(Seventeenth of a series)

For the record, I informed this month’s Portraits in Jazz subject of my intention to borrow the first lines from a 1983 Dave Frishberg song, “My Attorney Bernie,” as the title of this piece for two rather in-your-face reasons: First, because Butch Saulog’s given name is “Bernard” (usually shortened to “Bernie”), and second, Butch is a lawyer. 

He laughed and said: “They might think you’re referring to Bernie Sanders.”

So that was quickly tossed out. But there couldn’t be a better starting point for this portrait than the opening lines “I’m impressed/with my attorney Bernie”: Butch has racked up remarkable performances as a keyboardist for rock, blues, and jazz bands over the last two decades and counting. While his legal credentials are certainly verifiable, his evolution as a musician has been nothing short of striking, as is his devotion to the permutations of jazz. The jazz vinyl junkie—“3,500 to 4,000 records and maybe around 3,000 CDs, all jazz” by his count—has a home studio and that jaw-dropping music collection that is regularly topped up in overseas trips to catch jazz headliners that will never make it to these parts.

Early start

Interestingly, a term of endearment among a handful of jazz musicians has them randomly calling any one of them “atorni,” with pianist, arranger, and composer Elhmir Saison as the main man, allegedly on account of the music sheets he nearly always carries around in a tote bag to every show.

Nicknames have anyway long been used to acknowledge genius (or its opposite). Saxophonist Lester Young, for instance, had been fondly called “Prez” (or “Pres”) by his frequent musical collaborator, singer Billie Holiday, who considered him the “greatest”—and essentially the “president” of all sax players (a handle that stuck). In turn, Young called Holiday “Lady Day,” which then summons the rest of the royalty titles accorded to prominent forerunners of American jazz: “Duke” for Edward Kennedy Ellington, “Count” for William James Basie, and Nat “King” Cole.

But there was no royal road to Butch’s long and winding career as a musician. Like every other jazzer he had to slog through late, often underpaid, hours. Easily the most memorable of these gigs—if only for the purity of the sound and intention—was the weekly jazz trio performance in the early 1990s with bassist Bob Villegas and drummer Bob Barretto, now deceased, at the aptly named Left Alone (after a Lady Day song) bar in Mile Long, Makati. 

“If I recall, there was no real jazz scene at the time, so we almost always played to an empty house,” says Butch. “The Japanese couple who owned the place cared little about profit-making and put it up solely for the music, as they were themselves deep into bebop and everything after. This let us play for ourselves for the most part, and this freedom allowed for risk-taking, long solos, odd song choices, and most important, mistakes. Eventually, word got around, and other musicians would sit in and jam with us. The trio soon grew into a quintet or sextet.”  

Those who have known Butch for a while will know that he started out playing with bands when he was in college around the mid-‘80s, specifically on drums, notably with a rockabilly band called the Runaway Boys along with vocalist Stephen Lu. “Stephen and I played a small part in the local underground 1980s punk scene, which exposed me to punk, reggae, and ska—music genres that were totally new to me but nevertheless drew my interest,” he says.

This was about the same time, too, that he was increasingly turning to jazz—a genre that had opened up for him as he listened to his music-loving parents’ sizeable record collections covering a wide variety of styles. “There was always music playing at home, with my dad tuned in to the usual Sinatra and crooners, as well as the standard instrumental kitsch of their era—Perez Prado and Mantovani—while my mom played a lot of kundiman/traditional folk songs, pre-OPM Tagalog/Pilita, Trio Los Panchos, and the obligatory Ray Conniff and Percy Faith,” Butch recalls.

His preferences grew around the access he had to a broader range of listening material. He had friends and classmates who gave him mixtapes from their older siblings’ jazz record collections, while his older cousins introduced him to Return To Forever, Steely Dan, Pat Martino, Pat Metheny, Juan de la Cruz, and the Allman Brothers, among many others.

“And since there already were small local shops selling imported jazz records, I began collecting [these] and [soon found myself] slowly morphing into an inveterate jazz snob,” he says.  

