Already a strange day for coincidences. A friend from grade school (indeed, our mothers were college roommates, and her father and my grandfather were both local judges) called to say while working in Napa Valley that she was working with another friend who I know from St. Louis (and a former bartender at Hammerstone's, where the Voodoo plays, no less), who is also out in Napa, and traveling back and forth. And they both randomly attended a house concert that I gave in June 2011.
Then the kicker later on. I saw and heard the wonderful Anne Hampton-Calloway at Jazz at the Bistro tonight. She did a great tribute to the incomparable Sarah Vaughan. Incomparable is an overused word, but if it ever applied to anyone, it applied to the Divine One. Anne put on a great show, with lots of tidbits about the sassy Ms. Vaughan. Toward the end of the set, she talked about finally hearing her live, after years and years of collecting her wonderful records. She had heard her at the Blue Note in New York. During that run, Sarah was diagnosed with lung cancer. In fact she had to cut the last day of performances short because of her illness. Those were her last public performances before she died a year later, in 1990.
I had to reconstruct the timeline and refresh my memory (including a little Wikipedia), but the inescapable conclusion is: Sharon and I also attended one of those shows in Sarah Vaughan's last ever run. It was my birthday treat that year. We were not flush, to say the least, in those days, so a night in New York at the Blue Note in Greenwich Village, a few blocks from where I was to attend law school a couple years later, was a pretty dad-gummed big stretch. But she did it up right for me that night. We took the train in, ate at the club, saw the show, and in general had a total gas. Although she was ill, you could not tell it from the performance - it was something I'll never forget - what a voice!
We reveled in the whole experience - with Sarah Vaughan, you did not so much as listen to the music, but soak in its luxuriousness as it rained down on and enveloped you. And we were absolutely determined not to be the "poor country bumpkins" for that show but rather to be "real" New Yorkers for a night - right down to the tip. After discussion, we had decided to leave a sizable tip because we were so pumped up from the show and the night. We later figured out that I had miscalculated, and left way more than we intended (and we had intended to be generous). Our server sort of caught us on the way out and asked if we had meant to leave that much, and we smiled and said "Sure thing!" or something like that, and she gave us more than the normal level of "thank you" (hey, she flagged us down in the first place). We only figured out later that we had goofed, and I'm 99.9% sure it was me who messed up the calculation. Although we could barely afford it, Sharon was great just chalked it up to an unforgettable night.
We knew she had died shortly after we saw her, but neither of us knew (until tonight) that we had literally seen one of her very last shows on her last public engagement.
The Blue Note has been good to us over the years. I took my parents to see a stand-out performance by Arturo Sandoval there - they were blown away. I think they're expectations were that it was going to be pretty good, but it was truly spectacular. Then, just last year, on a school visit trip, Nathaniel, Sharon, Lynn and I went to see Stanley Clarke, which was mind-blowing. We've seen him twice since, including in St. Louis and then two weeks ago in DC. In short, whenver Stanley Clarke is within listening distance, we go - it's just that simple. In New York, he played with a 15 year-old phenom from Russian Georgia - we were pleased to see him again in DC (at a ripe old 16), and felt truly 'in the know' -
he was also with a 17-year old drummer. We'll be able to say 'we saw them when...' And we were able to say, "Well, when he was 15 he played this way, but now he's really grown....
Back to Ms. Vaughan: The song Anne introduced was the Sondheim classic, Send in the Clowns, which Sarah was doing at the time. I honestly don't remember if that was on the set we heard, but this clip (recorded in 1987) of Sarah singing that song really does capture what that night felt like. Or rather, as close as a YouTube clip can - although I tried a little above, words cannot describe hearing the Divine One live - I'm glad we got the chance. On reflection, as it turns out, that was the ABSOLUTE BEST way to have spent our limited shekels (even including my over-tip), because I still remember it nearly 25 years later like it was yesterday. Thanks for that, Sharon!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdnRRW2gINw
Showing posts with label Jazz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jazz. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Saturday, October 16, 2010
So What?
So you met some more jazz musicians? So what?
I'll tell you what's what - they are not just any jazz musicians. If you could name two living jazz composers, who would they be? Chances are, Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter would come to mind. Kurt Elling once called Wayne Shorter one of the three greatest jazz composers ever. Not sure who the other two were, but might be Herbie and the great Duke Ellington.
What gives? My firm had purchased a table at the annual St. Louis Symphony gala. Renee Fleming was the feature solo performer. I had gotten advance word that "La Diva" was living up to the title and bringing an entourage that included Mr. Hancock. He of the Miles Davis 1960s jazz quintet (maybe the best ever). He of an incredible collection of jazz compositional masterpieces still being played regularly today (Dolphin Dance, Maiden Voyage, Canteloupe Island, Watermelon Man, Chameleon). He of the crossover hit fame (remember "Rockit"?).
So at the event David Robertson was conducting and starts talking about Renee an Wayne Shorter, how they loved each other's music, etc. I had neglected to pick up a program and was just going with the flow. But it turns out La Diva was singing a world premier of a composition by Wayne Shorter written especially for her. And of course, Wayne was there too. Also a member of the same Miles Davis quintet (I'm batting .600 now, having heard Ron Carter (bass) from that quintet - alas, that batting average won't increase, as Mr. Davis and his wonderful drummer from that quintet, Tony Williams, are no longer with us). Wayne went on to do many other things (Weather Report, e.g.). And he had his own wonderful quintet, and wrote many jazz standards - I would say from a jazz
purists standpoint, more than Mr. Hancock (Footprints, anyone?). On the album where Mr. Elling names him as one of the three all time great composers, he then sings the classic Night Dreamer, then sings Wayne's sax solo, and then Lee Morgan's trumpet solo (Mr. Elling has some wicked skills himself).Well, you just don't see Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter everyday, let alone together. The only thing that would have made it better is if they would have played with the after-party band. But they didn't. Oh well, so what, as Miles might say. Speaking of which, here is Miles, with the great quintet (Herbie, Wayne, Ron and Tony) doing "So What" on the Steve Allen show in the 1960s:
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Gig from Heaven
I've had plenty of gigs from the other place (h-e-double toothpicks, as my brother used to say). But Saturday, June 26 was quite the other way.
I must say that I was not in the right frame of mind going in. Work had been difficult (not killer hours, but a stressful time). The gig had been "on the books" for a long time, which presents its own challenges (you think you have oodles of time, so you end up wasting it all). This particular weekend, it was one of four performances, with prior two weekends leading up being three-fers themselves.
So the gig in question was playing a concert in the series that the White County Historical Society had set up. I grew up in White County (Carmi, to be precise), and the local historical society had gotten a nice grant from the Smithsonian for a presentation on "Roots Music". They supplemented the museum presentation with concerts, and wanted me to do one on the history of blues and/or jazz, more or less. I had something of a free reign within that general directive to do what I wanted. A week or so before the concert I reviewed the write up I had done on what the program involved, and realized I had bitten off more than could reasonably be accomplished in a short evening:
"Program Description: We will trace the history of jazz and blues in the 20th century, giving an historical perspective of the music. That perspective will include the influences jazz and blues had on each other as distinct genres, the similarities and differences between jazz and the blues, and the influences of both on other popular music genres in the 20th century--most notably rock and roll, country, "soul" music and the big band/swing music of the 1940s.
