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How do we measure time? I don’t mean by minutes, hours or days, I mean what kind of events or experiences mark a significant passing of time? People go through different phases, moods, periods. Often times it seems like two people sitting right next to each other are in completely different time zones. Time for me is usually marked between finishing artworks. That is the time and space between one significant or successful artwork to the next makes up a period worthy of reflection in my own mind. Unfortunately that means this current span of time looks to drag on for quite a while. Or perhaps life has been so cluttered lately that my internal clock has ceased to function properly. I feel I have been relegated back to measuring minutes and hours as a meter for time with days having almost no meaning at all.

Days fade into one another, sun rises signify nothing but another phase in other peoples’ lives. More accurately, I think minutes, hours, and days themselves have no meaning at all. What matter are the things you get done between them.

Currently Listening To: Charles Mingus – Moanin’

Jazz Workshop buttons play multiple roles at the Jazz Workshop

Twentieth-century jazz great Charles Mingus and buttons both play multiple roles in contemporary music.

Non-profit organization LET MY CHILDREN HEAR MUSIC promotes the African-American composer with events like the upcoming Mingus High School Competition taking place from February 13-15th in New York, where a new blue button will service as a souvenir and identification for participants.  Shannon Manning explains,

“Students from around the country are going to be in town competing, learning more about playing Mingus music at workshops with some of the top musicians, and seeing concerts.  There is a big free Mingus Orchestra concert at St. Bart’s on Saturday the 13th and the button will be VIP pass for the students to their reserved seating.”

Mingus left behind the largest legacy of composition in American music after Duke Ellington.  Click here to learn more.

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Charles MINGUS – Nostalgia In Times Square / The Immortal 1959 Sessions (Flac)
1979 Issue. CBS 88337

Jazz

Nostalgia in Times Square holds special attention because, in a sense, it’s all new. Side one contains four previously unreleased pieces (the twisting “GG Train” and the satirical “Girl of My Dreams” are best), while the remainder of the album presents unedited versions of ten compositions that were shortened for inclusion on Mingus, Ah Um and Mingus Dynasty. Since the most famous songs (“Better Git Hit in Your Soul,” “Goodbye, Porkpie Hat,” “Fables of Faubus”) from the 1959 sessions are omitted, Nostalgia in Times Square will hardly replace the earlier LPs. Still, it’s nice to hear how strong some of the rest of the music was as originally realized. It’s also interesting to ponder the whole question of editing. “Open Letter to Duke,” “Boogie Stop Shuffle” and “Jelly Roll” may have been tightened up to bring about the transitions and climaxes more rapidly, but none were edited into posterity. On the other hand, we only have Passions of a Man’s “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting” in an edited state, but it’s so great that way, who cares?
By Bob BLUMENTHAL.
**
These are recordings from the same Columbia sessions that brought us “Mingus Dynasty” and “Ah Um” in 1959. The first four tracks are unreleased tunes that did not appear on either of those records. The remaining tunes are longer, unedited versions of the original tunes. On some of them you can hear false starts, and banter with the recording engineers. This double LP was released in 1979, the same year Mingus died.
**
Charles Mingus- Bass
Maurice Brown- Cello (tracks: C2) , Seymour Barab (tracks: C2)
Dannie Richmond- Drums
Jerome Richardson- Flute (tracks: B4,)
Horace Parlan- Piano
Nico Bunick- Piano (tracks: B4)
Roland Hanna- Piano (tracks: C2, C3, D2, D3)
Teddy Charles- Vibraphone  (tracks: B4, D2, D3)
John Handy , Shafi Hadi- Alto Sax
Jerome Richardson- Bariton Sax (tracks: A4, B4, D2, D3)
Benny Golson- Tenor Sax (tracks: A4, D2) , Booker Ervin
Jimmy Knepper , Willie Dennis- Trombone
Richard Williams- Trumpet (tracks: B4, D2, D3)
**
A1. Pedal Point Blues   6:28
A2. GG Train   4:37
A3. Girl of My Dreams   4:08
A4. Strollin’   4:33
B1. Jelly Roll   6:15
B2. Boogie Stop Shuffle   4:59
B3. Open Letter to Duke   5:49
B4. Never Now Know How   4:12
C1. Birdcalls   6:18
C2. Slop   6:12
C3. Things Ain’t What They Used To Be   7:35
D1. Pussy Cat Dues   9:13
D2. Song With Orange   6:37
D3. Gunslinging Bird   5:03
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WORD

piquant [pee-kuhnt, -kahnt, pee-kahnt] adj. 1. agreeably pungent or sharp in taste or flavor; pleasantly biting or tart: a piquant aspic 2. agreeably stimulating, interesting, or attractive: a piquant glance 3. of an interestingly provocative or lively character: a piquant wit 4. Archaic. sharp or stinging, esp. to the feelings

BIRTHDAY

Charles Lindbergh (1902), Betty Friedan (1921), Conrad Bain (1923), David Brenner (1936), Dan Quayle (1947), Alice Cooper (1948), Lisa Eichhorn (1952), Clint Black (1962), Gabrielle Anwar (1970), Rob Corrdry (1971), Oscar de la Hoya (1973), Natalie Imbruglia (1975), Gavin DeGraw (1977)

STANDPOINT

Things that are annoying me today? Glad you asked. Here’s a list.

» Movies. Why do they all have to be exceedingly scary or outrageously post-apocalyptic or synthetically romantic or completely awful? I think there’s enough of all that on every so-called news program. (However, I did see Crazy Heart yesterday and it was a really solid exception.)

» Snow. I love when it snows. But one aspect of every snowstorm I despise is crybabies lamenting as if the streets are covered in razorblades and land mines, instead of harmless snowflakes. Oddly enough, these are the same people who get in their cars and, perhaps in some sort of misplaced defiance toward Mother Nature, drive around like it’s a clear and dry sunny day in August. Slipping and sliding all over the road, causing accidents they’ll blame on “the fucking snow.”

