Maria Schneider Orchestra @ the Jazz Standard

Heard two sets -  and sat so close to the band for the first one that I could actually see Ben Monder’s sheet music and all the voicings. That was so cool . The music was great, some really happening solos by Ben Monder, Donny McCaslin and Ingrid Jensen. This has been their regular Thanksgiving week @ the Standard (for 6 years i think) – totally sold out. It was so great to be Ben Monder’s guest for that one

And later on went to 55 Bar & Fat Cat with David Binney. Heard Chris Ward, one of those cats living in the famous Cortelyou Rd house of jazz, sit in with the jam session. And then i met a really attractive girl and we exchanged numbers. What a great night!

Chris Ward @ Fat Cat jam session

• Picture Above: Just a cat who is chillin’. Yep. More.
• Make thy name mighty! You may have thought your name was fine just as it was, BUT YOU WERE WRONG!
• Sarah Palin, the not-so-superhero. Do you see what I did there?! Put a negative in front of super in a clever way that did not detract from the fluency of the sentence. Yeah! Give me all the praise now.
• A group of Nobel Peace Prize winner impersonators having a “jam” session. The worst? No, but still pretty awful. Via.

→ o blog Jam Session é a ‘reunião temática quinzenal de artistas gráficos’ coordenada pelo experiente cartunista Flávio Dealmeida. Desta vez o tema é: Monstros e Assombrações.

→ desenho vetorizado no corel draw, preenchido e texturizado no photoshop.

(clique na imagem e veja o trabalho de todos os artistas)

A capital paranaense ganha pelo segundo ano consecutivo uma celebração
do jazz legitimamente brasileiro. O Festival Jazz Brasil reunirá,
no Bar Curityba, grandes nomes nacionais e locais do ritmo,
para sete shows durante os meses de novembro e dezembro,
sempre às quartas-feiras. No palco da casa, o saxofonista paranaense
Paulo Branco e sua banda Sotak formarão a base para, a cada edição,
receber novos convidados. Na noite de abertura, dia 11/11,
entraram em cena o Sotak mais o baixista curitibano Cris Julian
e Arthur Maia, do Rio de Janeiro, no baixo elétrico e fretless.

LEIA MAIS NOS SITES
:: SORTIMENTOS.COM >> http://www.sortimentos.net/?p=3942
:: GEBBEG >> http://gebbeg.com.br/?p=7252

.

→ o blog Jam Session é a ‘reunião temática quinzenal de artistas gráficos’ coordenada pelo experiente cartunista Flávio Dealmeida. Desta vez o tema é: Monstros e Assombrações.

→ desenho vetorizado no corel draw, preenchido e texturizado no photoshop.

(clique na imagem e veja o trabalho de todos os artistas)

by Patrick Breiner

Greetings Wisconsinites,

Hot off the presses: The Cabana Room has given the New Breed the ax. We will not be playing this Wednesday, nor the following, nor any subsequent Wednesday night. The reason? Who knows? The explanation given by a high ranking Samba Party official: “We’re not making enough money off it.” That seems strange to this guerilla as the bar is always packed with 50-100 people whenever we play. Where is all that money going? Certainly not to the hard-working citizens who keep the gears a-turnin’.

In any case, the New Breed is currently looking for a new home for underground jazzy camaraderie. We here at WPJB will keep you abreast of the wheelings and dealings.

That being said, come get your weekly fix of great music on Thursday instead!

The deets:
This Thursday, Nov 5
7:30-10:30 pm
at the Project Lodge
817 East Johnson St. at Paterson
$5

Pay admission and dip into a free cooler of Miller High Life! Or BYOB if you’re feeling hoity-toity.

This Thursday will feature, from Chicago:
Caroline Davis – saxophone
Dave Miller – guitar

From Madison:
Patrick Breiner – saxophone
Luke Polipnick – guitar

We’ll also have some awesome stage visuals by Tyler Mackie.

Don’t miss it!

Klaus Nomi a fost un bărbat-german cel puţin ciudat, un neo-romantic…  

Mircea Geoană e un aparacinik-român plin de ambâţ. Neo, şi el…neo-iliescian, da!, dar nu oricum, ci neo-iliescian de “constelaţie” mondenă.

Muzical vorbind, nu poţi spune că există vreo similitudine solidă între cei doi, dar, lucru de-a dreptul bizar, ambii par a fi uniţi la tribună de o mină similară, încât parcă ai zice că…

Nu?

Ia uitaţi-vă mai de aproape….şi mai aproape…aşa…încă puţin…şi mai aproape…nu,nu,nu!…mai aproape.

