Welcome back to The Deep Dive. Today, we're tackling
source material on someone whose career is, well,
it's almost hard to pin down, just incredibly
diverse. Yeah, we're talking about Ben Sidren.
And it's not just, you know, dabbling in different
things. It's deep, recognized achievement across
fields that don't usually mix. Right. We're talking
rock music, serious jazz, academia, writing,
broadcasting, producing. It's a lot. The mission
today is figuring out how one person weaves all
those threads, rock and roll history, jazz scholarship,
English lit, TV production into one cohesive
and frankly long career. And the hook, I think,
comes right from the Chicago Sun -Times. They
called him a renaissance man cast adrift in a
modern world. That image. It really sticks. It
does. It perfectly frames our dives. You know,
the Renaissance ideal is about the whole person,
the polymath. Sidren seems to have taken that
idea and just plunged it right into the heart
of modern American music. So we need to connect
those dots for you. How does studying English
literature deeply connect to, say, producing
Van Morrison or playing keyboards for the Rolling
Stones? Exactly. And what can you, the listener,
take away from a life that seems to defy specialization?
Okay, let's lay the groundwork. Ben Hirsch Sidron,
born August 14th, 1943 in Chicago, grew up in
Racine, Wisconsin. Known primarily maybe as a
keyboardist and vocalist in the jazz world, but
also a major producer, label owner, writer. And
we should mention a legacy continues. His son,
Leo Sidron, is a Grammy -nominated musician himself.
It's clearly in the blood. Our sources cover
what? Six decades from the early 60s right up
to releases this year. It's a massive amount
of output. All right, let's start at the beginning.
Wisconsin University. This is where that split
or maybe that fusion really begins. Okay, so
he's in Racine, Wisconsin. Then 1961, he heads
to the University of Wisconsin -Madison. And
this is key. He co -founds a band there, the
Ardells. And his bandmates in the Ardell. Only
Steve Miller and Boz Skaggs. I mean, talk about
a starting lineup. Right. Future rock royalty.
But here's the first really interesting turn.
Miller and Skaggs take off for the West Coast,
you know, chasing the music dream. But Sidron
doesn't go. He stays. He finishes his degree
in English literature, graduating in 66. That's
a significant choice right there. Choosing academia
over the immediate pull of rock stardom with
guys who clearly had something going on. It really
is. And you have to think that English lit background.
It's about. Analysis, critical thinking, understanding
narrative, communicating complex ideas. These
aren't just academic skills. They're life skills.
Skills that presumably shaped everything else
he did, from writing books to interviewing musicians.
Absolutely. He learned how to deconstruct a text.
Later, he applies that to music, to culture,
to the music business itself. Okay, so he graduates
in 66. Does he then follow Miller and Skaggs
West? No. He goes... Beast. Way used. Right.
Across the Atlantic. He enrolls at the University
of Sussex in England to pursue a Ph .D. So you
picture him buried in books, right? Deep academic
dive. And he was studying. But simultaneously,
the sources are clear. He's working as a session
musician in London during the absolute explosion
of the British rock scene. That juxtaposition
is just wild. Studying dense academic theory
by day and then what? heading into the studio.
Pretty much. Think about the mental gear shift
required. Who was he playing with? The sources
mention some huge names. Yeah, I mean, legendary
figures. Eric Clapton. Peter Frampton. And get
this, he was involved in sessions connected to
the Rolling Stones, working directly with Charlie
Watts. While studying for a Ph .D. in England.
While studying for a Ph .D. It's not just jamming
either. This is professional, high -stakes studio
work. It shows that ability he has to just switch
contexts, to operate at a high level in completely
different worlds. One intensely intellectual,
the other. Instinctive. Collaborative. High pressure
in a different way. Exactly. Session work demands
you listen intently, you collaborate instantly,
you nail the part now. Playing with Clapton requires
one kind of feel, one kind of musical vocabulary.