» Facebook. It’s not the social networking site that bugs me. I like it. I use it. I’ve reconnected with lots of old friends on it. I’ve even made some new ones. But it’s truly sad to read updates from people you once knew to be of sound mind, gripe about kids, spouses, politics, etc. For the record, I’m fully aware my own status updates are inconsequential nonsense.

QUOTATION

Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity. ↔ Charles Mingus

TUNE

Every group of friends has a song that only they seem to know, and only they think is absolutely awesome. It’s usually due to the song being associated with some particularly good time. For me and my college friends, that song was “Both Belong” by The Grays.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ Oh, boy. PGA officials must be geeking out if this is true. Tiger Woods is making a comeback.

→ With state of the US economy the way it is, this seems as good a way as any to sort of figure it out.

→ Wow. Two days in a row I find hope for the human race. Check out The Smiths Project: Sing Every Smiths Song By the End of 2009. Some may find this kind of thing unimportant. But some would be wrong. Completely and uncontrollably wrong.

Masterpieces of Etching, selected by Laurence Binyon; Gowans & Gray Ltd., London – Glasgow (1914).  I’ve lauded the large, but the smallness of small books is praiseworthy too.  While not the littlest volume in our library, this one is a near-miniature.  Why anyone would produce an art book on such a scale is a good question.  The images are only a few inches tall. Still, there are some lovely pictures.

Take, for example, the etching on the right by Wenceslaus Hollar, a Bohemian artist and illustrator who lived in London before and after the English Civil War.  It reads: “The Winter habit of an English gentlewoman.”  The oversized muff consuming her left arm and the mask over her eyes I find strange and strangely appealing.  I imagine Samuel Pepys stepping over beggars in the lane to make her acquaintance.  Hollar was so poor at the end that he supposedly had to plead with creditors not to seize his deathbed before he was finished with it.

Here are two portraits by Anthony Van Dyck, after whom the famous style of goatee is named.  “Van Noort” is on the left, and that’s “Vorsterman” leering at him from the right.  All the men in Van Dyck’s portraits wear Van Dykes, which, if it was really so common, makes you wonder why the style was named after him alone.  But maybe it wasn’t popular at all and Van Dyck only added it to his portraits the way a ten-year-old draws moustaches on the faces of people in magazine advertisements.

Here is a man in need of no introduction: Charles Mingus!  …Thanks to his generous narcissism, Rembrandt left us with an awful lot of self-portraits.  He looks something between Socrates and Falstaff, I think (plus a little Mingus).  But if I had a mug like his and could paint like he did, posterity might find itself with a surplus of my self-portraits too.

Sue and Charles Mingus

«In the middle of our ride, Mingus changed his mind about dinner and said there was something important he needed to show me first. He ordered the driver instead to Grand Central Terminal. When we arrived, he jumped out of the cab and swiflty led me downstairs, hurrying through the halls and corridors until we reached a corner that echoed our voices along a wall. I waited at one end of the long wall while he spoke in a low whisper from the other side, unexpected words of tenderness that roared from across the room, shy words of love that slid along the grimy walls of Grand Central as distant and unreal as the graffiti they swept past.
“I love you,” he was saying. “I want you to be my woman.” I laughed off his words. They were sounds in a station from a man I hardly knew. Still, I went on listening. I listened to his flood of words and to his long stories for most of the night. Ivan Black would have said I’d caught him in the mood.»

Sue Graham Mingus, Tonight At Noon, A Love Story, Da Capo Press, 2003, p. 28

(thanks, Nené)

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“Creativity is more than just being different. Anybody can plan weird; that’s easy. What’s hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.”

- Charles Mingus

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Charles Mingus, Epitaph

Please don’t come back from the Moon. (Click to listen)

Charles MINGUS – Blues & Roots 1960
SD 1305

Jazz

Bassist Charles Mingus was always ready for a good fight. In the liner notes to this disc, Mingus says he wanted to respond to critics who said he didn’t swing enough. And reply he did. Mingus gave whoever these absurd quibblers were some of the most ecstatic blues (“Moanin’” and “Cryin Blues”), gospel (“Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting”), and Dixieland (“My Jelly Roll Soul”) the jazz world has ever heard. Along with his striking original compositions, the instrumental combination in Mingus’s nonet remains unconventional: the frontline included four saxophonists and two trombonists without the counterweight of a trumpeter. The leader’s sliding-octave bass lines and percussive slaps are totally rollicking, and the wild abandon in the group’s playing is irrepressible.
By Aaron Cohen.
**
This album is similar in feeling to the great “Mingus Ah Um.” Overall, it highlights Mingus’ blues/gospel influences. “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting,” (5:39) for example, in the tradition of songs like “Better Git It Into Your Soul”(“Mingus Ah Um”) and “Slop (“Mingus Dynasty”).” Unfortunately, this driving piece is flawed by (the otherwise-excellent) Horace Parlan’s repetitive piano–for a few seconds it seemed like the album was stuck. The song is rooted in a deep mix of trombone (Willie Dennis), tenor sax (the amazing Booker Ervin), and bass, and punctuated by Mingus’ trademark shouts.
“Cryin’ Blues is also steeped in Mingus’ bass (excellent solo work and well-recorded) and the soulful anchor of Pepper Adams’ baritone sax. Parlan lays down some bluesy riffs and Jackie McLean leads the way home with his solo on this five-minute cut. “Moanin’” (7:57) and “Tensions” (6:27) are blues-oriented pieces, dominated by Mingus’ intense, virtuoso bass, a strong solo by Ervin, and fiery ensemble playing.

