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 Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Sunday, October 24, 2010
A "Life Changing Experience"
About 10 days ago, Nathaniel had a couple of days off from school, around the Columbus Day holiday. A lot of his weekend was spent hanging with his friends. On Thursday night, with no school the next day either, he called to say he and his friends, Pete and Nick, were going to a place near Pete's, together with Pete's folks, to hear some music and did I want to come along?
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The draw was this: apparently, they thought my good buddy and jazz guitarist extraordinaire, John Farrar, was playing, and that there was a chance his kid brother Jay was going to show. For those of you not in the know (as I wasn't when I first started playing with John many years ago now), John's brother Jay was in Uncle Tupelo with Jeff Tweedy, and then that band broke up and Jay and Jeff went their separate ways, Jeff forming Wilco and Jay forming Son Volt, both of which bands have had enormous commercial success. Uncle Tupelo is widely credited with creating the "alternative country" genre, and although Wilco may be more generally well-known, Son Volt has a raft of absolutely dedicated fans. They record and tour frequently and have been on Letterman, Austin City Limits and so on and so on. They're big time. And Pete's family in particular are dedicated Son Volt fans, and my son is not far behind.
So I naturally accepted the invitation. Nathaniel tells me to meet at Pete's, as it's walking distance from there. I know Pete's neighborhood, and I don't remember a lot of clubs around there. Then Nathaniel texts me that it's BYOB - and the Holohan family will hook the boys up with sodas, etc., but I might want to chuck a few beers along. And there "might be" food. Curiouser and curiouser.
When I show up to Pete's, I ask his dad Michael what's the deal with this place. He seems mildly surprised I don't know about Joe's Cafe, and says to me slyly, "Well, this is going to be a life changing experience." He wasn't kidding - or far off (or should I say "Farrar off" - sorry couldn't resist).
We walk around the corner (literally) to Joe's Cafe, and Michael is giving me the scoop. Joe's is a private club run by Bill Christman. Bill is a local artist who's had this place going for a number of years. It had in previous iterations been open to the general public, but because of
its proximity to Washington University, it morphed into more of a college hang than Bill really desired. So he shut it down, then reopened it as a private club, open only to members and their guests. Bill kind of has to know you, and who you're bringing. I think Michael even went by earlier in the day to give Bill the heads up that he was bringing three 15/16 year old boys, including his son, as a way to specially vouch for them (they are cool, if I do say so myself).
Around the corner the group encounters Bill, sitting outside the club, with a sign that says "Members - $5, Guests of Members - $10." The boys are introduced and given the all-clear. I also pass the screening process (not a foregone conclusion, mind you, but Michael said I was a good musician - I think that helped). Michael had been explaining that this place also served as a studio for Bill's eclectic art. Bill designed Beatnik Bob's Museum of Mirth, Mystery and Mayhem at the City Museum in St. Louis. And this place is like walking in to the City Museum, except imagine it in a much smaller space, but the same amount of stuff, and everything crammed together. Everywhere you look there is something really cool. The stage is like a vaudeville stage. Neon lights glow everywhere. We nestle down to great seats, and Michael shows me around. Outside, in the side yard, there is more stuff than you can possibly imagine. Think of going to Gringo Jones near the Botanical Garden, mixed with the City Museum, and a bar with a vaudeville stage. For those who grew up in Southern Illinois, remember old "Big John" in front of the grocery store, towering 30 feet in the air? Well, I found him - he's buried up to his waist in
Bill Christman's side yard, still holding his grocery sacks, but with other stuff all around his big ol' muscular arms. Don't worry - he looks very very happy to be there (at least, he still has that same big grin). Behind him there's an old elevated train car, up on tracks. It just goes on and on. Oh, and did I mention some folks were set up outside cooking up the most delicious BBQ - not part of the club, but clearly "friends of Bill" and the community - $5 or so bought a meal that was pure heaven!
So when we go back in, Michael tells Pete he should give the guys the tour, and I say yes, you've got to see this place. Nathaniel looks up and says he's been before. Michael and I are incredulous that he could have failed to mention it to me, and he says, in absolute earnestness and seriousness, "Why? It's just a place with a bunch of stuff in it." The line of the night - and pure Nathaniel, for those who know him.
So the band filters in. It turns out John is not playing at all, but it is a country group called Colonel Ford. Jay is not the main feature, but just "one of the guys: in the band, playing pedal steel guitar. (Not to worry - there was no shortage of Farrar's - Dade Farrar plays stand up "slap" bass with Colonel Ford, and is a great singer in his own right.) Colonel Ford plays country - and I mean country, complete with fiddle player Justin Brannun who had just won the Grand Masters Fiddle Contest in Nashville earlier in the month. They were playing George Jones, Buck Owens, the whole nine yards. They describe themselves as playing in the "Hillbilly" genre on their Facebook page. I didn't even know that was a genre - I guess that's what you'd call pre-Rockabilly as I think about it. Anyway, everyone had a gas, especially the boys (interesting, as this is not "their" kind of music - but they like good stuff no matter what it is).