Playing with the Stones requires another, that
swagger, that groove. It's about feel as much
as notes. So he's juggling the long -term analytical
thinking of a PhD with the immediate intuitive
demands of top -tier rock sessions. And apparently
thriving in both. The sources don't suggest he
saw it as an aetherer. More like... complementary
skill sets. Academia sharpens the mind, the analysis,
music demands presence, connection, instant application.
OK, so even with the PhD studies and the London
session scene, that original connection to Steve
Miller didn't just fade away. No, not at all.
They were made really strong, even across the
ocean. Sidron becomes a key contributor to the
Steve Miller band during a really fertile period.
Which albums are we talking about? He's listed
as keyboardist and songwriter on Brave New World,
You're Saving Grace, No. 5, and Recall the Beginning,
A Journey from Eden. These are pretty foundational
albums for Miller. And the big one, the track
everyone knows, even if they don't know Sidron's
name, Space Cowboy. He co -wrote that. He did.
That credit alone cements his place in rock history,
completely separate from everything else he achieved
in jazz or academia. It's a classic rock anthem.
And his involvement went beyond just playing
and writing, right? He stepped into producing
for Miller, too. Yeah, he produced the 1972 album
Recall the Beginning. That's another significant
step, moving from being a musician in the band
to shaping the overall sound, the direction of
the entire project. It shows that early interest
in the bigger picture, beyond just his own performance,
learning the ropes of production. Definitely,
acquiring those skills, understanding how to
guide an artist's vision, how to manage the studio
process, skills he'd later use extensively, and
even teach. And it's interesting how that relationship
came full circle later on. Right. Much later,
in 1988, Sidron produces Miller's album Born
to Be Blue. Which was Miller doing jazz standards,
moving closer to Sidron's own turf. Exactly.
So the dynamic shifted. Instead of Sidron contributing
keyboards to Miller's rock vision, now Sidron
is the expert guide, helping Miller navigate
the nuances of jazz and blues performance. It's
a lovely symmetry. It really underscores that
fluidity between genres. Okay, so that sets up
his early foundation, the academic grounding,
the rock credentials. Let's move into the phase
where he really establishes himself as a solo
artist and, crucially, a sought -after producer.
So 1971, he makes a key move. He returns to Madison,
Wisconsin. And this becomes his home base, his
anchor, really, for most of his life. Which is
interesting in itself. After London, the Stones'
California connections... He chooses the Midwest.
Yeah, and it's there he starts to formalize the
academic side related to the industry itself.
He starts teaching courses at UW -Madison. Teaching
what specifically? Not English Lit this time.
No, teaching courses on the business of music.
Okay, now that's a perfect synthesis of his experiences.
What kind of insights would he bring to that,
having navigated sessions, royalties for Space
Cowboy production? Exactly. He wasn't teaching
theory out of a textbook. He was teaching the
practical realities. Contract negotiations from
a player's perspective. Royalty splits from a
songwriter's perspective. The studio dynamics,
the budgets, the label politics he learned firsthand
producing Recall the Beginning. So dealing with
intellectual property, navigating labels, things
learned under fire with Clacton or Miller now
being taught in a classroom. Precisely. Knowing
how fast you need to work when the clock is ticking
on studio time with someone like Charlie Watts,
that's a fundamental business lesson about efficiency
and value. He lived it. Okay. Beyond teaching,
his reputation as a producer really takes off
in this period. Yeah. And the list of artists
he produced, it's staggering in its variety.
It really is the definition of versatility. The
sources confirm productions for, okay, get this
list, Moe's Allison. The wry, bluesy jazz philosopher.
Okay. The intense, mystical, famously demanding
rock poet. All right. Ricky Lee Jones. Quirky,
narrative, highly unique singer -songwriter.
Wow. And Diana Ross. Diana Ross. The Motown legend,
the epitome of polished pop and R &B sophistication.
That range is nuts. It really is. Think about
the different approaches needed. Producing Moe's
Allison is probably about capturing intimacy,
subtlety, that unique vocal phrasing, maybe a
minimalist approach. Yeah, you want it to feel
authentic, close -up. Whereas producing Diana
Ross, especially in her later career, you're
likely dealing with much bigger productions,
complex arrangements, aiming for that glossy
commercial sound for pop radio. R &B rhythm sections,
possibly string arrangements, background vocals.