“My Jelly Roll Soul” (6:47) is a light, zesty, and almost tongue-in-cheek cut inspired by early jazz pianist Jelly Roll Morton. Dannie Richmond lays down some brushwork and other flourishes. “E’s Flat Ah’s Flat Too (6:37) is kind of an amalgamation of the previous cuts, with Mal Waldron taking over on piano. Mingus’ compositions and bass playing are the highlights here There’s not quite as much solo work by the other musicians compared to other Mingus albums, although there’s enough to keep things lively and interesting. I don’t have the original album, but I didn’t notice anything exceptional about the remastering except to note that Mingus is recorded very well. I mention this only because there’s another slightly more expensive “Blues and Roots” available at Amazon. (See Amazon CD: Wea/Atlantic/Rhino; ASIN: B00000348B. There is no mention of remastering but there are five alternate takes.) Mingus notes that he taught the compositions to the group by ear rather than as written music, “so they’d play the compositional parts with as much spontaneity and soul as they’d play a solo.” He and the ensemble obviously succeed. “Ah Um” is probably the better album, but this is very much worth having.
By M. Allen Greenbaum.
**
Charles Mingus- Bass
Dannie Richmond- Drums
Horace Parlan, Mal Waldron- Piano
Jackie McLean, John Handy- Alto Sax
Pepper Adams- Bariton Sax
Booker Ervin- Tenor Sax
Jimmy Knepper, Willie Dennis- Trombon
**
A1. Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting 5:39
A2. Cryin’ Blues 4:58
A3. Moanin’ 7:57
B1. Tensions 6:27
B2. My Jelly Roll Soul 6:47
B3. E’s Flat Ah’s Falt Too 6:37
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Jazz greats Duke Ellington, left, with drummer Max Roach, center, and bassist Charles Mingus, back right.

“Oh no, Charles, let’s not go that far back.”

Charles Mingus – The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady (1963)

Well, the PDX Jazzfest in Portland, Oregon, is about 5 weeks away. You won’t want to miss it. There are many fantastic local and national acts, including these great headliners:

Thursday, February 25 – Luciana Souza
Friday, February 26 – Mingus Big Band
Saturday, February 27 (3pm) – Trygve Seim & Frode Haltli
Saturday, February 27 (7:30) – Dave Holland Quintet
Sunday, February 28 (3pm) – Pharoah Sanders
Sunday, February 28 (7:30) – Dave Douglas Brass Ecstasy

As we lead up to the event, I’ll focus on one of the headliners a week… next up the Mingus Big Band.

For those jazz fans who don’t know the music of Charles Mingus, go back to school.  He was a monumental force on bass and a great composer in his own right.  He had a firey-oft-angry personality, a strong conviction against racism, and a great sense for melody.  He was one of my first forays into jazz… I had Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus Mingus and Mingus Ah Um long before I had any other jazz in my collection.

The Mingus Big Band celebrates the music of the composer and bassist, Charles Mingus, who died in 1979. Under the artistic direction of (Charles’ wife) Sue Mingus, this 14-piece band performed Thursday nights from 1991 to 2004 at the Fez under Time Cafe in New York City, occasionally alternating with the Charles Mingus Orchestra. From November 2004 to September 2008, the big band had a residency at Iridium Jazz Club and in October 2008 moved to Monday residency at Jazz Standard. The Mingus Big Band tours extensively in the United States and abroad, and has eight recordings to its credit, six of which have been nominated for Grammys.

Regulars currently appearing in the 14-piece band:

• 3 Trumpets: Randy Brecker, Earl Gardner, Alex Sipiagin, Lew Soloff, Tatum Greenblatt, Ryan Kisor, Kenny Rampton, Jack Walrath, Sean Jones
• 3 Trombones: Conrad Herwig, Andy Hunter, Ku-umba Frank Lacy, Earl McIntyre, Dave Taylor, Robin Eubanks, Joe Fiedler, Clark Gayton
• 5 Saxophones: Vincent Herring, Seamus Blake, Abraham Burton, Wayne Escoffery, Donny McCaslin, Mark Gross, Craig Handy, Jason Marshall, Lauren Sevian, Jaleel Shaw, Steve Slagle, Ronnie Cuber, David Lee Jones
• Piano: Orrin Evans, David Kikoski, Helen Sung, George Colligan, Kenny Drew Jr.
• Bass: Boris Kozlov, Hans Glawischnig, Andy McKee, Joe Martin, Ugonna Okegwo, Dwayne Burno
• Drums: Donald Edwards, Gene Jackson, Victor Lewis, Jeff “Tain” Watts, Adam Cruz

Webpage: http://www.mingusmingusmingus.com/

FOR INFO & TICKETS: http://pdxjazz.com/tickets/

~Dan – np: John Zorn – Cobra

Charles MINGUS – Mingus Ah Um 1959
1989 Issue. LSP 982 150-1

Jazz

The first track says it all: “Better get it into Your Soul.” This is soul-stirring, head-thumping, body-shaking stuff. Insistent, penetrating, simply inspired. Hard to compare it to anything, really, although it has elements of bebop, blues, gospel, and that crazy no-holds-barred spirit of funk. One of my top ten jazz cuts.
The famous “Goodbye Porkpie Hat,” a tribute to Lester Young, is a quieter blues-based piece, centered around soulfully played sax. Emotionally, it’s both sad and affectionate. “Boogie Stop Shuffle” sounds like the soundtrack to some weird 60’s spy movie –with Mingus, expect the unexpected! Excellent piano by Horace L. Parlan, Jr. driven along by the lionesque Mingus on bass. Self-portrait in “Three Colors” and “Open Letter to Duke” feature brilliant Ellingtonian arrangements and warm colors. The latter piece has superb boppish sax-riffs, settles into a richly colored niche, and then breaks into some rhythmic and melodic audacity.

