Rivers Running Deep

A Sam Rivers centennial is a portal to possibility

Sam Rivers in the 1960s. (Francis Wolff / Blue Note)

Samuel Carthorne Rivers was born on this day a century ago. Best known in the world as Sam Rivers — saxophone maverick, bandstand magus, incorrigible instigator, hardcore scene-builder — he embodied many of the highest ideals for the improvising avant-garde, and defined no small part of its landscape.

The most iconic facet of this legacy was probably Studio Rivbea, which he ran with his wife, Beatrice, at 24 Bond Street in Lower Manhattan. Last Friday, the New York Times ran a fine tribute to Studio Rivbea, and the Rivers’ role in maintaining it, by Richard Sheinin, who clearly spent some memorable evenings in the place. Because I landed on the east coast in the mid-1990s, a time when plenty of musicians and fans still harbored tactile memories of the so-called “loft scene,” I came to idealize the Rivbea vibe, looking for any tenuous echo of that experience.

One thing I didn’t miss out on was Sam Rivers. During the early part of this century, he was an elder in active circulation, and I sought out every opportunity to hear him.