Here's a Youtube link to a performance at Joe's Cafe by Colonel Ford earlier this year - I can tell you this video does not do justice to the visual and audio experience of hearing these guys in this venue. You can't help but smile when you're there....
Or, as Nathaniel succinctly put it on Facebook:
"Colonel Ford + Jay Farrar = Fantastic"
Indeed, a man of fewer words than his father. But he says it all.
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.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Inner Game
Several friends who are colleagues at work were emailing over the weekend in a friendly chatter, and I had mentioned that we ought to send the son of a client who was recently drafted by the Philadelphia Phillies (good for him!) a copy of the Inner Game of Tennis. I had expressed mild surprise that one of my colleagues had not heard of it in an earlier conversation, and someone asked us how in the heck two guys who don't play tennis were talking about the Inner Game of Tennis.
The Inner Game of Tennis has long been something of a bible for performing musicians. I was first introduced to it in college (perhaps even earlier). It is literally a life-changing book, and is especially helpful in figuring out how the mind works, why we get nervous, and most importantly, how to deal with that nervousness, overcome it, and perform at your highest levels. Tim Gallwey wrote it and I believe he really thought at the time he was only writing about tennis - but it has spawned an industry. If you don't know about it, you need to check it out, even if you don't play tennis (or music).
As "proof" to my colleagues, I started to look up a reference to the book, The Inner Game of Music, that Barry Green wrote in collaboration with Gallwey. In looking for that I saw that there is (naturally) a website on the "inner game" generally (Gallwey's site, http://www.theinnergame.com/). As evidence that application to music is not just an enhanced memory of mine from "old college days", I was interested to see that one of the main navigation points on the homepage of Gallwey's site is to its applications to music (IG Music). And there is a website devoted entirely to the Inner Game of Music, http://www.innergameofmusic.com, run by Mr. Green. I am going to check out the websites (there is an interesting little video bite of Tim Gallwey on his site).
Using the Inner Game techniques got me through Juilliard (when my teacher reconstructed my embouchure from the ground up, not easy at 22 after 13 years of practicing and playing every day using a technique that was not going to get me where I needed to be). I still probably consciously think about one of the techniques on every single performance to this day.
The Inner Game of Tennis has long been something of a bible for performing musicians. I was first introduced to it in college (perhaps even earlier). It is literally a life-changing book, and is especially helpful in figuring out how the mind works, why we get nervous, and most importantly, how to deal with that nervousness, overcome it, and perform at your highest levels. Tim Gallwey wrote it and I believe he really thought at the time he was only writing about tennis - but it has spawned an industry. If you don't know about it, you need to check it out, even if you don't play tennis (or music).
As "proof" to my colleagues, I started to look up a reference to the book, The Inner Game of Music, that Barry Green wrote in collaboration with Gallwey. In looking for that I saw that there is (naturally) a website on the "inner game" generally (Gallwey's site, http://www.theinnergame.com/). As evidence that application to music is not just an enhanced memory of mine from "old college days", I was interested to see that one of the main navigation points on the homepage of Gallwey's site is to its applications to music (IG Music). And there is a website devoted entirely to the Inner Game of Music, http://www.innergameofmusic.com, run by Mr. Green. I am going to check out the websites (there is an interesting little video bite of Tim Gallwey on his site).
Using the Inner Game techniques got me through Juilliard (when my teacher reconstructed my embouchure from the ground up, not easy at 22 after 13 years of practicing and playing every day using a technique that was not going to get me where I needed to be). I still probably consciously think about one of the techniques on every single performance to this day.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Katie Bar the Door
Well, the Endicott household has just become the proud owner of a Ludwig five-piece drumkit, thanks to the fact that a friend's young son is moving to New York and trying to get rid of stuff and raise a bit of cash. He may be able to have a nice meal out, at NYC prices!
Now the drum set can be set up to be the "house" set for Nathaniel's band rehearsals, Voodoo Blues Band touch up rehearsals (yes, we have them occasionally), and for perhaps some impromptu jazz jam sessions.
Next step will be to get the basement in a bit better shape to accommodate the same!
Now the drum set can be set up to be the "house" set for Nathaniel's band rehearsals, Voodoo Blues Band touch up rehearsals (yes, we have them occasionally), and for perhaps some impromptu jazz jam sessions.
Next step will be to get the basement in a bit better shape to accommodate the same!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Main Entrance or Service Entrance?
Weekend before last was a lot of fun. Friday night was a Voodoo Blues Band gig at the Jeff Ruby's Steakhouse at the new River City Casino in South St. Louis. We were there with our wonderful singer, Roland Johnson, who uses the Voodoo band for some of his gigs. (Roland also makes frequent use of some of the members of Kim Massie's band - really wonderful musicians.) Roland really works well with the band, and tailors his material to the Voodoo band's and his mutual strengths - the Otis Redding, James Brown and Al Green "soul" songbook, breaking out some old Otis tunes in particular that featured the Stax lineup of Booker T & the MG's plus the Memphis Horns.
