By Raymond Dean Jones

Everybody knows that Charlie Burrell was born on October 4, 1920, in Toledo, Ohio, and that his family lived one block from Art Tatum, the legendary jazz pianist. But how many people know that Tatum lived one block from legendary classical and jazz bassist Charlie Burrell. See, you have to be special to know that; and now you're special. And so is Charlie.
In his comfortable, cozy, cottage-like house in Northeast Denver, Burrell sits in a comfortable chair, surrounded by everything that he loves. Start with Melanie, his wife of 39 years – herself a symphonic player when they met – who keeps it cool so Charlie can pursue his musical and gardening interests. His flowers are incredible – perhaps it's that wonderful classical and jazz music that floats out of the house regularly in the mornings when they are waking up to the sun and he is practicing on his big bass.
Then, there are his “Cuffley Caps” from London, which ride so “dashingly” on his head, one of his signature pieces. He's been wearing the caps since 1955, and has a collection of them that would do a museum proud. And there is the phonograph, the one he played for me; and a 45 rpm recording of Duke Ellington and Jimmy Blanton, the “greatest Bass player that ever lived, and who died at age 21.” It was recorded on the old RCA Victor label.1955. Sounded like it was made yesterday.
Out the side door is the shade tree with the low hanging branch, from which Charlie does his chin-ups in the early morning, before he begins practice. He demonstrates his chin-up style. No wonder he is only six pounds over the buffed weight of 150 pounds he carried as a naval bandsman in his early 20s, (proof of which is in a photo of him from that era in a skimpy bathing suit, looking trim, muscular, and sexy, smoking a pipe, daring the ladies not to touch him).
Speaking of smoking, there are his ever-present cigars, smelling not at all odiferous, but surprisingly mild, sweet and pleasant. He smokes R.C., Rollers Choice, Robustos from the Dominican Republic, and has for 40 years. And near the shade tree outside, his beloved 1930 Model A Ford, which seems to fit the era – the 30s, 40s and 50s. These were the heady days of jazz and the players who invented it, taking long strides into an appreciative future.
Burrell is spry as he reflects on a life well lived, well loved, and still searching for a new experience, especially in music. He thinks about his instrument, the string bass, which was developed in Italy or Germany in the 1550s as the Contra Bass, and evolved over the centuries into the four open strings Drone Bass of today's orchestras and musical groups. It originally had no left hand function; was played with a bow over the three G, D, and A strings; the player stood on a stool. Later the fourth string, the E string, was added.
Charlie's friend, Chubby Jackson, played a five string bass, with a C string over the G. The classical bass is tuned to the low B, and is played with long, sustained notes. The jazz bass, while bowed on occasion, is primarily plucked or pulled, and the genius of many of the 20th Century bassists is in how they approach it. Burrell demonstrates the unbelievable strength that is required to play the bass, to get rich sounding notes, to provide depth, range, subtlety, and power. He plays records that showed how Jimmy Blanton innovated, inventing “walking” the bass notes. The technique enables skillful players to not only play the instrument as a creative rhythm instrument, but to play melody as well.
Burrell believes that amplification has, today, “ruined” young bassists because they only need put pressure on a string to get sound. They do not learn the subtleties of plucking with manual strength and precision. He notes that the great bassists – such as Ray Brown, Chubby Jackson, Al McKibbon, Walter Paige, George DeVivie – elevated the bass to an exalted status in jazz and popular music, and awakened modern classical composers to its potential.
“It will make you strong and healthy, baby, because it is work to pull the strings and to get the dynamic pulse and amplification elements right,” he testifies, “all the while listening to the other instruments to blend and harmonize with.”
Burrell reflects on his days in Detroit, where his family moved when he was four. From age 12, he was trying to get into bars to play jazz. There he saw the frustration of working-class Black people who came north to get jobs in the automobile industry. He witnessed white flight out of the city and the flight of industry out to the suburbs after them. Police were mean and nasty. Black folks who had jobs in the suburbs drove under the speed limit to keep from learning this fact first hand. Burrell enrolled at Wayne State University. He had no trouble completing the music program, but was told in no uncertain terms that he would not find a job teaching music in the public schools of Detroit.                                                           
So Burrell didn’t graduate. In 1945, he left school and joined the Navy. He was relegated to the B Band at Camp Robert Small near Chicago. It was a Black band that got limited playing time at military functions. It freed up the members to play in clubs in Chicago. Burrell began to play the game of job searching while looking for gigs.
He came to Colorado where his family had settled. His roots go deep: His grandfather was Reverend E.J. Howard, one of the early pastors at Shorter AME Church. His extended family includes that of local jazz pianist Pernell Steen and jazz diva Dianne Reeves.
He became an orderly at Fitzsimons Army Hospital, which paid enough to support his family. In the meantime, he played with every notable jazz personage who came through Denver. He played with George Morrison on the Frontier Days Rodeo Train to Wyoming. He played bass for all the big bands that played the Rossonian Hotel, including Clark Terry, Duke, Count, Jerry Langsford, Lucky Millner, and Earl “Fatha” Hines. He played the hectaphone, the forerunner of the tuba, for the Black Musicians Union. He played in the first integrated band in Colorado, organized by Al Rose, Congresswoman Diana DeGette's uncle, at the original Playboy Club Lounge on East Colfax, across the alley from the Aladdin Theater. Burrell remembers Mose Allison, who came to Denver University from the South, coming over to the Points and playing piano. Allison loved being around Black folks. He loved playing behind Lady Day.
And Burrell played for the Denver Symphony Orchestra and the Colorado Symphony, and was the first Black musician to play in the San Francisco Symphony, for which he received national acclaim. But he reflects that all of this was "Playing the game, baby," because there were always doubters and those who questioned even a classically trained and highly experienced player who was Black.
His strength comes from playing that game, and from the women in his life, especially Melanie. “She played cello in the Symphony for 35 years. I taught her to play jazz on the cello,” he recalls.
When you see Burrell around town, whatever he is doing, you will know that he is “resting, relaxing, and rehearsing.” That's what he does. That’s what makes him special.
Oh yes, that and “playing the game, baby.”