Ray Daike Carries On The Tradition Of Wes Montgomery
JGT contributor Joe Barth talks to a guitarist that has immerse himself in everything of the “jazz life.”
JB: Growing up in Japan, what inspired you to play jazz guitar?
RD: I grew up in a household with classical musician parents, surrounded by the sounds of pianos and wind instruments. Because my parents couldn’t play it, the guitar at my grandfather’s house caught my attention, and I got hooked on rock guitar. Later, driven by a strong desire to move to Tokyo, I crammed for a piano-heavy music therapy university entrance exam. I managed to learn Chopin’s ‘Military Polonaise’ in just two months to audition, but unfortunately failed. Right after that, I discovered Showa Music University and decided to take the entrance exam using the guitar instead. Once in college, I fell deeply into funk and soul. Chasing the genuine grooves and harmonies at the core of those genres naturally led me straight into jazz.
JB: Looking back at your time at Showa Music University, what was most valuable to your growth?
RD: I actually never took a single guitar lesson before college, so I was way behind technically. However, because of the musical environment I grew up in, my ear was much sharper than average, which turned out to be a huge advantage. Besides that, since I was a broke college student who couldn’t afford sheet music, I naturally had to figure out and transcribe pop tunes by ear. Looking back, that exact habit of ear-training was my very first gateway into transcribing jazz.
Once I got into college, jamming (not jazz) daily and leaning on both that ear and my practical transcription experience allowed me to instantly bridge the gap between the sounds in my head and what my fingers actually played. That eventually led to me jamming around Tokyo and meeting my mentor, the legendary Yoshiaki Miyanoue.
JB: To you, in shaping your sound and approach, what are three of the most influential jazz guitar albums and why?
RD: Wes Montgomery / The Incredible Jazz Guitar of… My college teacher introduced him to me, and I randomly picked it up at a CD shop. When “Gone with the Wind” shuffled on at home, I was completely blown away. I was hooked by the singing melodies, the octaves, and above all, the sheer brilliance of the chord solos—I was so fascinated by the harmonies that I couldn’t help thinking, “Is it really possible to do something like this on a guitar?!” Now that I’ve lived in the US and my English has improved a bit, I finally fully understand that album: it really is incredible. I had so much fun transcribing it that I literally jammed along with the CD right up to the chord solos over and over again.
Charlie Parker / Now’s the Time. When I was just starting to get into jazz, I honestly didn’t know much—just Wes Montgomery and Miles Davis. I picked up this album simply because I kept seeing Charlie Parker’s name everywhere. From the very first note, I was completely captivated by the overwhelming presence of the saxophone, not even knowing who he was at first. I just kept listening to it on repeat because his tone felt so good to the ear, and those free-flowing melodies made me feel so comfortable and at home. Long after, when I found out he was one of the legendary founding fathers of bebop, everything finally clicked into place. I wanted to capture that kind of free-flowing spirit myself, which is why I actually chose to cover tunes from this album like “Laird Baird” and “Chi-Chi” on my own recent record. But back then, I had no idea how to express it on guitar. It wasn’t until I came to NY and started studying with Pasquale Grasso and Barry Harris that the puzzle pieces finally began to click.
Cannonball Adderley Quintet / In Chicago
When I told my classical-purist dad that I was getting into jazz, he surprised me by recommending this album—he used to love jazz as a student in Japan before choosing the classical path, which was a huge shock to hear. The album kicks off with the high-energy drive of “Limehouse Blues,” but the real moment came on the second track, “Stars Fell on Alabama.” As I was admiring Wynton Kelly’s gorgeous harmonies and that slow yet intensely driving rhythm, Cannonball’s melody came in, and I literally found myself shedding tears. I tried transcribing this album too, though it was way over my head at the time!
JB: When you moved to New York City, was it to study with Pasquale Grasso?
RD: My primary goal in moving to New York was a deep romantic longing for America—I wanted to immerse myself in clubs like Smalls and the late Cleopatra’s Needle, jam with various musicians, and physically feel the authentic rhythm and swing. I was obsessed with bebop musicians like Charlie Parker and Bud Powell, but I was constantly agonizing over how to translate that horn language onto the guitar. Then, I happened to catch Pasquale Grasso playing at Smalls, and it completely blew my mind because it was the exact musical direction I had been searching for. Due to my language barrier at the time, I spent a long time studying his videos and preparing before I finally tracked him down at an East Side Italian restaurant where he was playing. I was so nervous I literally had to drag my wife along just to give me the push I needed to talk to him and ask for lessons.
JB: When recording Ray Daike I, what did you find most rewarding and challenging about working in a trio with Ron McClure on bass and Andrew Pastorino on drums?
RD: It was an incredible honor to record with such special musicians, especially given how much we had already played together. Ron is a living legend who tolerates zero compromise; he made it clear and pushed us hard to ensure we were creating music with absolute natural flow. Drawing from his days playing with masters like Wes Montgomery and Wynton Kelly, he shared invaluable insights into the true essence of swing. Meanwhile, Andrew always brought wild, unique approaches and inspired me in the most interesting ways. The biggest reward came from the friction and collaboration—bumping heads and working together in the studio to elevate what I wanted to do into its most natural, authentic form.
JB: Tell me about two of your most memorable performance or recording experiences.
RD: The Studio Banter: During a break in the recording, I overheard Ron and Andrew casually chatting. As I listened to the tempo of their conversation, their timing, and the way they overlapped their interjections, I suddenly thought: “Wait, this is literally a jazz ensemble.” It was completely different from Japanese conversation and the way we use backchannel cues. After living in the US for nearly a decade, it was the exact moment I finally felt and understood that rhythm right in the air of a recording session.
Another was at The Five Spot Jazz. We played a quartet at Five Spot Jazz, featuring the legendary Kuni Mikami—whom I deeply respect and who used to play with Lionel Hampton and Duke Ellington’s orchestra—joining my trio. Kuni’s unique ideas popped out like a Jack-in-the-box one after another, Ron brought a different approach to his bass compared to our trio settings, and Andrew kept building the ensemble while constantly exploring fresh ideas. Playing right in the middle of that was an unforgettable, deeply moving experience.
JB: What do you appreciate most about the guitar (Gibson L-5?) that you use?
RD: It handles my Wes-style thumb-picking with a warm, core-heavy tone, while the Kent Armstrong P-90 mod gives me the delicate nuance I picked up from Pasquale. Plus, seeing “Wes Montgomery” engraved on the tailpiece is a daily reminder and fuel to never dishonor his name.
JB: New York is a town with scores of good guitarists. You’ve been in the greater NYC area a long time, so what’s the best piece of advice you’d give younger guitarists for building a career in music?
RD: Back in Tokyo, I was close with the late pianist Fumio Karashima, who played with Elvin Jones. He once told me, “My jazz technique might be better than yours, but nobody can play the music that lives inside you. So don’t chase popularity—just chase your own truth.”
He also taught me that a jazz musician is half artisan and half entertainer—you have to strike the right balance between being a serious craftsman and a bit of a clown; otherwise, the music gets boring.
New York is a city that constantly tries to make you sound like someone else, but holding onto those words has been my eternal compass. To young players coming here: stay true to your own voice, keep your sense of humor, and let your unique story lead the way.