Mingus’ brilliant, daring “Fables of Faubus” retains its mocking tone, but is less political than the vocal version on the magnificent “Live at Antibes.” It’s an interesting contrast to his bold (courageous, even) attack on Governor Faubus in the live version, and, again, shows Ellington’s influence in its beautifully complex arrangement. “Pussy Cat Dues” and “Jelly Roll” deliver a New Orleans laid-back sound. On `Dues,’ Mingus lays down some languid, monumental bass effects. It’s thick luxurious sleaze, sliced through with the purity and strength of the sax.

One of the best of the studio albums, although, frankly, I like them all. An innovator, an explorer, a trailblazer, he is truly a genius. You’ll find more and more to appreciate with every listening. Most highly recommended to the Mingus fan as well as the most hesitant newcomer
By M. Allen Greenbaum.
**
One of the five essential Mingus albums to own, and even if you are not a jazz fan this is still worthy of being in any comprehensive collection. The opening track, “Better Git It In Your Soul,” rushes along at a furious pace and then there is a wonderful change of tempo into an a cappella and handclap pause. It rolls on, of course, but the nature of this track reflects the nature of Mingus who never failed to experiment. The personnel comprises John Handy III, Shafi Hadi and Booker Ervin (saxophones), Horace Parlan Jr (piano), Willie Dennis and James Knepper (trombones) and Charles Richmond (drums). Mingus whoops, shouts and holds it all together and then turns the pace majestically on numbers such as “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat.
**
Charles Mingus- Bass, Piano
Shafi Hadi- Alto and Tenor Sax
Dannie Richmond – Drums
Horace Parlan Jr- Piano
Booker Ervin- Tenor Sax
Willie Dennis- Trombon
Jimmy Knepper- Trombon
John “Captain John” Handy- Alto and Tenor Sax, Clarinete
**
A1 Better Git It in Your Soul  7:23
A2 Goodbye Pork Pie Hat  5:44
A3 Boogie Stop Shuffle  5:02
A4 Self-Portrait in Three Colors  3:10
A5 Open Letter to Duke  5:51
B1 Bird Calls  6:17
B2 Fables of Faubus  8:13
B3 Pussy Cat Dues  9:14
B4 Jelly Roll  6:17
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I finally had the courage to move on to the next Byrds album, fearing a bit that my first impression (ecstatic, remember?) would be a little ruined.  I was really pleased with “Fifth Dimension,” except for the Byrds’ version of “Hey Joe (Where You Gonna Go?).” Maybe it’s just because I’ve only heard the song performed by Jimi Hendrix before, or maybe it’s because the Byrds’ version was just a little too folksy, it just came off kind of weird to me. Otherwise, “Fifth” was full of the harmonizing and unique guitar distortion that I love about the Byrds.

I wasn’t quite as pleased with Joan Baez’s album of traditional tunes, “Joan Baez.” Her voice is nothing to turn your nose up at, but it’s just not my style of music, and her “House of the Rising Sun” just could not come close to some of the other versions I’ve heard.

Bob Dylan again graced my playlist, with “Bringing it All Back Home,” he delivered another solid album, if you like Bob Dylan. I wash happy to hear “Mr. Tambourine Man,” which formulated a question in my mind. If Bob Dylan wrote the song, but it was originally recorded by the Byrds, does that make it Bob Dylan covering a Byrds song written by Bob Dylan? I’d shoot for a technical yes, if someone covers a Britney Spears song written by someone else, you’d still think of it as Britney’s.

I also followed up last night’s “Rubber Soul,” by listening to “Revolver” today, which was blissful. I think my favorite is a song I hadn’t known before “Love You To,” which is really experimental, featured the sitar pretty extensively, and was written by George Harrison.

I’m sure there’s more, I’m just having a hard time remembering what else I listened to last night, so I’ll leave it there with Charles Mingus’ “The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady,” another instrumental jazz album playing in the background.

Serious jazz scholarship (as opposed to reviews) began more than seventy years ago: early books by Robert Goffin, Hughes Panassie, Charles Delanay, Wilder Hobson, Charles Edward Smith and Frederic Ramsey come to mind, as well as essays by Ernst Ansermet, Otis Ferguson, and Roger Pryor Dodge. 

In 2010, there is no scarcity of books on jazz, from musicology to polemical ideology.  Biographies and autobiographies — from Armstrong to Zwerin with perhaps one hundred subjects between — the autobiographies of Buck Clayton, Sammy Price, Bob Wilber, biographies of Monk, Mingus, Holiday, Fitzgerald, Parker, Paul Desmond, Ellington.  Books have been published about musicians who are still relatively obscure: Mark Miller on Herbie Nichols, Anthony Barnett on Henry Crowder.  

John Chilton’s studies of Bechet, Hawkins, Eldridge, and Red Allen are models of the form.  Ed Berger and his father did right by Benny Carter; Ed devoted a book to George Duvivier and is working on one about Joe Wilder.  My shelves are full, and I’m not listing criticism and discography. 

Most of what I have noted above (with admiration) is jazz scholarship from the outside — by enthusiastic listeners who have immersed themselves in jazz.  I would be the last to disparage that as an art form, as writers who do it include Martin Williams, Dan Morgenstern, Gene Lees, Chris Albertson, Frank Driggs, Nat Hentoff and two dozen others.  A few musicians — rare souls — who were also fine writers: Dick Wellstood, Richard M. Sudhalter, Rex Stewart, Dick Katz.    

But even given all of this, how often have jazz musicians been asked to tell their stories? 

I know that there is a history of popular journalism — early on in urban Black newspapers — of getting quotations from musicians, but I wonder how many utterances that were attributed were actually spoken by the musicians themselves.  Later on, one had DOWN BEAT and METRONOME, and smaller magazines — Art Hodes’ THE JAZZ RECORD, here and abroad.  Some of this “journalism” perpetuated the stereotype of the musician as an eccentric character who spoke an unintelligible hipster gibberish.     