Totally different sonic worlds, different technical
demands, different artistic temperaments to manage.
Completely. The fact that all these artists with
such distinct identities and presumably high
standards trusted him to realize their vision.
It says so much about his skill. It suggests
he wasn't imposing a Ben Sidron sound, but acting
as a facilitator, a translator, maybe. That's
a great way to put it. He had the musical vocabulary,
the technical chops, and maybe the intellectual
empathy to understand what each artist needed
and help them achieve it. Very few producers
have that breadth. So while he's helping shape
the sound of others, he's also building his own
very substantial solo discography. Oh yeah, incredibly
prolific. Over 35 solo albums. That's remarkable
longevity and consistency, starting way back
in 1970 with Feel Your Groove and going right
up to Rainmaker, released in 2024. 50 plus years
of solo records. And importantly, to maintain
control over that output, especially his unique
style, he moves into label ownership. He starts
his own labels, Nardas and Gojazz. Why was that
necessary? Was it just about creative freedom
or were major labels not interested in his specific
blend? It seems mostly about creative control.
You know, major labels often want to put artists
in a neat box. And Sidron's music deliberately
blends jazz, pop sensibilities, and this intellectual
spoken word commentary. That's hard to market
easily. Right. Not easily categorized. So Nardis
and Gojazz gave him the freedom to follow his
muse. He could do an album reinterpreting Bob
Dylan through a jazz lens like Dylan Different
in 2009 or something more politically charged
like Swing State in 2022. The labels were crucial
for letting him be, well, himself, letting that
existential side breathe. OK, let's dig into
that phrase because The Times called him the
first existential jazz rapper. It's such a unique
description. What does it actually mean in terms
of his performance style? It's such a brilliant
encapsulation, actually. Let's break it down.
Jazz is the foundation. The sophisticated harmonies,
the improvisation, the often cool syncopated
rhythms from his band. Okay, the musical bed.
Right. Then rapper. Now this isn't like commercial
hip -hop. It refers to his vocal delivery. It's
often spoken word, rhythmic, conversational,
sometimes almost a stream of consciousness flow
over the music. He uses his voice for commentary,
not just traditional singing. So rhythmic speech
rather than melody sometimes. Often, yeah. And
then the existential part. This ties right back
to his literary and philosophical interests.
Existentialism deals with themes of existence,
freedom, choice, meaning. absurdity in modern
life. And his lyrics tackle those kinds of themes.
Directly. He'll comment on social trends, the
irony of technology, the search for authenticity,
philosophical questions, all delivered with this
cool, detached, almost conversational tone, but
rhythmically locked in with the band. So it's
like the analytical brain from his PhD is providing
the lyrical content and the seasoned musician
is delivering it within a sophisticated jazz
framework. Precisely. It's the perfect synthesis.
He's using the bandstand almost like a forum
for ideas, but making it groove. It makes that
English lit degree seem just as vital to his
music as his keyboard skills. He's fundamentally
a commentator using music as his medium. That
focus on commentary, on explaining things, seems
like a natural bridge to the next major phase
of his career, using media to demystify music.
especially jazz. Absolutely. His broadcasting
work is just as significant in many ways as his
recordings. He became a really important voice
in bringing jazz to a wider audience, making
it accessible without dumbing it down. Starting
with radio, right? And PR. Yeah. Beginning in
1981, he hosted jazz programs for National Public
Radio. The most famous was probably the Jazz
Alive series. And Jazz Alive won a Peabody Award.
That's, I mean, the highest honor in broadcasting.
What made that show resonate so much? Well, Sidron
wasn't just a DJ playing records. He was an insider.