P.S. Aveţi răbdare până când va începe Geoană să cânte…sau, cum se spune, până când va fi pe sistem.

Jam Session:

Last wednesday night was the final performance of the New Breed jam session at the Cabana Room. Patrick says the Cabana Room manangement has decided to eliminate all music. For the moment the jam session is on hiatus until another venue can be located.

To have the man you consider one of the greatest photographic artists capture your heroes at work and play . . . what could be better?

I am happy to present three of Charles Peterson’s on-the-spot portrait studies of Bobby Hackett and Pee Wee Russell in their native habitat.  Hackett met Russell when Bobby was quite young, and, much later, credited Pee Wee with “teaching him how to drink,” not the best lesson. 

But if you listen to their playing — captured on records for more than twenty-five years – they were busy teaching each other more salutary things.  Standing next to Russell on a bandstand would have been a joyously emboldening experience: “Here, kid, close your eyes and jump off.  Nothing to be afraid of!”  Pee Wee’s willingness to get himself into apparently impossible corners was always inspiring.  “What could possibly go wrong?”  And, for Russell, having Hackett nearby, that sound, those lovely melodies, that sensitivity to the harmonies, would have been soul-enhancing: “Listen to the beautiful chorus the kid just played!” 

The portrait above was taken at one of the Sunday afternoon jam sessions at Jimmy Ryan’s, January 19, 1941, and it presents another Ideal Moment in Time and Space that Peterson captured.  It’s possible that Brad Gowans (playing his “valide,” a combination slide / valve trombone of his own manufacture). Bobby, and Pee Wee are doing nothing more adventurous than holding whole notes behind someone else’s solo: they seem remarkably easy, effortless.  But that would have been enough for me. 

They all look so young.  And — adopting the slang of the period — spiffy.  Pee Wee’s crisp suit, folded pocket handkerchief; Brad’s bowtie; their hair, neatly slicked back.  Of course, the combination of Pee Wee’s height and the low ceiling — as well as the angle of Peterson’s shot — makes the three men seem too big for the room.  Which, in terms of their talent, was always true.

As always with Peterson’s work, I find the details I didn’t catch immediately are as enthralling as the big picture.  There’s another musician on the stand — a drummer I can’t immediately identify.  Is it Zutty Singleton?  He is hidden behind Gowans, both the man and the instrument, and less than half his face is visible.  But from what we can see, he is taking it all in, delighted. 

This photograph, with Eddie Condon’s taciturn caption, “TRIO,” appears in the irreplaceable EDDIE CONDON’S SCRAPBOOK OF JAZZ, assembled and edited by Hank O’Neal — one of the many things we have to thank Mr. O’Neal for.

The next view comes from a rehearsal for a Commodore Records date a few years earlier — I believe in the rather claustrophoblic Brunswick studios.   (It seems that every studio of that time except for Victor’s Camden church and Columbia’s Liederkrantz Hall stifled both the sound and the musicians.  That so much stirring jazz was captured in such circumstances makes me agree with Norman Field who said, “Can you imagine what those guys sounded like live?”).  The recognizable figures are again Bobby and Pee Wee, with Bud Freeman to the right.  The man I didn’t recognize until Don Peterson identified him, second from left, is jazz enthusiast and amateur drummer Harry Ely.  This is a rehearsal rather than a jam session, so it’s possible that the three men are trying out chords for a background,  Russell and Freeman are intent, but Hackett is at his ease.  His shirt-sleeve is neatly rolled up (revealing his boyish, thin arm), he holds the horn casually.  Musicians dressed beautifully for recording sessions even when no photographers were present — their habit and custom! — thus the neckties and suspenders, the fresh white shirts. 

Here, again, the photograph can’t convey the sound these men made.  And if you were new to the art and had been handed the photograph, it would just seem reasonably antique: three men in archaic dress with instruments to their lips, a metal folding chair, its paint worn off in spots, in front.  But look at Ely’s face!   Head down, a mild smile, eyes closed to block off any visual distraction — although he never got to make a record, he is IN the music, serene and thrilled.

Finally, a photograph from one of the “Friday Club” sessions at the Park Lane Hotel, circa 1939, with an unusual lineup.

Of course, that’s Eddie Condon on the left, Hackett, Zutty Singleton at the drums, Jimmy Dorsey on alto sax, left-handed Mort Stuhlmaker at the bass, and the intrepid Mr. Russell on the far right.  Condon is exhorting as well as strumming, and everyone else is floating along (Dorsey watching Condon to see what will happen next). 