There are, of course, the pioneering recorded interviews of Jelly Roll Morton done in 1938 — mythic in many ways — that might be the first oral history of a jazz musician.  Whether you take them as an extended piece of performance art or as first-hand narrative / reportage, they remain invaluable.

Others have attempted to let the players speak — the Oral History Project had musicians interviewing their peers and friends, Stanley Dance’s series of books, the Shapiro / Hentoff HEAR ME TALKIN’ TO YA, Gitler’s SWING TO BOP, the diligent work of Bill Spilka, Hank O’Neal’s book THE GHOSTS OF HARLEM, collections of interviews and profiles by Whitney Balliett, Peter Vacher, Max Jones.  Phil Schaap has done extensive, rewarding radio interviews for forty years now.  Lester Young spoke to Chris Albertson and Francois Postif.  And irreplaceable video-documentaries focus on Ben Webster, Lester, Goodman, Phil Woods.  Fifty years ago, Riverside Records recorded Coleman Hawkins and Lil Hardin Armstrong telling their stories.             

But all of this is outweighed by the invisibility, the unheard voices of musicians. 

Who thought to ask Kaiser Marshall or Walter Johnson anything after they had finished a set with the Fletcher Henderson band?  Who interviewed Ivie Anderson?  Allen Reuss?  Jimmy Rowles?  Dave McKenna?  Al Cohn?  Shad Collins?  Barry Galbraith?  Shorty Baker?  Did anyone ask Denzil Best or Nick Fenton about what it was like to play at Minton’s?  Who spoke with Joe Smith or Joe Nanton about their experiences?  George Stafford, Tiny Kahn, Nick Fatool, Dave Tough?  (I know some of these figures were interviewed or analyzed by my hero Whitney Balliett, but the burden of jazz history of this sort shouldn’t have to rest on one writer’s shoulders.)

Granted, many stellar musicians were once anonymous sidemen and women, and the leaders of bands got all the attention.  So there are more interviews of Ellington than of Johnny Hodges, more of Goodman than of Vido Musso, more of Basie than of Jack Washington.  But Swing Era fans knew every member of the reed section in their favorite orchestras.

Thus claims of “obscurity” have to be taken less seriously: there was a time when Cootie Williams was nearly as well known as Jackie Robinson would be — you may substitute names you prefer in this equation of “famous jazz musician” and “famous sports figure.” 

I can imagine a number of reasons for musicians being ignored.

Some musicians would rather play than talk about their playing; some are even taciturn, although articulate.  And sometimes even the most garrulous players are not the best interview subjects.  “What was it like to play with Big Boy Smith?” one asks.  “Oh, it was a ball!  We had a great time!” the musician answers.  The interviewer waits for more.  “Do you remember any specific incidents?”  “Oh, no.  It was a lot of fun.  We couldn’t wait to get on the bandstand.”  And so on.  I’ve had this happen to me with the most sophisticated players here and in Europe.  They wereen’t reluctant to talk, but they weren’t intuitive novelists themselves.

Although cordial to outsiders, many musicians also don’t see the point of discussing serious matters — like music — with them.  Too much explaining.  Life is short; the next set is coming soon.   This does say something about the unseen wall between themselves and fans — people who don’t know what it is to play, to improvise professionally, come from a different planet.  Nice folks, but aliens.  Even sweet-natured Bobby Hackett referred to the audience as “the enemy.”  “Fans” and “academics” are friendly, “critics” and “writers” might be useful, but none of them really know. 

And oftentimes, musicians are ambushed by people who want to talk wishing to talk at inopportune times.  A musician asked to comment on the music she’s just played after a forty-five minute set may well be drained by the effort.  When they’re not playing, musicians talk of other subjects, including the cost of things, their most recent car repair, health care proposals.  Anything is more interesting than responding to “What inspires you when you take a solo?”  Some may want to be left in peace, to eat their scrambled eggs while they’re somewhat hot.  And who could blame them?       

When some venerable musicains are finallyinterviewed when they have become venerable, they have forgotten the details.  What they did forty years ago wasn’t musical history, but a way of making a living.  And even those who have sharp memories may not want to tell all: candor might mean losing friends or gigs.  And some aren’t interested in reliving their pasts: autobiographies and interviews are career-ending landmarks: what musicians do when they can no longer play.  Doing beats talking and theorizing.      

Others are “saving it for their book” — books that might get poublished posthumously if ever.  And when musicians die, sometimes their spouse discards ”all that old clutter,” including letters and memorabilia.  Sometimes a divorce means that possessions get thrown out, or a son or daughter believes that Papa’s papers are worth millions and refuses to let anyone make money from themsee them.    

Having said all that, I want to put it aside. 

There were all the reasons that musicians might not want to be asked. 

But so many, I have to believe, would have been delighted to tell their stories.  Why weren’t they?

Much comes from the earliest perception of jazz as entertainment, hardly serious.  It was played at night in places where people talked loudly, smoked, drank, and danced.  Real art could be found in museums and in concert halls.  Jazz players weren’t ordinary people; they existed outside polite society; some thought them licentious madmen working themselves into ecstasies on the bandstand.  Who would be so bold as to ask one of them a question?  And what savage reply would result? 

The subject of race can’t be pushed aside.  If both White and Black listeners thought that jazz was primarily dance music, why study it?  Why take its players seriously?  And the early preponderance of White jazz scholars and critics — some Europeans and White Americans — can be traced to the idea that jazz was no more than “good-time music,” denying Afro-Americans proper dignity.  Would you want your daughter to marry a jazz musician?  Would you want your African-American child to concentrate his or her academic efforts on Cab Calloway, on Louis Armstrong?  But the initial racial imbalance did shift, and I suspect that Joe Nanton would have been happy to speak with a White college student if the student was both sincere and aware.  As would Rod Cless have been.       

