the age of 87, the Academy Award-winning actor is pouring her energy into activism. She'll talk about her decades-long career, how she feels. first began her fitness empire to fund her activist work and why the first season of the

Netflix series Grace and Frankie sent her back into therapy. I hope you'll join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our managing producer is Sam Brigger. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne Mie Bledonado, Lauren Crenzel, Teresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chalner, Susan Yucundi, Anna Bauman, and John Sheehan. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Our consulting visual producer is Hope Wilson. Roberta Shorak directs the show. Our co-host is Tanya Mosley. I'm Terry Gross. Thank you.