Pee Wee has struck out for the Territory, jazz’s Huckleberry Finn, and where he’s going is not only uncharted and exciting but the journey requires every bit of emotional and physical effort.  I can hear a Russell wail soaring above the other horns.  And — perhaps as a prefiguring? — Russell’s face, almost cavernous with the effort, is an unearthly echo-in-advance of the famously skeletal man in the hospital bed in 1951, when Jack Teagarden and Louis Armstrong came to comfort and solace him. 

After Russell’s death, Hackett wrote of his friend, “Pee Wee and I were very close friends for many years and what little musical knowledge I may have I owe plenty to him.  He was truly a great artist and a very honorable man.  His music will live forever, along with his wonderful spirit.  I’m sure we all miss him, but thank God he was here.”

I feel much the same way about Charles Peterson, who saw, recorded, and preserved marvels for us.

Como comenté, el pasado lunes 19 de octubre se celebró el III Memorial Dolores Campos Herrero. El lugar: La sala Cuasquías situada en el popular barrio de Triana. La hora 20:30. Un servidor estuvo allí para cubrir el evento y participar (no tuve opción). Al llegar (casi sobre la hora pactada y con la lengua afuera por las prisas) al primero que me encuentro, nada más entrar, es a Antonio Vega. Un saludo y me tropiezo con Puri Santana, saludo y para dentro. En la sala donde se celebró el acto a esa hora apenas habían personas (la mayoría estaba fuera en la barra si es que…) saludo a Ruymán J. Jiménez y justo cuando voy a salir a remojar el pico me encuentro con Alexis Ravelo, uno de los organizadores del evento, un saludo y me presenta a Judith Bosch, un interesante descubrimiento.

Persisto en mi empeño y salgo a por una caña. Cuando me doy cuenta tengo delante a Maite Figueira (miento, fue ella quien me vio) saludos y “bronca” por mi despiste. Caña en mano, por fin, doy una vuelta. Me encuentro con Juan Carlos de Sancho, Nayra Pérez y algunos escritores más de los que no consigo relacionar nombre-cara. Una cara conocida llega, Lunática, que no leyó, a pesar de que tiene textos que hubieran sido hilo fino para tal evento. Empezamos a entrar. Una emotiva proyección de Lola nos da la bienvenida. Tras el vídeo Antonio Becerra realiza una breve introducción, explica el funcionamiento del evento y pasa la palabra a Marisol (hermana de Lola) que tiene unas palabras de agradecimiento y lee algunos textos de su hermana.

El mecanismo es sencillo, paso a paso acercarse hacia el micrófono que, previamente, quedará libre. Acercar la boca al micrófono (cuidado con dejarse los piños en él), pronunciar el nombre seguido del título del texto a leer. A continuación se procede con la lectura, aplausos y abandonar el espacio ocupado para realizar la labor lectora. Un microrrelato por persona, no dar de comer después de media noche, no bañarlo… No, eso era los gremlins.
La primera ronda sigue un orden. Tras finalizar se romperá dicho orden y cualquiera de los asistentes podrá intervenir siempre que el espacio de lectura quede libre.

Dejo algunas imágenes para el recuerdo:

La cabeza del fondo, aunque no lo crean, es Alexis.

Aspecto que presentaba la sala.

Nayra Pérez en su intervención.

Sr. Sin nombre lee un texto, a modo de manual de instrucciones, sobre cómo escribir un cuento con final feliz.

Puri Santana, una conocida de Nueve Puertas, en plena faena lectora. Un texto divertido y pícaro.

Enhorabuena a la organización, un evento entrañable, ameno y con una participación que pone de manifiesto mi teoría sobre el elevado número de escritores que existe por metro cuadrado en esta ciudad.
Un saludo a los que estuvieron (y a los que no también).
Informó R. Alzala para Nueve Puertas.

Autores participantes-leídos:
http://alexisravelo.canariblogs.com/2009/10/20/volvieron-a-estar-todos-alli/

Cŕonica de Ruymán J. Jiménez:
http://canarioenmadrid.com/2009/10/20/perder-la-virginidad/

Last Sunday should have been a forgettable day. Both of my teams were involved in lopsided matchups, one winning and one losing. But after weeks of sick and/or lazy Sundays, I was ready for some fun. I watched the early games at a great sports bar, then had quality rehearsals with two of my bands, Mystic Canyon and Harmless Eccentrics. Turns out the best way to get over a crushing loss for the Giants is to jam late into the night.