We will also touch upon what makes jazz "jazz"? What kind of music do jazz musicians read? Do they in fact read music? How do they voice chords in a jazz style?"
Luckily, I saved myself by including a last line: "But mostly it will be about playing and listening to great music."
The bass player had unexpectedly canceled less than a week before the show. I lucked out and found a great replacement (not easy for a summer Saturday - it's wedding season!). When I sent around a tune list for the guys, David remarked I had enough for a three-day jazz festival. But I had not figured out exactly what we were doing by that time.
But I had been sorting it out in my head and had a decent idea. I drove to Carmi Saturday afternoon. I was exhausted when I arrived, so I took a nap, then about 4 p.m. jotted out the rough sketches of what we would play, in what order, and what I'd say in between. I'd made 50 copies of the program and the players' bios (John Farrar, guitar, Eric Marshall, piano, and David Certain, bass - no drummer because the acoustics of the First United Methodist Church would not have worked with that). I was wondering if I was wildly optimistic. I thought it a possibility 20 people might show - I would have been very happy with 50.
Nervous is not the right word to describe my feelings as I went down to the church. I didn't know who would show, I didn't know if the program would go over, I didn't know if I'd get tongue-tied. I thought people might just be polite after the concert (people in Carmi are not the types generally to say they didn't like something like that). I wondered if the musicians would be annoyed for having to drive 2+ hours from St. Louis to get to the gig. I didn't know if they'd show up five minutes before it started (or five after!).
But as I arrived at about 6:20 or 6:25, I was the last musician to arrive. Concert attendees had started to show. We got all set up, and I was miked up for talking. The wonderful grand piano dedicated to my grandfather Max had been rolled out prominently, with the lid up so it could be heard in all its glory. My max goal of 50 people had showed up by about 6:35 for the 7:00 show, and they were reproducing my program in the church office like mad for the anticipated crowd. The musicians went back to the church school area (like a giant "green room") and we just chilled out and talked before the show.
And we walked out at 7:00 p.m. sharp (you don't start late in Carmi!). The place was packed (137 they told me later - great crowd!). We smacked them with Back at the Chicken Shack, a Jimmy Smith blues. It was an hour and 20 minutes of jazz and blues, a little tutorial on some historical facts. We ended with the Chuck Mangione '70s classic Feels So Good, and I don't think the St. Louis guys were prepared for the reaction (neither was I, but they were completely flat-footed). They had no idea that was my "coming out" tune back in 1979 at my freshman year One Niter. Mike Croghan went nuts for it, as did everyone else. So much so, David looked at me and said "we need to do an encore" - so we demonstrated the I Got Rhythm changes using the Flintstone's theme. You get a sense for when people really like a show - and Carmi really really liked this show. And the musicians loved playing to this crowd who just ate it up, and could have sat there for another couple of hours, or so it seemed. And it was a real jazz program! Who knew?
Lots of great friends there too (Sarah (Lewis) Johnsoton, Scott Fechtig, and Jana Potorff, etc.) Wish Scott Wylie could've made it, but we hung out with him, Sarah, and the jazz musicians at the Yellow Tavern afterwards.
Anyway, it was exhilarating. My favorite concert in a long, long time. Thanks Marjorie, Gary, Mom and Dad, Croghan, Sarah, Scott, Jana (and Doug Hayes, for running the mike)! I'll remember this one for a long time.
I must say that I was not in the right frame of mind going in. Work had been difficult (not killer hours, but a stressful time). The gig had been "on the books" for a long time, which presents its own challenges (you think you have oodles of time, so you end up wasting it all). This particular weekend, it was one of four performances, with prior two weekends leading up being three-fers themselves.
So the gig in question was playing a concert in the series that the White County Historical Society had set up. I grew up in White County (Carmi, to be precise), and the local historical society had gotten a nice grant from the Smithsonian for a presentation on "Roots Music". They supplemented the museum presentation with concerts, and wanted me to do one on the history of blues and/or jazz, more or less. I had something of a free reign within that general directive to do what I wanted. A week or so before the concert I reviewed the write up I had done on what the program involved, and realized I had bitten off more than could reasonably be accomplished in a short evening:
"Program Description: We will trace the history of jazz and blues in the 20th century, giving an historical perspective of the music. That perspective will include the influences jazz and blues had on each other as distinct genres, the similarities and differences between jazz and the blues, and the influences of both on other popular music genres in the 20th century--most notably rock and roll, country, "soul" music and the big band/swing music of the 1940s.
We will also touch upon what makes jazz "jazz"? What kind of music do jazz musicians read? Do they in fact read music? How do they voice chords in a jazz style?"
Luckily, I saved myself by including a last line: "But mostly it will be about playing and listening to great music."
The bass player had unexpectedly canceled less than a week before the show. I lucked out and found a great replacement (not easy for a summer Saturday - it's wedding season!). When I sent around a tune list for the guys, David remarked I had enough for a three-day jazz festival. But I had not figured out exactly what we were doing by that time.
But I had been sorting it out in my head and had a decent idea. I drove to Carmi Saturday afternoon. I was exhausted when I arrived, so I took a nap, then about 4 p.m. jotted out the rough sketches of what we would play, in what order, and what I'd say in between. I'd made 50 copies of the program and the players' bios (John Farrar, guitar, Eric Marshall, piano, and David Certain, bass - no drummer because the acoustics of the First United Methodist Church would not have worked with that). I was wondering if I was wildly optimistic. I thought it a possibility 20 people might show - I would have been very happy with 50.
Nervous is not the right word to describe my feelings as I went down to the church. I didn't know who would show, I didn't know if the program would go over, I didn't know if I'd get tongue-tied. I thought people might just be polite after the concert (people in Carmi are not the types generally to say they didn't like something like that). I wondered if the musicians would be annoyed for having to drive 2+ hours from St. Louis to get to the gig. I didn't know if they'd show up five minutes before it started (or five after!).
But as I arrived at about 6:20 or 6:25, I was the last musician to arrive. Concert attendees had started to show. We got all set up, and I was miked up for talking. The wonderful grand piano dedicated to my grandfather Max had been rolled out prominently, with the lid up so it could be heard in all its glory. My max goal of 50 people had showed up by about 6:35 for the 7:00 show, and they were reproducing my program in the church office like mad for the anticipated crowd. The musicians went back to the church school area (like a giant "green room") and we just chilled out and talked before the show.
And we walked out at 7:00 p.m. sharp (you don't start late in Carmi!). The place was packed (137 they told me later - great crowd!). We smacked them with Back at the Chicken Shack, a Jimmy Smith blues. It was an hour and 20 minutes of jazz and blues, a little tutorial on some historical facts. We ended with the Chuck Mangione '70s classic Feels So Good, and I don't think the St. Louis guys were prepared for the reaction (neither was I, but they were completely flat-footed). They had no idea that was my "coming out" tune back in 1979 at my freshman year One Niter. Mike Croghan went nuts for it, as did everyone else. So much so, David looked at me and said "we need to do an encore" - so we demonstrated the I Got Rhythm changes using the Flintstone's theme. You get a sense for when people really like a show - and Carmi really really liked this show. And the musicians loved playing to this crowd who just ate it up, and could have sat there for another couple of hours, or so it seemed. And it was a real jazz program! Who knew?