Listening more deeply to jazz let Butch in on the subdued and complex drums patterns that were different from the raw energy that he was used to hearing: “My attention shifted to the sounds of all these great pianists,” he says. “I was intrigued by all these rich and complex-sounding harmonies and solos that I became obsessed with listening to them repeatedly and even learning some of them by ear, slowly developing then my own musical vocabulary.”

The winding road

Of course, law school eventually got in the way of music. By 1992 he had practically given up playing drums and was already deep into jazz/blues piano. He eventually became part of Binky Lampano’s Newly Industralized Combo (NIC) with Tom Colvin, now deceased, on harmonica, interspersed with the piano trio gig at Left Alone. “NIC kicked off a local mini-blues resurgence, so suddenly blues bands started coming out of the woodwork and I had the opportunity to sit in with some of the best blues musicians in town,” he says.

At around the same time, Butch and vocalist Cooky Chua put up Bluesviminda, an ad-hoc jazz/blues ensemble playing a subtler, less guitar-driven brand of blues. Except for the piano trio gig, he had always been averse to playing regularly, as in doing weekly gigs, so Bluesviminda played maybe only once or twice a year: “This gave me the time to research new material for the group, and which meant having to play with whoever was available,” he says. “So, except for Cooky and me, this group had no fixed lineup. Sometimes, it would be a two-guitar group with rhythm section, so the music focused on blues and rock, and sometimes with no guitars but with a two- or three-horn section, which meant a more jazz-infused vibe.”

The turn of the millennium brought Butch together with big local jazz names Johnny Alegre, Colby de la Calzada, Richie Quirino, and Butch Silverio in a short-lived jazz quintet called JR COBB JAZZ CHAMBER. “This was where we contributed our respective original compositions and even got to record a full album’s worth of material,” says Butch. “This was probably the most challenging group I’ve played in, given the complexity of the music and the creative and improvisational demands it placed upon us.”

Younger, better

Butch played sparingly in the mid-2000s—a gig or two a year, but not even every year—to help raise a growing brood. He returned to it in 2013 when a friend from grade school, potter/photographer Joey de Castro, started organizing and hosting afternoon rooftop concerts three or four times a year. 

In these precious gigs Butch got to jam with different musicians playing a variety of genres. “This experience made me realize that the country/blues/gospel style of piano playing is my true comfortable niche, and that playing pure bebop/straight-ahead jazz is outside my wheelhouse,” he says.

Those who have known Butch long enough know how compelling he sounds playing blues and gospel-style organ. “Truth is, I did only two gigs last year and none so far for this year, so that should give you an idea as to where I’m headed,” he says with a laugh. “Today I’m content with doing those few-and-far-between rooftop gigs where we get to start and end early. After doing one of those, I feel that I’ve had my fill and can go on without playing for months. Listening to jazz, of course, is another story. It’s a daily ritual that I cannot do without.”

His three teenagers also seem like they cannot do without music. The elder son played drums as a kid and switched to piano when he got into Bill Evans. These days he’s turned to classical music. The middle child, a daughter, used to play guitar but seems to have chosen to become “a habitual concertgoer” instead. The younger boy is into electric guitars. 

But it’s not like their father actively encouraged any of them to dive into music. As a family they’re just all in it together for the sheer fun.

Of course, the biggest challenge jazz musicians face is if they can reasonably decide to make a living playing jazz exclusively. “This means playing only jazz for a living, and recording jazz albums with original compositions,” Butch says. “While our jazz musicians in the past would just attend a Monday jam session to flex their creative muscles and spend the rest of the week on more lucrative pop/commercial endeavors, playing jazz almost nightly has now become a reality for them. This may be partly because of the increase in bars/clubs where live jazz performances are held and promoted, which in turn has seen numerous young artists forming their own groups, playing their own compositions, and some even releasing recordings/albums.”

Butch finds comfort in the fact that jazz audiences are getting younger, and seem to be genuinely interested and appreciative of the music, which is always a good sign. 

He reminds young local jazzers to remain curious: “Look into the rich history of the music and go beyond the same five or so jam tunes like ‘So What,’ ‘Blue Bossa,’ ‘The Chicken,’ ‘Canteloupe Island,’ and ‘Stella by Starlight.'”

Read more: Portraits in Jazz: Keeping up with Colby de la Calzada