North Coast Greenleaves (4-2) 162,
Vancouver Volcanoes (4-2) 120

Jason and I had been looking forward to this matchup for a few weeks, as it also happened to be the week that his Saints faced my Giants. We met at the Cheerful Bullpen for the 10am start. While the game was painful to watch, the breakfast was tasty and the Spanish Coffee strong! Drew Brees gave Jason an early lead, and Randy Moss sealed it later in the day. Like the Giants, the Volcanoes put up enough points to win against a lesser team, especially during the bye weeks. But there was no catching Jason, even if Pierre Thomas had managed to be one of the 7 Saints to score a TD.

Things don’t look too good for Pierre this week either against a stiff Miami defense, but the rest of my team looks solid going into Sunday’s matchup against another New Orleans native, Steve, and his Amite Steelmakers, who are gonna need to make some moves due to injuries and byes this week.

PDX Prowlers (4-1-1) 111,
Degoba Green (1-4-1) 55

It was a small consolation as my Giants went down in flames that Drew Brees’ huge game was at least helping me in this league. But the Prowlers’ biggest point total of the year went to waste as my opponent didn’t even show up. Greg Jennings remained on his bench from the previous week’s Bye, and he never picked up a Defense to replace the ones that weren’t playing this week (Miami and SF.) At least I got the Toyota Biggest Fantasy Blowout award for the week, a new feature on Yahoo’s league page. This weekend’s matchup holds a lot more promise as I look to break a first place tie with TDs ‘N Beer.

Billie Holiday archive, Christie’s (New York), $30,000

In June 1939, Marilyn “Marly” Moore, an aspiring teenage singer living in California, wrote to the jazz singer Billie Holiday for advice; 70 years on, a group of 30 letters that Holiday wrote to Moore from Harlem formed part of a June 24 sale.

“This life is a little tricky,” wrote Holiday in one letter, “but you being a white and if you got something to offer you might not have it so bad,” though she warned Moore against coming to New York unless she had money and was able to take care of herself. “New York…is a tough spot if you ain’t got the jack. Ha Ha.”

Holiday’s big break came when the impresario John Hammond heard her perform in a Harlem club in 1933 and arranged for her to make a number of well-known recordings with the Benny Goodman Band. Holiday told Moore, “John Hammond and Benny Goodman is the right people for you. John discovered me and he fine and a Blue Blood…If he likes your work he will make you a big person.” Then she added, “I know what it is to long to be a Big Star.”

In another letter, she reported on a concert she gave at the Modern Art Theater, remarking, “those society people knowck me out because they aint supposed to like swing.”

When Moore sent Holiday a demonstration recording, she wrote back, “My mother played your record for John Hammond and he told her you didn’t keep good time,” but then in more encouraging mode, Holiday wrote, “but I am sure you will make the grade.” Elsewhere she urged Marilyn to “practice up on your timing; that is the main thing in music and with your face and voice you will be a killer.”

This was the largest group of Holiday letters yet to come onto the market.

I read this story with mixed emotions. 

The photograph of Billie, happy, youthful, healthy, well-fed, is thrilling.  Her grin is contagious, and the woman depicted here isn’t the gaunt Madonna of suffering we see in her last images.  And to see her amidst what is obviously an Eddie Condon jam session, with Bud Freeman, Hot Lips Page, and Zutty Singleton, is another pleasure.  (The debate over whether the location — a New York hotel ballroom — is the St. Regis or the Park Lane might rage on forever.  And is it a Charles Peterson photograph?) 

Any reason to celebrate Lady Day is fine.  And the letters are obviously a treasure.  But their fate is less cheery.  They weren’t made available to any of Holiday’s biographers, as far as I know.  Will they be made available to scholars in this century? 

I also know the law: the words on the page belong to Holiday’s estate; the letters belong to Moore and her descendants (one of whom is the estimable guitarist Joe Cohn, because Marilyn Moore was married to Al Cohn).  But I wonder if Billie ever earned $30,000 a year.  That figure says a great deal about the way artists are deprived in life, and someone else makes money from their fame after they are dead.

Thanks to Will Friedwald for uncovering this: see http://www.finebooksmagazine.com/issue/200909/auction-2.phtml.

Life is good, routine.

The kids are grown and on their own. The wife has plenty to keep her busy between her work and seeing to the needs of her parents. You work each week at a decent job that helps pay the bills and gives both of you decent benefits. You help out with the in-laws whenever you’re needed. Occasionally, the two of you watch a movie together, sharing some air-popped corn and Snow Caps. Weekends are spent on house needs, avocations, farmer’s markets, garage sales or the inexpensive brunch together at a local diner. Life still throws some curve balls, but for the most part, nothing you can’t handle. Even the dog and cat are “BFFs.”

But you used to play rock and roll for a living.