Lots of great friends there too (Sarah (Lewis) Johnsoton, Scott Fechtig, and Jana Potorff, etc.) Wish Scott Wylie could've made it, but we hung out with him, Sarah, and the jazz musicians at the Yellow Tavern afterwards.
Anyway, it was exhilarating. My favorite concert in a long, long time. Thanks Marjorie, Gary, Mom and Dad, Croghan, Sarah, Scott, Jana (and Doug Hayes, for running the mike)! I'll remember this one for a long time.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
You must check this out
This story about Wynton Marsalis is one of the more amazing things I've read in a while. But actually pretty well in keeping with what I know of the man.
http://www.insidebayarea.com/ci_13394903?source=email
Two quick stories about Wynton. When Ken Burns did the "Jazz" series he told of his amazing collaboration with Wynton. As Burns tells it, when the Civil War series was airing, Burns got a call from Wynton (or maybe a knock on the door), and Wynton said he needed to do the same thing (do a documentary) with jazz music. Wynton was very passionate, apparently, but Burns said he was already in his next project (Baseball), but he'd think about it. After the Baseball series, did in fact decide to tackle jazz and decided to contact Wynton about it. Burns went to his apartment and was talking to him and Wynton was saying "whatever you want, whatever you want." Burns said he was trying to set up an interview with him ("it won't take too long...") and after a while, Wynton finally said, "you're not listening to me--whatever you want"). (See 19:00 mark here, on Charlie Rose: http://vodpod.com/watch/526357-charlie-rose-jazz-burns-marsalis-from-1801.)
The other story is a personal one, when Wynton was in St. Louis at the old Clayton Jazz festival. Afterwards, he was signing autographs, selling CDs, etc., and I decided to get in line (when was I going to get a chance to see Wynton like that?--plus I didn't care too much about the act after Wynton, which was more of a pop act). The line was long, but man, did it move SLOW. I was getting annoyed, couldn't figure it out, etc. Then I got up to a place in the line where I could see Wynton, and I figured out why it was moving so slowly. He was talking to every person. And I don't mean saying a few words ("What's your name" so he could sign the autograph)--but really interacting, listening, talking and spending whatever time people wanted to spend. He didn't rush one person. And everyone "got it" and was so happy to spend time talking to him. I mentioned our Juilliard connection (I was there a few years after him). I fully expected to get that look ("Oh, that's nice" with gritting of teeth ("How long do I have to talk to this guy?")). But no, not at all from Wynton: "When were you there? Who'd you study with? What kind of horn did you play? Are you still playing? Yeah, what kind of stuff? Where? What mouthpiece you using? That's cool." After my full time, a big hug and off to the next person. That showed me something.
http://www.insidebayarea.com/ci_13394903?source=email
Two quick stories about Wynton. When Ken Burns did the "Jazz" series he told of his amazing collaboration with Wynton. As Burns tells it, when the Civil War series was airing, Burns got a call from Wynton (or maybe a knock on the door), and Wynton said he needed to do the same thing (do a documentary) with jazz music. Wynton was very passionate, apparently, but Burns said he was already in his next project (Baseball), but he'd think about it. After the Baseball series, did in fact decide to tackle jazz and decided to contact Wynton about it. Burns went to his apartment and was talking to him and Wynton was saying "whatever you want, whatever you want." Burns said he was trying to set up an interview with him ("it won't take too long...") and after a while, Wynton finally said, "you're not listening to me--whatever you want"). (See 19:00 mark here, on Charlie Rose: http://vodpod.com/watch/526357-charlie-rose-jazz-burns-marsalis-from-1801.)
The other story is a personal one, when Wynton was in St. Louis at the old Clayton Jazz festival. Afterwards, he was signing autographs, selling CDs, etc., and I decided to get in line (when was I going to get a chance to see Wynton like that?--plus I didn't care too much about the act after Wynton, which was more of a pop act). The line was long, but man, did it move SLOW. I was getting annoyed, couldn't figure it out, etc. Then I got up to a place in the line where I could see Wynton, and I figured out why it was moving so slowly. He was talking to every person. And I don't mean saying a few words ("What's your name" so he could sign the autograph)--but really interacting, listening, talking and spending whatever time people wanted to spend. He didn't rush one person. And everyone "got it" and was so happy to spend time talking to him. I mentioned our Juilliard connection (I was there a few years after him). I fully expected to get that look ("Oh, that's nice" with gritting of teeth ("How long do I have to talk to this guy?")). But no, not at all from Wynton: "When were you there? Who'd you study with? What kind of horn did you play? Are you still playing? Yeah, what kind of stuff? Where? What mouthpiece you using? That's cool." After my full time, a big hug and off to the next person. That showed me something.
Monday, September 21, 2009
It's blogging time
To paraphrase Ben Grim, a/k/a, the Thing, from the Fantastic Four. (Which, by the way, is one of the worst comic book movie adaptations going. Trust me, I loved comic books and still love movies, so I should know!)
A busy week of playing last week. Wednesday I was the featured sit-in with the Park Avenue Jazz boys at Hammerstone's (always a treat). They always seem to call at least one tune I don't know that ends up going into my list of new favorites, and this was no exception--Triste by Jobim.
Saturday I was part of the Jazz and Blues Revue at the Old Webster Jazz Festival with Anita Rosamond. Actually, Anita and her manager put the group together, and it was billed as a triple leader feature--Anita, guitarist Rich McDonough, and pianist/singer Jessi Gannon. I was playing alongside Lew ("Blue Lew") Winer III on saxophone. It rained a bit but there was a nice crowd anyway. That gig went better than I dared hope--great band, but folks who had not played together in that configuration before. That is always risky, but we did a lot of pretty familiar material, which helped greatly. The program was put together as a smorgasbord of jazz and blues tunes by people with a connection to St. Louis (included some Chuck Berry, Albert King, Ike and Tina Turner review, and of course, one Miles Dewey Davis).
Sunday I took a break from the usual Voodoo routine and did a fundraiser with John Farrar at the Hidden Lake Winery in Illinois. A nice little trio gig that John has asked me to do about four or five years running now. David Certain rounded out the trio this time; the man can Certain-ly play. We played in a trio using Dave once before (he was worried it wouldn't swing without a drummer, but was pleasantly surprised), and he showed us a new way to do Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise, with frequent modulations, and now that's the way we do it.
And speaking of John Farrar, Nathaniel and I have tickets for Son Volt in early November. We are looking forward to hear John's brother's band at the Pageant!
A busy week of playing last week. Wednesday I was the featured sit-in with the Park Avenue Jazz boys at Hammerstone's (always a treat). They always seem to call at least one tune I don't know that ends up going into my list of new favorites, and this was no exception--Triste by Jobim.