He knew the musicians. He understood the music
deeply, but he could explain it. He framed the
music within its cultural history, interviewed
the artist, talked about the structures in a
way that listeners could grasp. Making it less
intimidating. Exactly. High -level stuff, but
presented conversationally, without jargon or
pretension. Perfect for anyone curious about
jazz, but maybe put off by its complexity. He
was translating. And he took that skill to television,
too. VH1, which is interesting. That's a mainstream.
pop and rock channel. Right. In the early 90s,
he hosted a series called New Visions on VH1,
and that won an Ace Award, which was the big
cable award back then. So he's putting jazz and
related music right in front of a huge mainstream
audience. What was his goal there? He often talked
about wanting to demystify the world of jazz.
That was his mission statement, really. Demystify
how? What was the philosophy behind that? He
had this great quote, jazz musicians are just
like the rest of us, only more so. Unpack that
a bit. I think he meant that the things jazz
musicians do, improvising, communicating complex
emotions, collaborating intensely, taking risks,
these aren't alien activities. They're heightened
versions of things we all do or aspire to do.
They just express it through a very sophisticated
musical language. He wanted to show the human
connection, not just the technical brilliance.
Acting as that bridge again, using his credibility
as a musician and an intellectual to make it
relatable. Perfectly put. And that commitment
to explaining, to preserving the context, led
to probably his most ambitious project, the Talking
Jazz Collection. Which came out of his NTR interview
show, Sidran on Record. Exactly. Talking Jazz
isn't just a collection of interviews. It's a
major historical archive. It was released as
this massive 24 -CD box set. 24 CDs. Who was
included? 60 jazz musicians. Recorded over five
years. We're talking legends. Dizzy Lesby, Sonny
Rollins, Art Blakey, and crucially... Miles Davis,
capturing their voices, their perspectives in
depth. Why the emphasis on the speaking voice?
We have transcripts of lots of interviews. Ah,
but the voice itself carries so much information
that text loses. Tone, inflection, pauses, hesitations,
emotion, personality. Think about Miles Davis,
famously reserved, sometimes cryptic in print.
Hearing him actually speak, the cadence, the
attitude. It adds a whole different layer of
understanding for historians, for listeners.
It makes the history feel more immediate, more
human. Totally. These recordings aren't just
data, they're artifacts. They capture the sound
of these creators reflecting on their own work
and lives. It's invaluable primary source material.
And the set itself was designed to support that
historical value, right? Absolutely. It came
with an 80 -page booklet. Essays, context, and
importantly, classic photos by the great Lee
Tanner. So you weren't just hearing the voices
in isolation. You were getting the visual context,
the critical analysis surrounding them. It was
a really comprehensive, scholarly approach to
presenting these conversations. Speaks volumes
about his intellectual rigor. That rigor, that
dedication to context and history flows perfectly
into the fourth pillar. Sidron, the author, the
music historian. Yeah, this is where that academic
training really comes to the forefront again.
His books aren't just memoirs. They're serious
works of cultural history and sociology. applying
those analytical skills directly to music. Let's
talk about his early book, Black Talk. What was
the core idea there? Black Talk, published back
in 71, was pretty groundbreaking. Sidron argued
that black musical forms, blues, jazz, gospel,
R &B, weren't just entertainment. He saw them
as complex systems of communication, deeply intertwined
with the social and political realities of black
life in America. How so? Connecting musical elements
to social experience. Yes. He looked at things
like improvisation, call and response patterns,
rhythmic complexity, and argued they reflected
specific cultural strategies for communication,
expression, and even survival within a dominant,
often oppressive white society. He treated the
music itself as a vital social text. That's a
powerful way to look at it. Music is a language
carrying coded social meaning. He also wrote
his memoir, of course, A Life in the Music. Right.
Detailing his own incredible journey and the
book version of Talking Jazz, collecting the
interviews in print as well. But the book that
gained major academic recognition was There Was
a Fire. Jews, Music, and the American Dream.
Yes, this was a major piece of cultural history.
