Bruut! Noun; brute; bully; (slang) master, dope, heavy, da bomb – ‘brute sneakers, man’ or ‘listen to Wayne Shorter in Free For All, he’s brute!’

I’m sitting on a barstool at a high oak table in the Amsterdam rehearsal studio, the Melody Line. Alto saxophonist Maarten Hogenhuis and bass player Thomas Rolff, one half of Dutch jazz group Bruut!, talk about their career and some of their favourite records. They share mutual preferences. “We’re married, really,” says Hogenhuis. I guess they are. Not only these two longtime friends, but all four members of Bruut!, and happily I presume. Because their seemingly effortless mix of hard bop and boogaloo with surf and rock music is tight and possesses a delicious, big sound. Jazz Crusaders meets Dick Dale. Bruut! dubs their music ‘superjazz.’

Hogenhuis and Rolff grew up in the aftermath of grunge. They bring its raw sensibility to their music, yet jazz remains the core of Bruut!’s style. As far as contemporary, jazz-related influences are concerned, John Scofield’s A Go Go is high on their list. But on top of that list is Benjamin Herman’s Get In, the Dutch alto saxophonist’s 1998 boogaloo album that he recorded with legendary soul jazz drummer Idris Muhammad, organist Larry Goldings and Dutch guitarist Jesse van Ruller. Hogenhuis: “A very famous record for our generation, a sort of Bible! Benjamin has no idea how many of his young colleagues dig that album.”

Rolff: “We were already of the ‘old stuff’, but Get In was an eyeopener. We started out as a boogaloo outfit, which implies a totally different approach than that of a mainstream jazz group.” Is that approach easier? Hogenhuis answers: “We are careful not to play too ‘difficult’, which hopefully benefits our music. Making ‘difficult’ music can be quite easy in fact, but to play ‘simple’ in a meaningful way is a totally different story.”

Hogenhuis’ sing-songy style reminds me of altoist Lou Donaldson, who as Rolff puts it succinctly “came into his own in the sixties while simultaneously holding on to his allround Charlie Parker-style. It became an unmistakably pure mix”. Hogenhuis dwells on some of the Lou Donaldson albums in his collection, like Everything I Play Is Funky: “Those boogaloo and soul jazz records of Donaldson represent true live music for me, creating a vibe. Although I’ve listened to some of them analytically, for inspiration. He has that ‘simplicity’ we talked about, he’s the epithome of ‘less is more’.”

“Yet,” Hogenhuis continues, “as far as my style and influences are concerned, I’m formed by the giants: Charlie Parker, Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane. I like the production and huge sound of Coltrane’s Africa/Brass and Crescent. Lately I’ve been listening to Live At Newport a lot. It doesn’t include Elvin Jones, because he was trying to deal with his drug addiction at that time. Of course, Coltrane and Jones were almost like one creature and their thing is so ingrained in your system. It’s interesting to hear how Coltrane makes Haynes sound very unlike himself. Haynes never sounded more different than on Live At Newport.”

“Besides his brilliant harmony and interesting phrasing, it’s Coltrane’s rhythm that I dig mostly. His rhythm is so heavy, all-encompassing. His timing is immaculate and goes ‘out there!’ It’s hard to put a finger on. What I’m sure of is that Coltrane has soul in abundance. I’d like to possess that combination of rhythm, timing and soul, but it hasn’t happened so far, haha. I started playing jazz relatively late, from my eighteenth year, and took with me the rhythmic approach of pop and funk. Rhythm is the core, the Bruut!-approach, we start from the groove. Sound is all-important too.”

Rolff: “Take away those two and you’re left with a bag full of shit.” Hogenhuis continues: When talking about rhythm and groove, Hank Mobley should be mentioned. Soul Station is classic. And Workout is one of our favourites. Harmonically and melody-wise, that album is more than ok. But the rhythm and sound are key. It includes the crackerjack Philly Joe Jones and Paul Chambers. And Grant Green’s on it. Like you say, he’s an example of great rhythm. Did you know that he plays the same lick like eleven times in Workout. 11 or 12 times! It’s outrageous! (Hogenhuis hums the melody and Green’s phrases) He goes on and on. Well, it works, right, haha?!”

There are a lot of classic things that ‘worked’ for these (relatively) young gentlemen. Just before the other half of Bruut! – organist Folkert Oosterbeek and drummer Felix Schlarmann – enters the studio and completes today’s set up, bassist Thomas Rolff recounts his influences. They range from Paul Chambers to Jimmy Blanton. “I’m totally into Ray Brown, though. My dad was an enormous fan of Oscar Peterson. So I’ve heard Ray Brown all through my life. He’s a big influence. A long time ago, I got We Get Requests as a present from Maarten!”

