Chet Baker: Naughty American

SAN DIEGO (TNA) – Chet Baker wasn’t the best trumpet player ever to play jazz. Great as he was, he can’t even wipe the asses of Louie Armstrong and Miles Davis.

But he was good enough to become internationally recognized for his music, and will forever be make-out music for folks just discovering the genre.

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In his younger days, Chet Baker was that rarity: A jazz teen idol.

He probably wasn’t the naughtiest jazz man either – Charlie Parker set standards for naughtiness and musicality that will probably never be matched. However, Baker’s level of musicianship was far beyond those of most mortal men and so is his level of naughtiness.

That's because for every great Baker recording, there is a story from an ex-lover, ex-friend or ex-bandmate about how he took advantage of their love, how he stole from them and how he missed gigs because he'd rather be stoned out of his gourd in an alley.

Baker's complete disregard for anything but drugs and jazz (and willingness to use and abuse people to further his goals) make him a Naughty American. But it's the lasting legacy of his music that get him into the Naughty American Hall Of Fame.

For much of his career, Baker was a major junkie: The type who would pawn his trumpet for some smack; the type who would steal from a friend or lover for a taste of horse; the type who would happily miss gigs if he had the chance to chase the dragon.

His trumpet playing was beautifully lyrical and his singing voice was almost girlish and, in his early days, he had an innocent androgynous James Dean look to him that appealed to hot chicks and homosexuals alike.
As a result, he had many fans – male and female -- who were willing to watch over him, take care of him and even be honored to be taken advantage by him.

The 1988 documentary “Let’s Get Lost” casts Baker’s legendary naughtiness in brilliant black and white hues. His transgressions against his family (who are still waiting for child support payments), his friends, fellow musicians and, yes, his art are laid out while beautiful hot gals express their passion for his music, especially his singing.

I know the appeal that Baker’s music has on women – I’ve used it myself. Back in college, I dated this South African chick who, for all her great qualities, had a big negative: She liked Kenny G.

Rather than throw out the baby with the bathwater, I decided to take a more proactive approach and bought a “Chet Baker Sings” CD.

“This isn’t Kenny G.,” she said, as she opened the carefully wrapped present.

“No, it’s Chet Baker,” I said. “He’s a real jazz man. He does smack.”

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Hard living and a desire to feed the monkey on his back made Baker a bad boy and a true Naughty American.

“Put it on,” I said. “You’ll hear the difference.”

So she did, and the strains of “The Thrill Is Gone” came lilting into her dorm room.

She listened for two seconds before ripping off her pants and saying, “Fuck me now!”

Baker gets the women charged like that. Especially women born outside of the U.S.

I’ve played Chet Baker to ladies from all parts of the globe. French women like him because they think his melodic trumpet improvisations are a window to a world of beauty only a few tortured artists or smack addicts get to experience. Italian babes love him because his minimalist singing expresses vulnerability that operatic-trained singers are taught to avoid.

Japanese women also enjoy him because, in his younger days, he was as cute as Hello Kitty.

But the thing about Chet Baker is that for all his handsomeness and appeal to women, he didn’t care much about his looks or women at all. It was all about the fix come what may. That put him in a lot of dangerous situations.

He spent time in an Italian prison for drug offenses and time in jail for prescription drug fraud. In 1966, Baker was severely beaten after a gig in San Francisco. Allegedly, he was trying to buy drugs and ended up with cuts on his lips and broken front teeth. It ruined his embouchure until he finally learned to play trumpet with dentures.

Although he managed to resurrect his career, he still lived hand-to-mouth because he spent most of his ready cash looking for a fix and using and abusing people who wanted to be his friends.

One thing that is relatively positive about his addiction: his consistency. Baker was a hop-head to the end, no teary-eyed sobriety and tell-all autobiography where he expresses regret for his actions. Nope. When he died in 1988 after falling from the second story of an Amsterdam hotel, the authorities found heroin and cocaine in his hotel room and the autopsy found those drugs in his body as well.

Some Baker apologists want to think he was murdered, but there was no evidence of a struggle.

No, Baker died because of his own naughty behavior. He came into this world a Naughty American and went out the same way. In the process, he ran roughshod over the people who loved him and taught them a valuable lesson: Trust the art, not the artist.