And you want to play rock and roll again.

Not full time, just enough to keep you “in the game.” You’ve got the “gear” and the “chops.” Chances are, you’ve forgotten more about music than most young players out there bangin’ and shreddin’ understand. “They’ve got a lot to learn,” you tell yourself. “I’ve been there. I know.” Whether you really “know” or not, the desire to jump in intensifies.

Of course, spousal support is paramount.

Chances are rehearsals will be at your place. This means the china and crystal will shift in the hutch and all through the house, pictures will have to be straightened out at least once a week. The house’s largest room – at the bottom of the basement steps – will become the “man cave” for the band and unavailable to wife and beast.

With the “go-ahead” behind you, it’s time to find others willing to jeopardize their comfortable routines to get back on music’s path. And there are others – many, many others – all with different experiences around a common need: to feed their musical soul. But the congruency of this need does not translate into musical compatibility and now, your desire to play music is forcefully challenged. People from all walks of life are parading through yours, as you attempt to assemble a cohesive group. It’s similar to having several people in a room wanting to resolve a common issue, with each speaking a different language.

For some, it’s getting together with others to play all the tunes they used to do – a “memories” jam – a social event. Or, it’s taking those same tunes and learning them just well enough to get a gig once in a while. With the addition of a little alcohol to either scenario, their musical souls are fed.

But you’re the player who wants to gather with like-minded musicians, for the purpose of learning tunes with vocal and instrumental precision and accuracy, creating the quintessential “cover band.” You’ve lived through the first two scenarios, but your soul remains hungry. This time, you want to perform music you’ve never attempted before – to get out of your musical cocoon – to “do it right” – one more time. Most people won’t know if the vocal harmonies are spot-on or the guitar player learned his parts perfectly. But if even one person notices, it’s worth it. The band will feel accepted – their collective soul fed. This effort will not automatically yield ultra-high paying engagements, but this has never been about money.

In your scenario, the struggle to reach the “go live” point is not defined by a timeline. You work until you’re ready – whenever that happens. During this process, sadly, members come and go, sending “go-live” a little further down the road. Your resolve is continually tested, as is your patience. You’re tempted to fall back to an easier scenario: play songs you already know, getting through them with minimal effort, and not be too concerned with quality.

But you fight the urge to shift directions, staying the path – a path that could easily take a year or more to navigate. Eventually, the light at the end of the tunnel will no longer be the train coming at you, but rather, the elusive “go-live” point you’ve now captured. Membership is stable and planning for the first engagement is underway. Not knowing how the public will respond, a small amount of anxiety enters your thinking.

It’s been a long time since the last “introduction” of a new musical group – with you in it. Hopefully, everything hasn’t changed too much out there. Hopefully, well-performed music is still appreciated. Hopefully, there are smiling faces. Hopefully, there’s dancing. Hopefully, there’s applause.

Hopefully, this Weekend Warrior can write the next chapter soon.

Sincerely,

www.MichaelKontras.com

(Click to enlarge)

DATE

14.12.2009 (MONDAY)

TIME

7 – 8:30PM

VENUE

URBAN GROOVE SUNWAY BRANCH

RM60 – UG STUDENTS

RM80 – NON-UG STUDENTS

URBAN GROOVE PROUDLY BRINGS

Ricky Carranza aka 3ki Rick from Finland to Malaysia to conduct a workshop on

ORIGINAL LOCKING STYLE

For all the locking lovers, don’t miss this chance to learn from the maestro himself on pure funk styles.

Ricky himself is a close friend and student of Greg Campbellock from the original lockers. He is currently based in Finland where he runs his own academy called Style Dance Industry.

For booking and register please call / sms

012 – 3896588

016 – 5584466

HURRY UP !

LIMITED PLACES AVAILABLE !

Michael Cleaver, Mike King and Tim Sawyer singing at a jam session in Swindon.

Other MUSIC IMAGES can be seen on my main website.

→ o blog Jam Session é a ‘reunião temática quinzenal de artistas gráficos’ coordenada pelo experiente cartunista Flávio Dealmeida. Desta vez o tema é: Estátua. E  esta foi minha ilustra de estréia:

→ desenho vetorizado no corel draw, preenchido e texturizado no photoshop.

(clique na imagem e veja o trabalho de todos os artistas)

→ rascunhos

.

.

.

.

.

→ outro projeto muito interessante e que sem dúvida vale a pena conferir (e rir) de Flávio é a revista em quadrinhos semanal INFLÁVIO, que já possui 3 edições:

INFLÁVIO SEMANAL

Flávio Dealmeida

(clique nas imagens e baixe agora!)