Saturday I was part of the Jazz and Blues Revue at the Old Webster Jazz Festival with Anita Rosamond. Actually, Anita and her manager put the group together, and it was billed as a triple leader feature--Anita, guitarist Rich McDonough, and pianist/singer Jessi Gannon. I was playing alongside Lew ("Blue Lew") Winer III on saxophone. It rained a bit but there was a nice crowd anyway. That gig went better than I dared hope--great band, but folks who had not played together in that configuration before. That is always risky, but we did a lot of pretty familiar material, which helped greatly. The program was put together as a smorgasbord of jazz and blues tunes by people with a connection to St. Louis (included some Chuck Berry, Albert King, Ike and Tina Turner review, and of course, one Miles Dewey Davis).
Sunday I took a break from the usual Voodoo routine and did a fundraiser with John Farrar at the Hidden Lake Winery in Illinois. A nice little trio gig that John has asked me to do about four or five years running now. David Certain rounded out the trio this time; the man can Certain-ly play. We played in a trio using Dave once before (he was worried it wouldn't swing without a drummer, but was pleasantly surprised), and he showed us a new way to do Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise, with frequent modulations, and now that's the way we do it.
And speaking of John Farrar, Nathaniel and I have tickets for Son Volt in early November. We are looking forward to hear John's brother's band at the Pageant!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
How about a little TLC?
Ever tell a friend to go get a nice bath? How about a nice chemical bath?
Well, I just did this week. Heck, I even agreed to pay for it.
I've known this friend since I was nine; met her in 1973. She was very dear to me, and I had a wonderful relationship with her through high school. She was my old stand-by. My first love, in a way.
"She" is my first horn, my beginning Conn cornet. She was squirreled away in my parents' garage for many years after I went to college and graduated to "finer" horns. But a few years back I got her out and she sounded pretty good. Real darn good, actually. So she came back to St. Louis.
I took her in to the wizard of St. Louis horn repair men, Bill Meyers. Blind Willie turned me on to him and he did a marvelous job with my 1979 Bach Strad (30-year birthday coming up in the fall--we'll have to have a celebration at Hammerstone's). Legend has it, according to Willie, that Bill Meyers once worked on Freddie Hubbard's trumpet, which had never been cleaned and was purportedly in terrible shape. I think the look of shock on Bill's face when I showed him the Strad several months back in its deplorable state must have been the same as when he saw Freddie's horn. (Hey, I've always fantasized about being called the second coming of Freddie Hubbard--I'll take what I can get!)
And who helps Bill out with his magic? Brian "Big B" Casserly of course. Brian sidled up to the counter with interest when I was dropping the horn off (in fact, he sort of edged Bill out of the way). They were looking at her lovingly, knowingly, like a dear friend we were all trying to do right by ("Look at the way the tuning slide curves under!" "Nice big bore!" "Oh, that's a Japanese manufacture" "I'm guessing 1960s, maybe 50s on that?" Brian noted. "Oh, no," Bill chimed in, "Got to be mid-70s, right Rob?" "Yep, she was new when I got 'er in '73" I said. "Oh yeah, look at that serial number, '70s for sure" said Brian.)
She'll be ready next week, and I can't wait to take her down and show her off on the Wednesday jazz jam session. Love a cornet sound--not a trumpet, not a flugel, but it's own wonderful sound. You just play different on a cornet--they horn makes you play different ideas.
Good to see you again, girl--enjoy that chemical bath!
Well, I just did this week. Heck, I even agreed to pay for it.
I've known this friend since I was nine; met her in 1973. She was very dear to me, and I had a wonderful relationship with her through high school. She was my old stand-by. My first love, in a way.
"She" is my first horn, my beginning Conn cornet. She was squirreled away in my parents' garage for many years after I went to college and graduated to "finer" horns. But a few years back I got her out and she sounded pretty good. Real darn good, actually. So she came back to St. Louis.
I took her in to the wizard of St. Louis horn repair men, Bill Meyers. Blind Willie turned me on to him and he did a marvelous job with my 1979 Bach Strad (30-year birthday coming up in the fall--we'll have to have a celebration at Hammerstone's). Legend has it, according to Willie, that Bill Meyers once worked on Freddie Hubbard's trumpet, which had never been cleaned and was purportedly in terrible shape. I think the look of shock on Bill's face when I showed him the Strad several months back in its deplorable state must have been the same as when he saw Freddie's horn. (Hey, I've always fantasized about being called the second coming of Freddie Hubbard--I'll take what I can get!)
And who helps Bill out with his magic? Brian "Big B" Casserly of course. Brian sidled up to the counter with interest when I was dropping the horn off (in fact, he sort of edged Bill out of the way). They were looking at her lovingly, knowingly, like a dear friend we were all trying to do right by ("Look at the way the tuning slide curves under!" "Nice big bore!" "Oh, that's a Japanese manufacture" "I'm guessing 1960s, maybe 50s on that?" Brian noted. "Oh, no," Bill chimed in, "Got to be mid-70s, right Rob?" "Yep, she was new when I got 'er in '73" I said. "Oh yeah, look at that serial number, '70s for sure" said Brian.)
She'll be ready next week, and I can't wait to take her down and show her off on the Wednesday jazz jam session. Love a cornet sound--not a trumpet, not a flugel, but it's own wonderful sound. You just play different on a cornet--they horn makes you play different ideas.
Good to see you again, girl--enjoy that chemical bath!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Love the Thing You Do
I talked to my friend Matt Farmer last night as he was driving to his two-guitar-man gig last night. Matt has taken to playing about once a month with Chicago guitar ace Brian Willkie at whatever bar will let them in, I think. (Actually, usually Finley Dunne's in the Wrigleyville area of Chicago.) Brian is one hell of a guitar player, a master of all styles, including the rockabilly influenced style that is in Matt's sweet spot. Matt sings and plays guitar, too. He has studied under the careful tutelage of Jamey Aebersold, I believe.
In any event, that has become something of a monthly thing for Matt. I've been playing with Matt (through and with my sax-a-ma-phone pal Neal Connors) for 10 years plus now. Matt has been working the six-piece full-on horn section bar band for all that time. He loves it, but it is a ton of work for him, corralling all us crazy players. It allows him to do a bunch of material he truly loves to do in a way that is very satisfying. Who wouldn't want to do Sweet Caroline with a horn section and all the trimmings? (OK, some of the trimmings.) But make no mistake, it's a slog, and it happens once every two months at best, and at times Matt decides to (or has to) take a break for half a year or better. All of that is frustrating for him, I can imagine.
But I think Matt started doing these two-man things to scratch his performing itch--fun for him, way easy for him compared to a six-person group, way less pressure to bring out a crowd, way less pressure to get good comp for the band members (Matt never takes any pay himself), likes to hang and play with Willkie (or their mutual buddy, Stevie Doyle). And I think he loves it.
Just the way I love doing my Sunday blues band. Easy, no-brainer in terms of scheduling, set-up and the rest. I love playing Wayne Shorter tunes with a full-on Miles Davis style jazz quintet, but the blues band thing is so cool and easy, I just embraced it, the way it sounds like Matt is embracing his two-man thing.