Hogenhuis: “I think the greatest thing about We Get Requests is the way it is recorded. There’s a lot of ‘panning’, you can distinguish everything really well. The bass sounds so beautiful, out of sight! That record feels like a warm bath.” Rolff chimes in: “Those cats from the classic era had such an immaculate beat and great sound, which is the essence. All the while, their taste and musicianship was outstanding.”

The foursome that constitutes Bruut! is involved in many other, diverse jazz projects. But not surprisingly, considering their spontaneous aesthetics they have displayed as a unit for four years now, they have a weak spot for live recordings. When asked which hard bop and soul jazz albums drummer Felix Schlarmann favours, he immediately and matter-of-factly answers “Cannonball Adderley Quintet – Live In San Francisco”, the album that raised the level of live recording in 1962 and was an enormous commercial success.

Organist Folkert Oosterbeek, the group stresses, doesn’t really play in an organist’s way. Hogenhuis teasingly asks him: “Do you ever put the needle on a Hammond album?” “Never,” answer Oosterbeek with a grin on his face. Hogenhuis explains that Oosterbeek is a pianist who ended up behind the organ by chance, because the guys wanted him to. “That’s our secret,” Hogenhuis states. “Folkert doesn’t sound like a Hammond organist. And that’s fun.”

“I’m not really conscious of the classic Hammond organists,” says Oosterbeek. “But I know one thing, I don’t wanna play like another Jimmy Smith copy cat.” Hogenhuis explains that the group pushes him to, for example, sound like a guitar or a Farfisa organ, whatever the circumstances demand. “It adds to our colours,” says Hogenhuis, who has the final word of our mid-day talk. “Be not mistaken, there are a lot of great records today. But a lot of jazz records sound clinical to me, because they are recorded in a ‘poppy’ way. It takes the bite out of the music and one misses a unique ensemble sound. And that’s what it is about. It’s what Bruut! strives for in any event, making a fully developed story as far as sound and timing is concerned.”

Speaking of which, we put a lid on it as Bruut! is about to enter the practice room to rehearse and conjure up tunes that might end up on their third album, which is due to be released in Spring 2015. I’m wondering, shouldn’t it be, like some of the illustrious examples mentioned in this interview, a live album?

In 1976 Dutch-Indonesian pianist Rob Agerbeek was recommended to tour Europe with Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers. Agerbeek had strong doubts. A phone call to friend and drummer Art Taylor was in the making. “I thought, well, they see me coming, yet another local pianist. I resented that. But then Taylor said to me on the phone: ‘Well man, if you don’t take this gig, I will never recommend you again! You’ll have to do this!’” Subsequently, Agerbeek successfully toured with Blakey, painstakingly getting used to the repertoire along the way. Blakey wanted him to stay in the band but Agerbeek politely declined. “I had an office job, you know.”

Typically Agerbeek. The congenial, 77 years old jazz veteran means what he says but the way he tells it betrays a strong dose of dry humor. And whether he’s recounting his versatile solo endeavors as a boogie-woogie maestro and hard bop musician or the gigs he played with Dexter Gordon, Gene Ammons, Ben Webster, Johnny Griffin and Hank Mobley, among others, there’s always a sense of modesty. His modesty is of the healthy kind, mixed with essential but far from boisterous confidence. “I heard great blues sounds on the radio when I was a kid in Batavia (the modern-day Jakarta, FM) from The Bob Crosby Band, Tommy Dorsey and Albert Ammons, Maede Lux Lewis, Pete Johnson. In my college years in The Netherlands, I discovered the Jazz At The Philharmonic series, Oscar Peterson, Sonny Clark and got interested in modern jazz around 1958. I was particularly fond of Horace Silver.”

“Horace Silver is about the blues. Even when Silver’s tunes weren’t formally blues, they were nevertheless imbued with the feeling of the blues. Doodlin’ is a case in point. I particularly like his first album, Horace Silver And The Jazz Messengers. At the same time compositions like these and from other albums were very intricate. The Preacher, Room 808, Strollin’, Cool Eyes. Silver composed in a way that got me thinking: I should’ve come up with such a thing!’ It’s so logical. And steeped in gospel. Why I never had the idea to incorporate Indonesian influences into my music like Silver did with his Cape Verdean background? Well, I just tried to emulate the Americans. Mind you, emulate, not imitate. Naturally, I learned playing jazz that way. I learned a lot from Don Byas in the mid-sixties, harmony, and also to carefully handle the intro and theme and shy away from frenzy playing. But I always wanted to record in my own way. I wrote a lot of tunes. I’m largely self-taught and sharpened my reading skills along the way.”