I think of Emerson in “The American Scholar,” delivered in 1846, urging his audience to study their own culture — only in this way could a nation exist.  Many years after Emerson’s death, an American college student couldn’t expect to do advanced study about the authors of his time and place: a college education required German, Chaucer, rather than James T. Farrell and Charlie Chaplin.  To say nothing of Sidney Catlett.  And so it was for jazz.  By the time that academia caught up with it, so many of the progenitors were dead, their stories untold. 

The losses are irreparable.  To urge readers to interview a jazz musician today won’t replace what has been lost. 

What might Frank Teschmacher or Freddie Webster have told us, have someone thought it sufficiently important to ask them?

Those pages remain irrevocably blank.

COPYRIGHT, MICHAEL STEINMAN AND JAZZ LIVES, 2010
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.  Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Michael Steinman and Jazz Lives with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Charles Mingus- Jelly Roll is where it’s at right now…

4/10/09

Growing up playing the saxophone, I’ve always had a slight affinity for jazz. I played “Mercy Mercy Mercy” in my high school jazz band at age 16, and “Take the A-Train” at 17. However, I was always swept up with the hip punk rock scene, and jazz music was filed next to classical music on the “old people music” shelf of my teenage life.

Seven years later, it has become pretty much the only music in my life. Aside from a handful of bands, jazz has taken up the majority of my listening time. Tonight, I want to highlight a few great albums I’ve been listening to lately that you should all check out.

Roland Kirk – Volunteered Slavery (1968)

This album is one of the best saxophone albums I’ve ever heard. Roland Kirk, blind genius and multi-instrumentalist, mixes snippets of popular songs in with his freestyle saxophone. “I Say A Little Prayer For You” bounds into a Coltrane tribute (with the album below), which explodes into a free-jazz extravaganza. Occasionally, Kirk will warble along with his flute or just yell nonsense. This is the most fun jazz album I’ve heard in a long time.

John Coltrane – A Love Supreme (1965)

One of the most highly regarded jazz albums of all time, and for good reason. Coltrane kills it on this one. He’s in the foreground and nothing else. The songs grow and morph from beautiful melodies into improvisational masterpieces. The drum solo on this album is probably the best I’ve ever heard. So good.

Charles Mingus – Mingus Ah Um (1959)

This is another upbeat, bebop jazz album reminiscent of old New Orleans jazz. Mingus records with an ensemble, alternating from a main melody line into a turn-based improv section. I hold a special place in my heart for Charles Mingus for his involvement with John Cassavetes, doing the entire soundtrack of Shadows.

Ornette Coleman – The Shape of Jazz To Come (1959)

Coleman pioneered improvisational jazz with this album. Primarily blues based, the saxophone wails and screams through seemingly tempo-less structures. The absence of a piano creates room for the other instruments to really explore the space. The spontaneity of this album makes it great.

Dave Brubeck Quartet – Time Out (1959)

Kicking off with “Blue Rondo A La Turk” in 9/8, Dave Brubeck designs this entire album around the waltz, shifting from 5/4 to 9/8 to 3/4. Probably the album that spawned “cool jazz” or “lounge,” using Brubeck’s sauntering piano to drive most of the songs. Such a laid back album, I love it.

Miles Davis – Bitches Brew (1970)

It took a while to narrow down my Miles Davis collection to one standout album, but I think Bitches Brew takes the cake. Miles was there for the dawn of avant-garde jazz, the conversion to electric, and then took jazz to the next level of improvisation. The electric guitar, synthesizer, and percussion led to the fusion of jazz and rock music. This album also utilized tape loops and reverb chambers, almost unheard of before this point. Miles is the king of jazz, hands down.

There are many more I could write about, but I think this is a good cross-section of what I’ve been listening to. Needless to say, the late 1950’s were a great era for jazz music, evolving from a traditional music into an experimental phenomenon. The musicians were pure soul, playing what they felt at the moment. It’s pure emotion, and the saxophone can convey it the best. I’ve been dying to get back into playing jazz in New York, and would love to play sax with a small group one or two nights a week, just to get back into the swing of things.

I really want people to add to this list. If you have a jazz album you can’t live without, put it down here. I really want to expand on my collection.

Mingus passed in Cuernavaca of Lou Gehrig’s disease on January 5th in 1979; we’d all be wise to kiss him goodbye again today. He was one of the key convincers when a friend was wafting the smoke of jazz under my nose in the early 70s. It was The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady and Charles Mingus Presents Charles Mingus and Tijuana Moods that wooed me at first. But the Mingus music I spin most often these days was made for Columbia.

The first work the bassist-composer did for the label was fluid, tempestuous, and deeply intellectual. It was 1959. Ornette was pushing The Shape of Jazz To Come. Miles was releasing Kind of Blue. Trane was dropping Giant Steps. Mingus had been leading his Jazz Workshop sessions, and he’d recently released the monumental Blues & Roots for Atlantic. There are rumors he told Columbia that he’d make a disc of Jelly Roll Morton tunes, but when the tapes started to roll with producer Teo Macero behind the boards, the pianist’s material had disappeared and a number of exquisite originals, like the bandleader’s eulogy to Lester Young, “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat,” and the feisty “Boogie Stop Shuffle” were in their place.  And yes, he did tip the hat to Morton with the exquisite “Jelly Roll.”