And things have a way of morphing anyway--the blues band has become a little hang for the jazz musicians in town. Last weekend, we played So What with the base band, as well as a blistering Red Clay with our good friend David Certain kicking our butts on bass. And absolutely smoking versions of The Jody Grind and Blue Bossa with John Farrar and Darryl Mixon sitting in--both the best versions of those tunes I think I've been a part of in my life, anywhere, anytime. And Matt similarly I think has quite a crowd of friends, sit-ins coming by his two-man thing. Both things are a "scene"--hence, the title of the blog: like Ray Sasaki's exhortation years ago--when you've got a chance to create a scene, do it.
My point is, it seems you can spend years picking at something or other, trying to make it work, which is a good, worthwhile and necessary thing. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, but related to that effort, there's another little thing that comes up, that you may ignore for a while, but it keeps presenting itself, insisting on itself, "Try ME!!" And you do, and that little thing turns out to be just the thing.
And you love it.
In any event, that has become something of a monthly thing for Matt. I've been playing with Matt (through and with my sax-a-ma-phone pal Neal Connors) for 10 years plus now. Matt has been working the six-piece full-on horn section bar band for all that time. He loves it, but it is a ton of work for him, corralling all us crazy players. It allows him to do a bunch of material he truly loves to do in a way that is very satisfying. Who wouldn't want to do Sweet Caroline with a horn section and all the trimmings? (OK, some of the trimmings.) But make no mistake, it's a slog, and it happens once every two months at best, and at times Matt decides to (or has to) take a break for half a year or better. All of that is frustrating for him, I can imagine.
But I think Matt started doing these two-man things to scratch his performing itch--fun for him, way easy for him compared to a six-person group, way less pressure to bring out a crowd, way less pressure to get good comp for the band members (Matt never takes any pay himself), likes to hang and play with Willkie (or their mutual buddy, Stevie Doyle). And I think he loves it.
Just the way I love doing my Sunday blues band. Easy, no-brainer in terms of scheduling, set-up and the rest. I love playing Wayne Shorter tunes with a full-on Miles Davis style jazz quintet, but the blues band thing is so cool and easy, I just embraced it, the way it sounds like Matt is embracing his two-man thing.
And things have a way of morphing anyway--the blues band has become a little hang for the jazz musicians in town. Last weekend, we played So What with the base band, as well as a blistering Red Clay with our good friend David Certain kicking our butts on bass. And absolutely smoking versions of The Jody Grind and Blue Bossa with John Farrar and Darryl Mixon sitting in--both the best versions of those tunes I think I've been a part of in my life, anywhere, anytime. And Matt similarly I think has quite a crowd of friends, sit-ins coming by his two-man thing. Both things are a "scene"--hence, the title of the blog: like Ray Sasaki's exhortation years ago--when you've got a chance to create a scene, do it.
My point is, it seems you can spend years picking at something or other, trying to make it work, which is a good, worthwhile and necessary thing. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, but related to that effort, there's another little thing that comes up, that you may ignore for a while, but it keeps presenting itself, insisting on itself, "Try ME!!" And you do, and that little thing turns out to be just the thing.
And you love it.
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Scene: One Year Anniversary
Ok, it's not been quite one year since I started writing this blog, but nearly so. But just this week my good friend Kevin Flanigan emailed a link he stumbled on that he shared with his brothers Tommy and Sean [Kevin, Sean and Tom--my own personal Dr. Howard, Dr. Fine, Dr. Howard] and me: http://www.naturestable.net/. It is not a fancy website, but that's Nature's Table for you. It was a "real" place--real music and real food (although not the "real America" Ms. Palin spoke of--in fact, just the opposite!). I frankly cannot imagine my four years at Illinois without that place. I guess I didn't realize that it had only opened in 1979. To me, it seemed like a place that must have been part of the U of I music scene since the '50s or '60s (not that I thought that much about it at the time). And I'm a firm believer that the school is much poorer for not having it there still (sadly, it closed in 1991, a victim of university expansion).
But it was a scene. I never played there. My jazz chops were just not good enough at the time. But I was an devoted fan. The memory of that session with Ray's Condition Blue, featuring pianist Mike Kocour ("he's a math major? You've gotta be kidding me!") and the great Jeff Stitely on drums remains vivid (see my post of on Kocour from November 2007). I've copied some pictures from the website that include those guys, just as I remember them. (Hey, I didn't recall the flannel so much, but I guess it was "in, man, very in.") The list of daily gigs at the Table that is at the website is fascinating. I can still go down that list and tell you, with a fair amount of certainty, which gigs I was at (I mean, is it weird or what that I remember going to a Friday happy hour of hot music featuring Tom Birkner on cornet and vocals?)In a strange three degrees of separation, Stitely was a neighbor and friend to Matt Farmer. Matt went to high school with my friend Neal Connors. Not only did I meet Matt by playing gigs with him and Neal up in Chicago but we've become very good friends. And where did I meet first meet Neal? While playing in Jeff Stitely's big band at U of I, naturally!
Little things can fundamentally alter the course of one's life, can't they? One big one was my introduction to this wonderful U of I jazz scene in the summer of 1981, between my junior and senior years of high school, going to the two week Illinois Summer Youth Music program (ISYM). I also went to Indiana that year and did a band and orchestra camp. Because of that, I elected to go to the jazz program at Illinois. There I met Tom Birkner, heard and played in a big band with the even-then-amazing Kevin Kizer (a kid my age, already playing in the #1 jazz band at Illinois), experienced John Garvey (Garv), encountered Tom Wirtel (then Shabda Nur), heard the likes of Brad Wheeler, Ron Dewar, Joel Spencer and others I can't remember right now, and of course, met the Kev-ster himself. Two young trumpet playing kids--one from just south of Chicago and the other from smack dab in the middle of nowhere-- but who had a lot in common. One of the most important of which was a love of music and playing which I think has shaped the people we became, even if we were not the next Dave Bilger or Wynton Marsalis. What a scene.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
On the Edge of Being on the Edge
What does it mean to live life "on the edge"? Sometimes, when feeling particularly smug, I think that I do. But I know deep down I don't, really, compared to many.
But I had a self-congratulatory moment like that while on vacation in Turkey. (Hey, isn't being on vacation in Turkey in itself on the edge? I guess not for the 75 million Turks of the world.)
On the second night of our recent sojourn, I found myself with a small opportunity. I knew we'd be doing things "as a group" for most of the trip (not on the edge!). Which was going to be fine. But if I was going to do anything on my own, off the beaten track, I could sense, "this was it." So I asked our guide, Ozlam, about the jazz club in Istanbul that had been recommended to me by a friend of an acquaintance. She said she'd help me get there.
Maybe it's the way I look. (Someone once remarked, hearing me play in a club, "Hey, you sound great--but you look like a lawyer playing the trumpet.") Ozlam looked up the address on the map. She went over it with me carefully. She wrote down her cellphone number and made me tuck it in my wallet ("Please, please, call me if anything happens!"). Oh, and about that wallet--take out all your credit cards, she advised. Not getting the warm and fuzzies.
So about 10:00 p.m. (after the evening group meal) she loaded me into a cab and gave the cab driver the proper coordinates (in Turkish, naturally). And off I went, into the night in Istanbul with no hope of communicating with my driver.
