Remembering Tom Evered
Every once in a while, a designer can be blessed with a great client. And it is not necessarily those with huge budgets and a large media presence. Sometimes it comes down to basic human decency and a love for their chosen domain.
Today, May 9, should have been Tom Evered’s birthday. I sent my annual greeting, but the lack of response triggered something in the back of my mind… which initiated a quick search… and the tragic news that Tom passed away several months ago.
I met Tom Evered during his time as the General Manager of Blue Note Records. This was the resurrection of the legendary jazz label, helmed by Bruce Lundvall — who Tom affectionately called “The Swede.”
While Lundvall was the avuncular and gregarious figurehead who generally said “yes,” Tom was the cool-headed and steady hand of the label. Our initial interactions were professional and friendly. Professionally, his responses were well-considered and came from a deep appreciation of the music and its musicians. Personally, he had a sly sense of humor and was a mean cookie baker. Slightly sardonic, but absolutely nurturing.
And he was passionately in love with the music. During one visit to the Blue Note offices on Park Ave South and 23rd Street, Tom pointed out an unremarkable old man wandering the hallways. “Do you know who that is? That’s George Avakian!” Perhaps it was a test to see if I knew the name of one of jazz’s great producers — and the man who signed Miles Davis to Columbia — but it was also Tom enthusing over a blessed elder, which he did often.
It wasn’t until our work on the label’s 60th Anniversary when I began to think of him a friend. Our package for The Blue Note Years 1939-1999 was nominated for a Grammy (best special packaging design) and we met up with Tom in Los Angeles for several days of parties and ceremonies. Having never attended Grammy week, I was moved by both the small graceful touches (a personal congratulatory note waiting for us when we entered our room at the Mondrian Hotel), and the heavy handed brutality of being shoved aside by security to make way for Lenny Kravitz’s entrance into the Capitol Records party.
Tom took it all in with lighthearted humor.
After we lost to yet another Miles Davis package with an infuriating metal spine (who designs a book with an inflexible spine?) we had a drink at the Mondrian Hotel’s Sky Bar. I was captivated as Tom waxed about his time spent with Artie Shaw, and attempts to develop the definitive collection of Shaw’s output; and then turning casually to identify, what at first glance seemed to be a typical Southern Californian barfly in a patterned silk shirt and hair dyed so dark it looked like a wig, as Vanilla Fudge drummer Carmine Appice.
Tom’s grasp of music, film and popular culture was impressively wide-ranging and incredibly deep. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone he knew greeted him warmly.
A couple years after our Grammy experience, Blue Note was restructured, and Tom moved to Angel records. After more restructuring, Tom ended up in Nashville at Naxos and ArkivMusic. The last time I got to spend an extended bit of time with him was at the Paul Motion tribute concert in 2013. Afterwards, we had dinner with jazz scholar and arts administrator Katja von Schuttenbach at French Roast. It was a perfect evening.
Between the distance between Nashville and New York, COVID, and the continued dissipation of a once-mighty music industry, our relationship became more and more virtual. Six years ago, Tom began a podcast for ArchivJazz and spent the first episode speaking about his career. Sadly, like all other digital media, it is no longer available. So if anyone has any pull at ArchivJazz, please ask them to re-upload the series. The world is a little bit less without Tom, and it would be nice to have more than just the handful of photos circulating around his friends’ social media accounts. At least I have wonderful memories of a warm, dignified man who I will miss.
Here are a few minutes from that last perfect evening.