The band couldn’t have been tighter. As usual, the music was intricate, with rhythmic contrasts constantly accentuating the action. Elements of gospel and classical were hand in hand, and the ardor with which the group attacked the pieces was daunting. Some tracks boast a hard-driving polyphony that brought Armstrong’s collective stomp into the modern era. Some recast Charlie Parker’s antsy bop lines. During this time, Mingus was also scoring a ballet and writing a soundtrack for a CBS TV show. All of these elements bubbled up in this music; its emotional breadth was obvious. Trombonist Jimmy Knepper, saxophonists John Handy and Booker Ervin, and pianist Horace Parlan all bring eloquence to the table. Along with drummer Dannie Richmond, they helped their boss sate his Ellington jones with luscious spins through “Mood Indigo” and “Things Ain’t What They Used To Be.” Whether romantic or raging, this is music that uses grace to explain itself – even when the leader is growling along while the band bounces through the changes of “Slop.” The music was released under the album titles Mingus Ah Um and Mingus Dynasty, and as the great man implores: better get hit in yo’ soul.

Want to hear what kind of chatter goes on between the great man and his drummer? Stay to the end of the above clip.

Charles Mingus, Jr. (April 22, 1922 – January 5, 1979) was an American jazz bassist, composer, bandleader and pianist. He was also known for his activism against racism.

Discography

Amazon Charles Mingus Store

At this point, just two days before Christmas, you’re probably waking up at odd hours with “O Little Town of Bethlehem” playing on that radio station inside your head.  Some songs never seem to go away.  And then there are those that really don’t.

This month, “Studio 360” has been featuring some of this year’s 25 selections entered into the National Recording Registry of the Library of Congress.  The Registry was created as part of the 2000 National Recording Preservation Act, which sought to address the steady loss of the country’s audio heritage.  Since 2002, the Library has chosen radio broadcasts, spoken word recordings, and plenty of unforgettable songs that it considers to be “culturally, historically, or aesthetically important” to be set aside for safe keeping.

The Jefferson Reading Room at the Library of Congress, Washington D.C.

But what determines the selections?  And who?

Well, the answer to the second question is that you do, at least to begin with.  Anyone can nominate up to ten recordings per year.  The submissions are then evaluated by the National Recording Preservation Board and the Librarian of Congress.  The answer to the “what” question is a little more complicated.  A quick scan of the list of selections reveals some no-brainers: what’s a collection of American recordings without Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land” or Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech?  But what about “Recordings of Asian Elephants?”  And not one but two versions of “Tom Dooley?”

It’s hard to look at this list and not wonder what some alien species would make of us if these recordings were the only evidence of our civilization left behind.  What would they think of Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First?” or album titles that even we can’t figure out like “Mingus Ah Um?”  They’d also never know that anything postdated Seattle grunge.

Of course, there’s a lot more yet to be added to the Registry.  Every year brings new contenders, but there are also tons of classics from the last century-plus that deserve inclusion as well.  Guess you’ll have to wait your turn, Lady Gaga.

You can listen to our stories behind some of this year’s selections here.

- Jordan Sayle

Mingus Big Band @ Jazz Standard

Went to hear the Mingus Big Band @ Jazz Standard, finally . I’ve been curious about that one for a while. It was surprisingly packed over there, seems like Jazz Standard is doing great business. And they deserve it too – in my opinion they have one of the best bookings in the city, really great food, great service, nice atmosphere, very professional attitude, quite reasonable prices (with student discounts), none of that aggressive minimums policy. Which really makes it in many ways the best jazz club in NY. But I was a little disappointed with the actual big band. I enjoyed only a couple of the tunes. I thought quite a lot of it was actually disturbingly out of tune. And for some reason didn’t like the piano player, I thought he was showing some bad taste with all those elevator music clichés and not so classy christmas carols quotes.  So I wasn’t as much into the whole thing. Boris Kozlov sounded great, though. And the lineup in general seemed pretty amazing: Scott Robinson, Donny McCaslin – tenor saxophone, Jaleel Shaw, Craig Handy – alto saxophone, flute,  Lauren Sevian – baritone saxophone, Andy Hunter, Dave Taylor, Marshall Gilkes – trombones Kenny Rampton, Alex Sipiagin, Earl Gardner – trumpets, David Kikoski – piano, Boris Kozlov – bass, Jeff “Tain” Watts – drums.

Village Vanguard Jazz Orchestra

But yeah. I think as a big band they were also lacking a little with the dynamics and energy. So later on I went to hear the second set of the Vanguard for a fresh comparison between the two. I must say the Vanguard Orchestra sounded way better to me. They weren’t perfect either, though . The Vanguard was really packed as well, even the second set. Seems like the holiday season is favorable for big band music. Speaking of that, I really wish I could have heard Joe Henderson’s Big Band live. I don’t think I would have had anything critical to say about them!

Discovered an inspiring quote by Charles Mingus on Jazz Standard’s website:

“Most people are forced to do things they don’t want to for most of the time, and so they get to the point where they feel they no longer have any choices about anything important, including who they are. We create our own slavery. But I’m going to keep on getting through, and finding out the kind of man I am,

Edmar Casteneda & Ari Hoenig @ Smalls

through my music. That’s the one place I can be free.” (Charles Mingus [1922–1979], from a conversation with Nat Hentoff)

And then finally, saw Ari Hoenig @ Smalls with this interesting Columbian harp player Edmar Casteneda. Never heard seen or heard that kind of harp before, cool

Two biographies of jazz musicians have recently gotten much well-deserved media attention: Robin G. Kelley’s study of Thelonious Monk, Terry Teachout’s Louis Armstrong book. 

The Mercury Press has just published jazz scholar Mark Miller’s biography of pianist-composer Herbie Nichols.  It’s a small paperback, 224 pages, without accompanying fanfare. 

But HERBIE NICHOLS: A JAZZIST’S LIFE is, in its own quiet way, equal and perhaps superior to the larger competition.  It could fascinate a reader who had never heard Nichols on record or in person: Miller is that fine a writer and researcher. 