Over the bridge and water to the north part of Istanbul. Feeling a little nervous. Ozlam had told me it was at the base of a tower. Unfortunately, not knowing Turkish, I didn't realize she had only told the cabbie to take me to the base of that tower--no club name, no precise address, let alone even the right street. I couldn't communicate well enough to make him understand my precise destination. So I paid the fare and got out. I did not see the club, so I fished around in my wallet for the address--unfortunately, I had removed the small slip of paper with the address when I took out my credit cards. (At least I still had Ozlam's number--Whew!) Asked for directions. "Up there and to the left." Those directions were meaningless, as the street layout was Byzantine. Literally.
Edgier still. Should I just pack it in and go back to our hotel? I've made a good faith effort here--who would know? Giving up would make a funny little story in and of itself. But when am I going to be in Istanbul again? So I snaked down and about (after a couple of false starts, a couple more questions of patient waiters at a couple of restaurants) and eventually made it to the club. A guitar duo playing classic jazz. (And a cover charge that would have made the owners of the Blue Note in New York blush.)
"Do you have reservations?" they asked. "No," I replied. I looked around - the place was maybe a third full, on a weeknight. Reservations--are they crazy?!?!
So I settled into my seat, taking in the amazing little scene:
But I had a self-congratulatory moment like that while on vacation in Turkey. (Hey, isn't being on vacation in Turkey in itself on the edge? I guess not for the 75 million Turks of the world.)
On the second night of our recent sojourn, I found myself with a small opportunity. I knew we'd be doing things "as a group" for most of the trip (not on the edge!). Which was going to be fine. But if I was going to do anything on my own, off the beaten track, I could sense, "this was it." So I asked our guide, Ozlam, about the jazz club in Istanbul that had been recommended to me by a friend of an acquaintance. She said she'd help me get there.
Maybe it's the way I look. (Someone once remarked, hearing me play in a club, "Hey, you sound great--but you look like a lawyer playing the trumpet.") Ozlam looked up the address on the map. She went over it with me carefully. She wrote down her cellphone number and made me tuck it in my wallet ("Please, please, call me if anything happens!"). Oh, and about that wallet--take out all your credit cards, she advised. Not getting the warm and fuzzies.
So about 10:00 p.m. (after the evening group meal) she loaded me into a cab and gave the cab driver the proper coordinates (in Turkish, naturally). And off I went, into the night in Istanbul with no hope of communicating with my driver.
Over the bridge and water to the north part of Istanbul. Feeling a little nervous. Ozlam had told me it was at the base of a tower. Unfortunately, not knowing Turkish, I didn't realize she had only told the cabbie to take me to the base of that tower--no club name, no precise address, let alone even the right street. I couldn't communicate well enough to make him understand my precise destination. So I paid the fare and got out. I did not see the club, so I fished around in my wallet for the address--unfortunately, I had removed the small slip of paper with the address when I took out my credit cards. (At least I still had Ozlam's number--Whew!) Asked for directions. "Up there and to the left." Those directions were meaningless, as the street layout was Byzantine. Literally.
Edgier still. Should I just pack it in and go back to our hotel? I've made a good faith effort here--who would know? Giving up would make a funny little story in and of itself. But when am I going to be in Istanbul again? So I snaked down and about (after a couple of false starts, a couple more questions of patient waiters at a couple of restaurants) and eventually made it to the club. A guitar duo playing classic jazz. (And a cover charge that would have made the owners of the Blue Note in New York blush.)
"Do you have reservations?" they asked. "No," I replied. I looked around - the place was maybe a third full, on a weeknight. Reservations--are they crazy?!?!
So I settled into my seat, taking in the amazing little scene:
A perfect, small club, with brick walls, a small bar, small round tables and a little stage with a piano and drum set, unused that night (but well worn, otherwise). The smell of clove cigarettes
in the air (John Garvey, anyone? "BE QUIET!" Garv would have implored). Wonderful musicians from Europe playing wonderful American art music at the crossroads of Asia, Europe and the Middle East. I emailed my friend Matt Farmer in Illinois (coverage in Turkey was amazing), who immediately replied I should request Steely Dan's "The Fez". And guess what--in the half hour since I arrived, the place had become cram-packed --a mostly young (but all vibrant, happy, and happening) group. Reservations indeed!A couple of over-priced beers later, the place was buzzing with energy (but quiet--it's all about the music--but they're into it, man). The group swung into "Some Day My Prince Will Come," and I thought of my man, Miles. I looked up by the entrance to the door, and saw the sheet music for the tune that is the club's namesake: "Nardis" Then in little letters, its composer (well, at least by attribution): Miles Davis.
In Istanbul.
Listening to a tune Miles made famous.
At a club named after a Miles tune.
Miles, who plays the trumpet. And who grew up in Alton, Illinois, a stone's throw from where I live now.
On the edge. And right at home.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Go Green for Christmas
What are the traditional Christmas colors? Red and green, naturally. Why not emphasize the latter and buy Tim Green's new Christmas recording, Change of Seasons? Click right here and get on the bandwagon: http://www.timgreenjazz.com/recordings.php. Tim's website has been on my blog sidebar from the get-go. If you don't have his other recordings, you can rectify that situation, effective immediately.
Tim is playing bass with Trio Cambia (or, as I call them, Gang Green) on this recording. [Hey, doesn't "cambia" translate roughly to "change" in Italian? Works on multiple levels--Change is coming to the White House. Tim is a master of playing the changes. And his recording is available for mere change.]
I have never known someone who has mastered two instruments as an adult, at whatever level--forget about at a professional gigging level. But Tim has. And it's mighty tasty playing.
Do you want to support the environment? Time to go Green!
Worried about the financial crisis? Help the new Treasury Secretary and put some more Green in your life!
Want to make your friends green with envy? Make them envious of your new Green!
Tim is playing bass with Trio Cambia (or, as I call them, Gang Green) on this recording. [Hey, doesn't "cambia" translate roughly to "change" in Italian? Works on multiple levels--Change is coming to the White House. Tim is a master of playing the changes. And his recording is available for mere change.]
I have never known someone who has mastered two instruments as an adult, at whatever level--forget about at a professional gigging level. But Tim has. And it's mighty tasty playing.
Do you want to support the environment? Time to go Green!
Worried about the financial crisis? Help the new Treasury Secretary and put some more Green in your life!
Want to make your friends green with envy? Make them envious of your new Green!
Monday, July 21, 2008
For your iPod
I stumbled on a couple of really interesting and cool jazz covers of novel tunes, and would like to share some with you. Anyone who has an addition, I invite you to post it.
What got me going on this (again) is discovering a couple more Brad Mehldau covers of contemporary pop tunes, I guess you'd call them.
I've noticed that Beatles tunes in particular seem hard to cover, and I started trying collect the more successful of the bunch (in my view). Mehldau in particular appears to be creating his own sort of Beatles' White Album covers, having done at least four by my count. Two of them are great and very accessible, and one (Martha My Dear) is pretty far out there, and requires some work on the listener's part (although worth it to me--it is almost more like contemporary classical music than jazz to my ear).
