Everybody Digs Bill Evans - Except Bill Evans
The moniker of a tortured artist gets thrown around whenever a public figure shows any indication of emotional turmoil. From child actors who get thrust into the public eye too early, to painters whose tonality completely shifts as they go through mental health crises, the tortured artist’s legacy seemingly funnels into that single moment of vulnerability. While these people might be anguished by the generalized toxic environment of entertainment, the most tragic tortured artists struggle through an incessant feeling of self-hatred and perceived ineptitude. Despite reaching the absolute top of an industry or artistic craft, they are unable to accept that they belong. As an outsider or a fan, this evokes a feeling of dread, as it signals that deep within the human condition exists a purgatory of thought that even the most successful people will never be good enough.
Bill Evans’ career is littered with muted triumphs that were driven by a myriad of fallacious opinions and influences from people he respected. In 1958, Miles Davis invited Evans to join his sextet at the Colony Club in Bed-Stuy. Evans faced consistent berating from Davis’ sextet, thwarting his musical inputs and opinions based on the fact he was unproven and was the only white member in a genre of music built by black culture and influence. Davis’ crowds refused to respect his playing, sending him down a spiral of self-doubt. While he faced feeling like a pariah in the only world he wanted to be accepted, Davis would also demonstrate an adoration for Evans playing, where he would even call Evans to have him set the phone down so he could listen to him play. This push and pull expectedly presented a conundrum for Evans on his place within jazz, deepening the diffidence that would plague his career. Beyond this rough introduction to the upper echelon of jazz, Evans would also be introduced to heroin in 1958, which became a crutch he relied on heavily for the rest of his career.
One of the more iconic aspects of Bill Evans is his posture at the piano. Most piano teachers drill the idea that slouching on the keys is a cardinal sin. Other pianists like Glenn Gould would sit with their legs crossed, but Evans truly collapsed over the piano, almost disappearing into the instrument. Bill Evans would begin his performances upright and tall, but as the music shifted towards his solos and improvisations, he would slump into the piano with his face nearly touching the keys, shunning out the crowd. His solos are regarded as some of the most intimate and evocative expressions of music, but his posture was an extension of insecurities that wouldn’t let his physical self be separated from the piano that gave him his voice.
Bill Evans endured a succession of tragedies that made his life seem governed by Murphy’s Law. Legendary bassist Scott Lafaro was a driving force in the early success of The Bill Evans Trio. He was infamous for his counter-melodic style that perfectly accompanied Evans’ playing. In 1961, Lafaro passed away just four days after playing with legendary sax player Stan Getz at Newport Jazz Festival. His death absolutely destroyed Evans and left him “like a ghost”, leading him to stop playing for months. 12 years later, his long-term partner Elaine Schultz committed suicide after Evans left her for Nenette Zazzara, deepening his destructive relationship with himself. In 1979, Bill’s older brother and mentor Harry Evans died from suicide, which kickstarted the final tailspin into Bill’s death in 1980.
As the biographical film Everybody Digs Bill Evans is set for a 2026 initial release, Evans’ life story will be introduced to a new generation and will embolden memories for another. His story will get an intimate depiction of the internal battle he fought — one that has been called the “longest suicide” in history. As he never was able to fully accept his place as one of the greats, his music will forever hold the harmonies that his life never could, and reminds us to give ourselves grace in everything that we do.