Agerbeek puts the needle on his 1975 album Keep The Change. A vibrant bag of straightforward hard bop. The title track incorporates the bounce of classic Blue Note hits like Lee Morgan’s The Sidewinder and Hank Mobley’s The Turnaround, tunes that drummer Billy Higgins blessed with his indomitable, swinging beat. “I worked with Hank Mobley, you know.” Agerbeek played with Mobley in 1968/69. “The Flip was recorded during that period. I was invited for that session. But Alfred Lion had already hired another pianist. (Vince Bededetti, FM) So that slipped through my fingers. Hank had initially invited med. He said, ‘yeah, you have to record, you will be the piano player if you want.’ But it didn’t fell through.”

“Before the invitation, I had been playing with Mobley for about a year. In Rotterdam, Paris, including Art Taylor. Mobley’s form was excellent, really. He had his problems but was a very nice, likable character. I like Soul Station best, and Funk In Deep Freeze from Hank Mobley Quintet. Hank Mobley actually didn’t really blow, instead his breath went through the horn like ‘swhoosh’, you know what I mean! Beautiful.”

Halfway through our conversation, while Agerbeek gives an account of his recordings with saxophonist Harry Verbeke and Billy Higgins, we both suddenly start to laugh. As if Agerbeek reads my mind he chuckles: “It is amazing, right?! I played with so many of these Americans. Talking about it brings back memories… Ben Webster, Willis Jackson, Arnett Cobb. A lot of it came about through my management. And through Paul Acket, (the founder and organiser of the North Sea Jazz Festival, FM) of course. He asked me to accompany those guys, like Frank Foster, Clark Terry, Cecil Payne. I’ve done twenty-three editions of North Sea. All during the years that I worked at the social insurance office, ha!”

One of the most pleasant meetings Rob Agerbeek had with American jazz legends is chronicled on All Souls, a 1972 live album of The Rob Agerbeek Trio with Dexter Gordon. “My producer gave me some alternate takes. I thought, Jesus, did I really play that way? One of my sons said: ‘Dad, you played different back then, tougher.’”

“I toured with Dexter Gordon and Gene Ammons in 1973. Often I used to loosen up before the show started, playing a boogiewoogie tune. One time Gene Ammons bent over me, saying: ‘Hey there, you’re playing my dad, right!’” (boogie woogie pianist Albert Ammons was Gene Ammons’ father) Agerbeek laughs. Then, matter-of-factly: “I really thought he was a good saxophone player. He also played on some his dad’s tunes and struck me as a unique player as early as that. He was steeped in r&b but close to bebop. That album on Prestige with Tommy Flanagan and Art Taylor is very nice.” (Boss Tenor, FM)

Art Taylor seems to be the thread that links together Agerbeek’s forays into hard bop jazz. I’m curious as to whether Agerbeek ever noticed anything about Art Taylor’s anger towards the music business and supposed racial bias, as comes across in Art Taylor’s book of interviews, Notes And Tones. “Indeed, the one that I knew best certainly was Art Taylor. And Johnny Griffin as well. I never noticed anything about Taylor being angry about how things went in the music business. He usually called me for gigs from where he lived in Luik, Belgium. What I do remember is that Taylor always complained that Thelonious Monk didn’t like him. Monk would confuse him: ‘What’s with that big moustache, Art? Trying to be Mr. Charming, um?’ This really bugged Art!”

“I regularly shared rooms with those American guys. With Johnny Griffin among others, whom I worked with for three years mostly in Germany. Never again, man. That certainly takes some doing. My my, either they talk till you drop or keep you awake snoring.” Agerbeek imitates the sleeping ‘Little Giant’, Johnny Griffin. It sounds like a giant, drunk caterpillar.

“But they paid me some nice compliments. Griffin said that I had a good blues feel. I guess it’s because of my background in boogie-woogie. Guys that I learned a lot from and admired very much, Frans Elsen and Rob Madna, pointed out the feeling of the blues in my compositions. Well, I’m not going to say this of myself. If they do, I’ll accept that. Art Taylor introduced me to McCoy Tyner in Norway in 1973 and said: ‘Oh, he’s a motherfucker on piano, you should meet him.’” Agerbeek continues in charmingly laconic fashion. “Dexter Gordon recommended me as an accompanist. Can you imagine Gordon, such a tall man, pushing me forward in crowds. I would usually hesitate to plug myself, but in situations like that, I went along with it. I guess you could say I was a lucky-so-and-so. Carried by the wind, so to speak.”

“Do I regret that I didn’t cross the ocean to join Art Blakey when opportunity knocked? No, not really. How long would I have lasted, one year? Then you’re sacked and you have to start from scratch back home.”