Really ambitious. What was its focus? The Jewish
contribution to American music. Exactly. He explored
the huge, often overlooked role that Jewish musicians,
composers, songwriters, publishers, and producers
played throughout the 20th century. He looked
at how they often acted as crucial intermediaries,
helping to shape, popularize, and bring Black
musical forms like jazz and blues into the wider
American mainstream. Think Tin Pan Alley, Broadway,
Hollywood, jazz clubs. Exploring how their own
experiences, immigration, assimilation, perhaps
a tradition of textual interpretation, influenced
the music business and the sound itself. Precisely.
He dug into that complex cultural exchange, and
the book got serious attention. It was a finalist
for the National Jewish Book Award in 2012. That's
significant validation from outside the music
world. It absolutely is. It confirms his standing
as a legitimate cultural historian, judged by
scholarly standards. His analysis was taken seriously
by the historical community, not just music fans.
And he even wrote a biography of a fellow music
industry figure, right? Yeah, The Ballad of Tommy
LaPuma, about the legendary record producer.
Which makes perfect sense. Because Sidron himself
was a producer, he understood that world intimately.
Exactly. Who better to write about a master producer
than someone who's been in that chair, dealt
with those pressures, made those kinds of creative
and technical decisions with artists like Van
Morrison or Diana Ross. He brought an insider's
perspective to La Puma's story. So when you pull
back and look at all four pillars, it all connects,
doesn't it? It really does seem to. The English
lit degree provides the analytical tools for
the books and the insightful interviews. The
session work provides the musical chops and the
understanding for production. The production
work informs the biography writing. And all of
it somehow fuels that unique solo performance
style. The existential jazz rapper. It's like
his whole career was the necessary background
research for that persona. You can almost see
it that way. His life is the ultimate argument
against narrow specialization. It shows how deep
knowledge in one area, say, literary analysis,
can cross -pollinate and enrich completely different
fields. You really did embody that Renaissance
ideal in a modern context. Okay, let's wrap this
up with a quick review of those four pillars
just to underscore the sheer breadth we've discussed.
Another one, rock sideman and session musician.
You got the Ardells, co -writing Space Cowboy,
playing keys for Steve Miller, plus those crucial
London sessions with Clapton, the Stone Circle.
All while getting a Ph .D. Pillar two, the jazz
innovator and sono artist. More than 35 albums
that distinctive vocal style and taking control
through his own labels, Nardes and Go Jazz. Pillar
three, the master producer. Guiding artists across
the spectrum. Mose Allison, Van Morrison, Ricky
Lee Jones, Diana Ross. Incredible range. And
pillar four, the academic broadcaster and author.
Peabody for NPR's Jazz Alive, Ace Award for VH1's
New Visions, the Vital Talking Jazz Archive,
and significant books like Black Talk and the
award -nominated There Was a Fire. So what's
the takeaway for you, the listener? I think Sidron's
life demonstrates that deep expertise doesn't
have to live in a silo. That commitment he had
to demystifying things suggests a core belief
in education. In making connections. It shows
that the skills are transferable, maybe. That
analytical thinking can apply to literature,
music, business. Exactly. He didn't just adapt
to a fragmented world. He kind of forced it to
accept his integrated vision. He built a career
where all these different pursuits informed each
other. He created his own context where everything
fit together. Which leads us to our final thought
for you to chew on. We talked a lot about how
Sidron meticulously preserved the sound of jazz
history with the Talking Jazz box set specifically,
the speaking voices, recognizing their unique
value. Right. The importance of audio as a primary
source. So think about today. We're drowning
in digital content. Countless interviews, podcasts,
Zoom calls, clubhouse rooms, TikTok videos, ephemeral
audio and video capturing potentially historic
conversations, creative processes, spontaneous
thoughts. Stuff that often disappears or gets
lost in the noise. Exactly. So the question is.
Are we archiving the essential voices of our
own time, the actual sound of people talking,
explaining, arguing, creating, with the same
kind of care and intentionality that Sidron applied
to those jazz legends? Or are we letting invaluable
sonic history just evaporate? And what will that
gap, that silence, cost future historians trying
to understand us? A lot to think about there.
What voices are we losing right now? Thanks for
joining us on the Deep Dive.