NEW YORK — Sonny Rollins, the tenor saxophonist and restless genius whose bold, distinctive tone and constant experimentation kept him on the cutting edge of jazz for more than 50 years, died Monday at age 95.
Spokesperson Terri Hinte told The Associated Press that Rollins died at his home in Woodstock, New York. She cited no specific cause of death, but said he had been largely housebound over the past couple of years because of various physical problems.
From his early days as a teen phenom to his more measured solo work and experimentation with free jazz, Rollins was revered for his improvisational skill. He was one of the last living greats of the bebop era and — along with John Coltrane and Charlie Parker — one of the most influential saxophonists of his time.
Rock fans got a dose of his music with the Rolling Stones’ 1981 album “Tattoo You,” which features’ Rollins’ wistful sax solo on the ballad “Waiting on a Friend,” devised after watching Mick Jagger dance.
Despite his enduring success, Rollins was never quite satisfied with his art, occasionally taking lengthy hiatuses from playing and consistently adopting eclectic new styles.
He always referred to himself as “a work in progress,” saying he wasn’t one of those artists who settle into one way of playing.
While his early bebop work was the most popular with his fans, Rollins never looked back, saying he found it “excruciating” to even listen to the flaws in his older recordings.
“I don’t consider myself a musician that has learned as much as I want to learn,” he told The Associated Press in 2007.
In the 1990s and 2000s, Rollins released a string of critically acclaimed albums. He maintained a rigorous practice regimen, and continued to tour, into his 80s. Pulmonary fibrosis, a thickening and damaging of the lungs, would eventually force him into retirement. He played his last concert in 2012 and stopped playing altogether in 2014.
While he missed the adoration of crowds, he missed the actual playing more.
“I played a couple of concerts early on where I was out in the open in the afternoon,” He told the New York Times in 2020. “I was able to look up in the sky, and I felt a communication; I felt that I was part of something. Not the crowd. Something bigger.”
His 2001 album “This is What I Do,” earned him a Grammy award for best jazz instrumental album. He won again in 2006 for best jazz instrumental solo for “Why Was I Born?”
“Why Was I Born” was from the album “Without a Song: The 9/11 Concert,” a live recording from a performance in Boston just four days after the Sept. 11 attacks. Rollins, who had been evacuated from his apartment a few blocks from ground zero, had gone ahead with the concert at the urging of his wife and manager, Lucille. She died in 2004.
His survivors include a nephew, Clifton Anderson, and nieces Vallyn Anderson and Gabrielle DeGroat.
Rollins had gotten his first major break in his late teens when he was invited to join Thelonious Monk’s band. He soon was jamming with Miles Davis and Bud Powell, who introduced him to the recording world even before he finished high school.
But like many jazz musicians in the late 1940s and early 1950s, Rollins’ rising star almost faded when he became hooked on heroin at the age of 19. As his addiction grew steadily worse, Rollins served two stints in jail — 10 months in 1950 and three months in 1953 — and ultimately found himself living on the streets in Chicago. In 1954, Rollins checked himself into a hospital in Lexington, Ky., to undergo drug treatment.
He left underwent a spiritual awakening as he kicked drugs.
“I began to have a deeper philosophy of what life was about,” he told the AP in 2007. “From that point on is when my consciousness awoke.”
After being discharged, he returned to Chicago and signed on as a member of the Max Roach-Clifford Brown quintet. In 1956 he recorded a solo album, “Saxophone Colossus.” Its stripped-down, hard bop sound announced him as one of jazz’s premier sax players and remained one of his most influential works.
In the following two years Rollins hit upon a different approach, switching to a pianoless trio on three more landmark albums: “Way Out West,” “A Night at the Village Vanguard” and “Freedom Suite.”
Then, at the peak of his popularity, Rollins went into seclusion, spending the next two years practicing alone on a solitary niche above the East River on a Williamsburg Bridge walkway.
“The thing that I am most proud of in my career is that fact that I was able to see beyond being popular and all that stuff,” he told the AP in 2007, “and do what my inner self told me to do.”
During his absence, jazz moved away from the fast-paced, tightly woven sound of bebop to the more frenetic and chaotic free jazz. When Rollins chose to return to the scene in 1961, he embraced the new sound — a move that divided his fans. In the mid-’60s, Rollins toured heavily in Europe, switching back and forth between more traditional and avant garde approaches. He contributed original music to the soundtrack of “Alfie,” the 1966 British film that made Michael Caine a star.
It was during a trip to Japan when Rollins discovered Zen Buddhism, prompting another lengthy sabbatical that would last into the early 1970s.
When he chose to record again in 1972, he was now regarded as a legend and gained mainstream acceptance. He was granted a Guggenheim fellowship that year, and was inducted into the Downbeat Hall of Fame the next. He appeared on the “Tonight Show” and began playing in concert halls instead of nightclubs.
Theodore Walter Rollins was born into a musical household in Harlem on Sept. 7, 1930. His father, a naval petty officer, played the clarinet, his sister played the piano, and his older brother was a violinist.
When he was eight, his parents insisted he study the piano, but, as he recalled, “it didn’t take.” Instead, he said, he’d rather be outdoors playing baseball. But by age 11, Rollins became fascinated with the saxophone, and persuaded his parents to buy him one — an alto.
He had difficulty affording lessons and was largely self-taught, but Rollins quickly became an all-star, switching to tenor sax and playing the clubs at night.
He leaves behind many unreleased recordings, and said he didn’t plan to leave behind instructions for what to do with them.
“After I get out of this planet I’m not going to have any say about what’s going on, so I’m not worried about that,” he told the New York Times in 2020. “And, boy, I agonize over my music; I won’t have to agonize about it anymore. Thank God.”