Besides Beatles pop/tunes, I am fascinated by covers of songs that are sort of more "kids' stuff" perhaps (e.g., Sesame Street Theme--I know Clark Terry used to cover it, but I have never found a good recorded version of it).
Anyway, here goes:
Blackbird: Brad Mehldau - really nice, pretty straightforward for Brad
Dear Prudence: Brad Mehldau - a little further afield, but a beautiful yet dissonant solo
Rainbow Connection: Nice version on a Tommy Newsom album. Tommy was the long running sax player in the Tonight Show Band whose shtick was being the polar opposite of the flamboyant Doc Severinson. But the version of Rainbow Connection on that album is a piano trio led by John F. Hammond with no horns. Anyway, it works.
Peter Cincotti does a reasonable vocal version of it as well. It is just a great tune.
She's Leaving Home: McCoy Tyner-- lush and beautiful
Eleanor Rigby: solo piano by the great Chick Corea
True Colors: Josefine Cromholm & Ibis. This is a very sparse treatment that could benefit from at some point getting a hair more traditional (like halfway through). But I find it quite arresting. I actually am also a big fan of the Cindy Lauper version that was a hit in her heyday.
Candy Man: Ray Brown trio (with Monty Alexander on piano)
Pure Imagination: (like Candy Man, also from the original Willie Wonka movie): Monty Alexander
Still Crazy After All These Years: Brad Mehldau
I've Just Seen a Face: John Pizzareli - I'm not huge fan of Pizzareli (not a hater either, mind you), but this is a great version of this tune
Further out there:
Brad Mehldau: Martha My Dear & 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover (you have to get about 3 & 7 minutes into the latter before you can recognize the verse and chorus, respectively)
Nobody Does It Better (the Marvin Hamlisch Bond movie tune): Sex Mob. Check it out, the leader plays a slide trumpet. Also, he likes to record things the first time the musicians have ever played through a tune, to capture the freshness and spontaneity of it.
Not quite on point, but you also might check out a couple of great (and completely contrasting) versions of Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin' from "Oklahoma"--it is perhaps a little surprisingly a great jazz tune: Ray Charles with the Count Basie Orchestra and Hank Jones on solo piano.
Finally, I really love this version of Joni Mitchell's A Case of You by Dianna Krall:
What got me going on this (again) is discovering a couple more Brad Mehldau covers of contemporary pop tunes, I guess you'd call them.
I've noticed that Beatles tunes in particular seem hard to cover, and I started trying collect the more successful of the bunch (in my view). Mehldau in particular appears to be creating his own sort of Beatles' White Album covers, having done at least four by my count. Two of them are great and very accessible, and one (Martha My Dear) is pretty far out there, and requires some work on the listener's part (although worth it to me--it is almost more like contemporary classical music than jazz to my ear).
Besides Beatles pop/tunes, I am fascinated by covers of songs that are sort of more "kids' stuff" perhaps (e.g., Sesame Street Theme--I know Clark Terry used to cover it, but I have never found a good recorded version of it).
Anyway, here goes:
Blackbird: Brad Mehldau - really nice, pretty straightforward for Brad
Dear Prudence: Brad Mehldau - a little further afield, but a beautiful yet dissonant solo
Rainbow Connection: Nice version on a Tommy Newsom album. Tommy was the long running sax player in the Tonight Show Band whose shtick was being the polar opposite of the flamboyant Doc Severinson. But the version of Rainbow Connection on that album is a piano trio led by John F. Hammond with no horns. Anyway, it works.
Peter Cincotti does a reasonable vocal version of it as well. It is just a great tune.
She's Leaving Home: McCoy Tyner-- lush and beautiful
Eleanor Rigby: solo piano by the great Chick Corea
True Colors: Josefine Cromholm & Ibis. This is a very sparse treatment that could benefit from at some point getting a hair more traditional (like halfway through). But I find it quite arresting. I actually am also a big fan of the Cindy Lauper version that was a hit in her heyday.
Candy Man: Ray Brown trio (with Monty Alexander on piano)
Pure Imagination: (like Candy Man, also from the original Willie Wonka movie): Monty Alexander
Still Crazy After All These Years: Brad Mehldau
I've Just Seen a Face: John Pizzareli - I'm not huge fan of Pizzareli (not a hater either, mind you), but this is a great version of this tune
Further out there:
Brad Mehldau: Martha My Dear & 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover (you have to get about 3 & 7 minutes into the latter before you can recognize the verse and chorus, respectively)
Nobody Does It Better (the Marvin Hamlisch Bond movie tune): Sex Mob. Check it out, the leader plays a slide trumpet. Also, he likes to record things the first time the musicians have ever played through a tune, to capture the freshness and spontaneity of it.
Not quite on point, but you also might check out a couple of great (and completely contrasting) versions of Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin' from "Oklahoma"--it is perhaps a little surprisingly a great jazz tune: Ray Charles with the Count Basie Orchestra and Hank Jones on solo piano.
Finally, I really love this version of Joni Mitchell's A Case of You by Dianna Krall:
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Some Good Advice
Blind Willie forwarded me the following clip from a 1958 appearance on the "Art Ford Jazz Party" television show with Buck Clayton and Charlie Shavers in a classic "cutting contest" (Charlie is the one in the cap). Willie sent it together with the original message from his friend, which included the following jazz urban legend. I love it:
A lady walks into a music store to get a bottle of valve oil for her young son, who has just started playing trumpet. A kind older gentleman offers to help her, showing her bottles of Al Cass, Bach, etc. The lady asks the gentleman if he plays the trumpet. "Oh yes," he replies, "I've played professionally all my life. I worked with Artie Shaw, Bob Crosby, and had my own band." The lady asks, "What's your name?" "Billy Butterfield," he replies. "Well, Mr. Butterfield, since my son is just starting to play, do you have any advice for him, based on your years of experience?" Butterfield thinks a moment, then emphatically states "Yes. Don't trade fours with Charlie Shavers!"
But what I really find most amazing in this whole thing is that there was ever a t.v. show called the "Art Ford Jazz Party"!!
A lady walks into a music store to get a bottle of valve oil for her young son, who has just started playing trumpet. A kind older gentleman offers to help her, showing her bottles of Al Cass, Bach, etc. The lady asks the gentleman if he plays the trumpet. "Oh yes," he replies, "I've played professionally all my life. I worked with Artie Shaw, Bob Crosby, and had my own band." The lady asks, "What's your name?" "Billy Butterfield," he replies. "Well, Mr. Butterfield, since my son is just starting to play, do you have any advice for him, based on your years of experience?" Butterfield thinks a moment, then emphatically states "Yes. Don't trade fours with Charlie Shavers!"
But what I really find most amazing in this whole thing is that there was ever a t.v. show called the "Art Ford Jazz Party"!!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
This one's for Steve
Here is the Dave Brubeck group playing "Take Five". I know this is one of Steve's favorites. Enjoy!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
They Don't Do This Anymore
Well, the votes are in and '60s Miles won the poll. So here is your clip, with that unbelieveable group: Miles, Wayne Shorter (ts), Herbie Hancock (pno), Ron Carter (bs) and Tony Williams (dr, and complete with mustache that Miles made him grow so that he could get into the clubs as a teenager when he joined the band). [Thanks to St. Louis Jazz Notes for giving me the idea for this post.]
