Randy Weston has been called "the true heir to both Thelonious Monk and Duke Ellington" and "one of the world's great visionary pianists and composers." New York has always been home, but his inspiration has always come from Africa. NY1's Budd Mishkin filed the following One on 1 profile.

Much has changed during Randy Weston's 90 years on the planet, but not everything.

Mishkin: Is there a particular point as you're still performing where you start to realize, "Physically, I may not be able to do what I used to be able to do?"
Weston: No, I think if anything, it’s mental. Physically, no. Physically, no because the way I play, I play the piano like a drum.

Randy Weston has been one of jazz's most respected figures ever since he started playing professionally in the 1950s, and his core belief has never wavered.

"This is the classical music of America, is jazz music. That's it," Weston says. "We are the Mozart, the Beethoven of Europe. That's our music here."

Weston's home in Brooklyn is filled with pictures and mementos of a musical career that's spanned more than five decades and is still going strong.

We interviewed him on the eve of his 90th birthday celebration concert at Carnegie Hall.

He is the first ever artist-in-residence at The New School, conducting a series of seminars.

His message now is the same as it's been for 50 years: Jazz emanates from the traditional music of Africa.

"The qhole idea was to teach America where we come from and how deep, how organized, how spiritual the tradition of music is of Africa," Weston says.

"Even now, people don't want to know about Africa, but they have no information, no schooling. Everything starts off with Europe in the educational system, so there's no music before that."

He did three concert tours there in the 1960s, then lived in Morocco and ran a jazz club there for much of the late sixties and early '70s.

The love affair with Africa began when Weston was growing up in Bedford-Stuyvesant, thanks to his father.

"Egypt, Nubia, Ghana. All the great empires," Weston says. "I used to go to the library and read. Plus, dad had maps of African kings and queens on the wall. So at home, I was really programmed. So I always wanted to live in Africa, from the time I was small."

Weston's composing has been influenced by his study of traditional Africa music, and by numerous interactions during his long career, with musical icons like Thelonious Monk.

Weston: I used to watch him play the piano, watch him at rehearsals, things that he would say and not say. He wouldn’t say too much, you see.
Mishkin: Can you give me an example?
Weston: Listen to all kinds of music. (Pauses) And from then, I have music from China, from Laos, India because they taught me that music is our first language on the planet.

You can tell how much Randy Weston is respected by the musical company he keeps.

Witness an ad for a concert in Nigeria in the '60s with Lionel Hampton, Odetta, Nina Simone and Geoffrey Holder.

"I do a piece of music because I'm hoping it's beautiful," Weston says. "Maybe it will be a hit. But never to write a song, will make a lot of money out of this. No, no, no."

Weston grew up in an environment in Bedford-Stuyvesant surrounded by music. His father owned a restaurant and hired a piano teacher for his son for 50 cents a week.

"And that poor lady put the music in front of me, hit my hands with the ruler every time I made a mistake. 'Cause in those days, this worked. You know what I mean?" Weston said. "After three years, this poor lady went to my father and said, 'Mr. Weston, save your money. Your son will never play the piano.'"

Weston connected with a second piano teacher and started playing with some local bands. But the basketball coach at Boys High had other ideas.

"I was about 6'5", or something like 6'5". He said, 'You got to play basketball.' He said, 'You come down the court, I'll make you a good basketball player.' I said, 'Great,'" Weston said said. "But somehow, I didn't know about the running involved (laughs)."

During World War II, Weston served in the Pacific, primarily on Okinawa. When he returned, he found that his neighborhood had changed.

"The alcohol and heroin hit the black community. The jazz music left the black community. And there was no work, no jobs. My dad, thank God for him, he had a restaurant. My dad always wanted to be independent, so he had a restaurant. So when I came out of the Army, I worked with my dad," Weston says.

"I was really down. Seeing your best friends involved with this drugs, just put everywhere."

In his autobiography "African Rhythms," Weston says he dabbled in heroin, snorting it because of a fear of needles.

Weston says he knew he had to get out of the neighborhood. A friend suggested he head to the Berkshires, the area in Western Massachusetts where music has long flourished. Weston says it saved him.

"Everybody was into music, all kinds of music. Everybody, the waiters. It was wonderful. And I did everything to stay up there. I cut down trees. I was a chambermaid for a while. I washed dishes. Just to stay in that area."

Weston would work all of these jobs during the day and then practice piano at night, drawing attention from visitors who'd come to the Berkshires specifically to hear music.

At the Music Inn, he met a musicologist, Marshall Stearns, who lectured on the history of African-American music and its connection to African culture. That friendship helped shape Weston's worldview.

Same for his friendship with the writer Langston Hughes.

"My father, I have to keep going back to him, he said, 'In your life, son, try to be with the best minds you can find. You should try to be with the people who tell the truth, no matter what they look like or where they are.  

Randy Weston lives with his wife Fatoumata in the same Clinton Hill building where his father had his restaurant. He has children from a previous marriage. A son died in 2007.

There is still plenty of music to be played. But in Randy Weston's world, the past is never really past. And attention always must be paid to history, African, musical and certainly his own.

"That's my dad. That's my mom. I talk to them every day. Because they know that they gave us a certain spiritual discipline. So we can't have, you can't play this music and have hate in your heart. You can't be negative in your spirit when you're playing this music. Because they say music is the voice of the creator. So if the creator's given you this gift, what are you doing to do with it?"