At this point, “full disclosure” is essential: I have admired Miller’s books before; my praise of his Valaida Snow biography is on the back cover here; I also tried to help him speak to New York musicians who might have played alongside Nichols, among them Leroy “Sam” Parkins and Joe Muranyi.  But if I had received a copy of this book with its author’s name erased, I would have been mightily impressed. 

But more about that later.  Who was Herbie Nichols?  “Dead at 44 of leukemia” is one answer.  “Brilliantly original but underacknowledged in his lifetime.”  “Peer of Monk, not a disciple.”  “Inimitable pianist and composer.”  “He could work with Danny Barker and Roswell Rudd and please them both.” 

Nichols rarely made his living playing the music he had created.  The paying gigs were with rhythm and blues bands or playing for cabarets, chorus lines, and shows, and most often “Dixieland.”  In fact, I first heard him on records with Rex Stewart and Joe Thomas.  (Nichols’ last record was the Atlantic MAINSTREAM session.) 

But Nichols knew a wide variety of music, and didn’t bring his own ideology to the gig, even though the jazz critics were busily pitting ”Dixieland” against “modern.”  He was a fine stride pianist, choosing Jelly Roll Morton’s THE PEARLS as his feature when he played with a traditional band. 

But he retained his identity, and the players who worked with Nichols understood that he was going his own way in the traditional ensembles of the time, not always easily.  Dixieland gigs proliferated, even though writers might now see the Fifties as the era of cool jazz or hard bop.  He worked in bands led by drummer Al Bandini (a friend of Pee Wee Russell) at the Greenwich Village club The Riviera, which may still be active, although without music, on Seventh Avenue South.  Buell Neidlinger recalled what I hope wasn’t a typical scene: ”I can’t tell you the number of times I trudged over there with my bass just to get a chance to play with Herbie, even with Al there — just to make Herbie feel better.  Al was nasty to Herbie.  Herbie’d be playing one of his tunes and Al would say, ‘Let’s stop that shit now!  Right in the middle of the tune!  Let’s stop that shit now.  Let’s play When the Saints Go Marching In.‘ He’d say that real loud and the audience would scream, ‘Yeah!  Go, man, go, go, go!” 

Nichols’ brief life, the scant recognition he got, and such scenes might encourage a writer to depict him as a victim.  One imagines the Down Beat headline: JAZZ MODERNIST FORCED TO PLAY “ROYAL GARDEN BLUES.”  Intrigued by Nichols the man, Miller avoids the conventional portrait of the suffering jazzman, and shows us that Nichols — refiined, intellectual, chess-player, poet, and painter – was not self-destructive, an alcoholic, an addict.  African-American, he was not victimized by racism — no more than any man of his race in those decades.   

Rather, Miller is sympathetic without being idolatrous, candidly describing the missed chances, the system of jazz-stardom that put Thelonious Monk on the cover of TIME but had Nichols playing the piano for female impersonators.  Nichols is a particularly challenging subject for a biography because the evidence that exists nearly forty-five years after his death is slim. 

However, readers who are intrigued by famous names and the people a working musician might encounter will be delighted by the players Nichols worked with or knew: Louis Armstrong, Jack Teagarden, Sidney Bechet, Dick Rath, Ed Polcer, Conrad Janis, Wilbur deParis, Illinois Jacquet, John Kirby, Charles Mingus, Roswell Rudd, Sheila Jordan, Dave Frishberg, Cecil Taylor, Max Roach, Art Blakey.  We find him on a Turkish cruise ship playing traditional jazz with Steve Swallow.  A Nichols melody caught Billie Holiday’s ear and was retitled, with lyrics, LADY SINGS THE BLUES.  He helps a ten-year old Phil Schaap negotiate the New York subway system. 

Miller knits together all these incidents, bits of hearsay and anecdotage without making his book seem like a banquet of crumbs.  The biography moves chronologically, but Miller isn’t tied to the calendar (some jazz books read as if the author wanted to follow the subject gig by gig, month by month); Miller is both expert and free, so the book moves sideways when the material needs it, without losing the thread.  The biography is compact (Miller considers that not every artist needs a five-hundred page monograph) but it is both dense and quickly-paced. 

And in the essential small things, Miller is splendid: he has a fine emotional intelligence that allows him to be fond of Nichols (as everyone except Bandini was, apparently) without idealizing him.  Although the evidence is often sketchy, Miller doesn’t hypothesize excessively; he avoids psychoanalyzing his subject; he doesn’t get irritated by Nichols, nor does he pad the biography by quoting large excerpts from Nichols’ prose.  His musical analysis is pointed but not over-technical; Miller captures the flavor and sensibility of Nichols playing, composing, and imagination.

Another writer might have made himself the subject of the book: “Look how much detective work I had to do to find out this shred of information about that neglected pianist — I forget his name.”  Someone might have shaped the facts of his subject’s life to fit a particular ideology.  Because Miller illuminates Nichols and gently stays out of the way, his subject’s personality shines through, even when the evidence is most thin.  I began the book with great eagerness because I admire Miller’s writing, his perspective, and his research — but very soon I was forcing myself to read it more slowly, because I did not want it to end.  That may be the best tribute a reader can pay — to Nichols and to his chronicler.       

COPYRIGHT, MICHAEL STEINMAN AND JAZZ LIVES, 2009
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.  Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Michael Steinman and Jazz Lives with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. 

(originally aired on August 06, 2007)

This one is dedicated to my friends at http://www.herejazz.blogspot.com
they make downloading good jazz easy! Enjoy!

Oscar Peterson – C-Jam Blues
Charles Mingus – Boogie Stop Shuffle
Miles Davis – Doxy
Charlie Parker – Funky Blues
Billie Holiday – Big Stuff
Sippie Wallace – Muhammed Ali
Dirty Dozen Brass Band – Down by the river

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