This is from the Steve Allen show from 1964. I'll have to give credit to Steve for letting Miles blow for about 9 minutes (can you imagine that anywhere on network television these days?). That makes up for Steve not knowing the tune "All Blues" ("...ok, blues of some kind or the other"). Enjoy!
This is from the Steve Allen show from 1964. I'll have to give credit to Steve for letting Miles blow for about 9 minutes (can you imagine that anywhere on network television these days?). That makes up for Steve not knowing the tune "All Blues" ("...ok, blues of some kind or the other"). Enjoy!
Monday, January 28, 2008
Count or Duke?
I've been asked for sample snippets to assist with the latest poll. (Ella won the last poll soundly, for those keeping score at home.)
You get the essence I think of Count Basie's swing with this rendition of Corner Pocket from 1962:
Harder to generally characterize the Duke sound, but here's a clip of the great "Take the A Train" that purports to be from the early '40s:
Great playing, although not concert footage, obviously. Duke's group had a fatter sound, although I'm not completely satisfied that I've captured the contrast well enough.
You get the essence I think of Count Basie's swing with this rendition of Corner Pocket from 1962:
Harder to generally characterize the Duke sound, but here's a clip of the great "Take the A Train" that purports to be from the early '40s:
Great playing, although not concert footage, obviously. Duke's group had a fatter sound, although I'm not completely satisfied that I've captured the contrast well enough.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Ella or Sarah?
In case clarification is needed on the recent poll: Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughan. (The correct answer is: why pick?)
See them together (with Pearl Bailey); although well past their prime, worth a view: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSexf4lqxtI
It is not apparent from that clip, however, how unique their respective singing styles were. Here are two clips that are fairly representative of how great they each were and yet how different their styles were.
Ella struts her stuff on Mack the Knife in 1965: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_SR2sVPjfw
See my initial post about Ella's version of Mack the Knife with the Duke Ellington big band. That version is available on iTunes; just punch in "Ella Duke Mack the Knife" on the search and up it comes. The whole album is available, but you can also just buy that track for a mere $0.99.
Sarah with My Funny Valentine in 1981: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_t6_SkBHrk
Sharon and I saw the wonderful Ms. Vaughan in the late 1980s at the Blue Note in New York. Magic.
See them together (with Pearl Bailey); although well past their prime, worth a view: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSexf4lqxtI
It is not apparent from that clip, however, how unique their respective singing styles were. Here are two clips that are fairly representative of how great they each were and yet how different their styles were.
Ella struts her stuff on Mack the Knife in 1965: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_SR2sVPjfw
See my initial post about Ella's version of Mack the Knife with the Duke Ellington big band. That version is available on iTunes; just punch in "Ella Duke Mack the Knife" on the search and up it comes. The whole album is available, but you can also just buy that track for a mere $0.99.
Sarah with My Funny Valentine in 1981: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_t6_SkBHrk
Sharon and I saw the wonderful Ms. Vaughan in the late 1980s at the Blue Note in New York. Magic.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Something Nice (For a Change)
What is the nicest compliment you've ever heard, or better yet, the nicest one you've ever received?
The nicest one I've ever heard was something Gil Evans once said to the great Miles Davis. Gil and Miles collaborated on some outstanding studio recordings for Columbia Records in the late 1950s (Sketches of Spain, Porgy and Bess, e.g.). The arrangements were perfect for Miles. Gil loved Miles' playing, especially his sound. In an interview many years later, Gil recounted that he once said to Miles, "Man, I'm glad you were born." Hands down to me, the greatest compliment I've ever heard.
Someone recently told me, "I'm glad I'm your friend." Period. End of statement. Nothing further. Said with sincerity. Maybe not quite as profound as Gil's statement, but I ain't complaining. That's about as good as it can get in my book.
Be interested to hear from you on this one.
RJE
The nicest one I've ever heard was something Gil Evans once said to the great Miles Davis. Gil and Miles collaborated on some outstanding studio recordings for Columbia Records in the late 1950s (Sketches of Spain, Porgy and Bess, e.g.). The arrangements were perfect for Miles. Gil loved Miles' playing, especially his sound. In an interview many years later, Gil recounted that he once said to Miles, "Man, I'm glad you were born." Hands down to me, the greatest compliment I've ever heard.
Someone recently told me, "I'm glad I'm your friend." Period. End of statement. Nothing further. Said with sincerity. Maybe not quite as profound as Gil's statement, but I ain't complaining. That's about as good as it can get in my book.
Be interested to hear from you on this one.
RJE
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Mike Kocour
If you don't know Mike Kocour's piano playing, you have to check it out. A good place to start is at his MySpace page, which is on my sidebar of cool websites.
Within the last couple of days, my ex-roommate from Champaign, Kevin Flanigan (see my original post on "the Scene") mentioned to me in an email that he just thinking about Champaign because he had heard Mike on Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz last weekend, a wonderful nationally syndicated program. Mike is now Director of Jazz Studies at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona, after a long, successful time as one of the leading giggers in Chicago. Kevin points out that you can hear a rebroadcast of it at http://www.michaelkocour.com/.
A Chicago native, Mike was at Illinois at the same time Kevin and I were. Although he was a math major, he was one of a great stable jazz musicians around school at the time. He played in a quartet with Ray Sasaki, our trumpet professor, and Mike was simply amazing. He has a number of recordings out, including some where he is astounding on the Hammond B3 organ. Another stand-out from that group was drummer Jeff Stitely. I can still remember a drum solo during a Ray Band gig at Nature's Table, right across from the Krannert Center, where Kevin and I were hanging listening to Ray's group late in the night and nursing two huge Guinness drafts, when we turned to each other in the same instant --no words were spoken, but we had the same look on our faces: "Did you hear that?!?" Jeff had in the middle of this amazing solo quoted the melody of the tune on the drums. I'll never forget it.
Within the last couple of days, my ex-roommate from Champaign, Kevin Flanigan (see my original post on "the Scene") mentioned to me in an email that he just thinking about Champaign because he had heard Mike on Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz last weekend, a wonderful nationally syndicated program. Mike is now Director of Jazz Studies at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona, after a long, successful time as one of the leading giggers in Chicago. Kevin points out that you can hear a rebroadcast of it at http://www.michaelkocour.com/.
A Chicago native, Mike was at Illinois at the same time Kevin and I were. Although he was a math major, he was one of a great stable jazz musicians around school at the time. He played in a quartet with Ray Sasaki, our trumpet professor, and Mike was simply amazing. He has a number of recordings out, including some where he is astounding on the Hammond B3 organ. Another stand-out from that group was drummer Jeff Stitely. I can still remember a drum solo during a Ray Band gig at Nature's Table, right across from the Krannert Center, where Kevin and I were hanging listening to Ray's group late in the night and nursing two huge Guinness drafts, when we turned to each other in the same instant --no words were spoken, but we had the same look on our faces: "Did you hear that?!?" Jeff had in the middle of this amazing solo quoted the melody of the tune on the drums. I'll never forget it.
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