It was a treat in particular because "the boss" showed up - Cincinnati Restauranteur Jeff Ruby was at the bar checking out his newest spot: http://www.jeffruby.com/. Mr. Ruby thought the music was a bit loud for his taste, but a few cocktails later he was up on the bandstand with us, and by darn he knew some of tunes cold - not half bad on Knock on Wood!
The next night was the Siteman Cancer Illumination Gala. It was a fun evening with a good table - everyone knew each other and was happy to hang out. It was also fun to see the high-end auction and the special host - basketball legend Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He is of course amazingly tall (7'2"), but his hands were so big and his fingers so long - imagining how he used to grip that basketball like most of us grip a softball. He was an excellent host, and it was fun to think about the fact that he is the NBA's all-time leading scorer. That's a pretty amazing feat. Like all records, it will fall some day, but to think of how many great players who have come before and since, and he outscored them all.
So I was thinking - it is nice to use the main entrance and be one of the "in" crowd (even if not that far in - I wasn't in a position (like some) to pony up a $100,000 donation on the spot). But I also like being the "help", having to slip in through the service entrance, toting my own gear, and accompanying the "boss-man" when he wants to take the stage. I wouldn't want to give up that aspect of my life.
It was a treat in particular because "the boss" showed up - Cincinnati Restauranteur Jeff Ruby was at the bar checking out his newest spot: http://www.jeffruby.com/. Mr. Ruby thought the music was a bit loud for his taste, but a few cocktails later he was up on the bandstand with us, and by darn he knew some of tunes cold - not half bad on Knock on Wood!
The next night was the Siteman Cancer Illumination Gala. It was a fun evening with a good table - everyone knew each other and was happy to hang out. It was also fun to see the high-end auction and the special host - basketball legend Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. He is of course amazingly tall (7'2"), but his hands were so big and his fingers so long - imagining how he used to grip that basketball like most of us grip a softball. He was an excellent host, and it was fun to think about the fact that he is the NBA's all-time leading scorer. That's a pretty amazing feat. Like all records, it will fall some day, but to think of how many great players who have come before and since, and he outscored them all.
So I was thinking - it is nice to use the main entrance and be one of the "in" crowd (even if not that far in - I wasn't in a position (like some) to pony up a $100,000 donation on the spot). But I also like being the "help", having to slip in through the service entrance, toting my own gear, and accompanying the "boss-man" when he wants to take the stage. I wouldn't want to give up that aspect of my life.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
As good as it gets
My sis once told me (before I had a kid) that there's no way to describe how much you love your own kid. I figured that was probably true at the time, but when you've had a kid, then you know - there is in fact no way to adequately describe it.
It's hard to appreciate as well how proud you can be of your kids as they progress in life. It dwarfs any feelings about what you yourself may have accomplished. When I see my son perform in any capacity (school play, graduation speech, living museum at school, his band at the Rock School), the chest swells out.
But man, how about jamming with him with your own beloved band in your hometown? I can't imagine it getting any better than that. On the Corn Day stage with the Voodoo Blues Band, having the boy come up and do his thing on Albert King. Whoah.
This was a great day. I wanted to share the band with my hometown folks. I wanted to share my hometown and my family and friends there with my band buddies. I've been happy to share my music with my son - and to see him take to Albert King and the blues (and start picking out tunes he wants to do) - ok, not his first, first choice of what to do--but, still, he's not playing the blues because Dad makes him; he digs it. And I wanted my boy to show everyone he's got game on the bass. Everyone came out a winner.
As great as it was to have the band play, the best two things were (1) having that boy on the stage grooving on I'll Play the Blues For You, and then Crosscut Saw (funky version, circa 1972), both out the Albert King playbook and (2) seeing the Voodoo Blues Band being welcomed by my wonderful family at my house. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful parents for being such great hosts - my Dad just talking to everyone, making them feel right at home, my Mom and her delicious pies (the look on their faces as they ate that wonderful crust!), and my sis and brother-in-law for the incredible work on the chowder. Those guys dug into that chowder like you'd never believe - I think some of the guys would have done just as well to pull up a chair to the pot! And thanks to the Voodoo Band for doing the gig--a long drive to some place they only vaguely knew about (except for Mr. Marshall). A leap of faith--thanks guys!
It's hard to appreciate as well how proud you can be of your kids as they progress in life. It dwarfs any feelings about what you yourself may have accomplished. When I see my son perform in any capacity (school play, graduation speech, living museum at school, his band at the Rock School), the chest swells out.
But man, how about jamming with him with your own beloved band in your hometown? I can't imagine it getting any better than that. On the Corn Day stage with the Voodoo Blues Band, having the boy come up and do his thing on Albert King. Whoah.
This was a great day. I wanted to share the band with my hometown folks. I wanted to share my hometown and my family and friends there with my band buddies. I've been happy to share my music with my son - and to see him take to Albert King and the blues (and start picking out tunes he wants to do) - ok, not his first, first choice of what to do--but, still, he's not playing the blues because Dad makes him; he digs it. And I wanted my boy to show everyone he's got game on the bass. Everyone came out a winner.
As great as it was to have the band play, the best two things were (1) having that boy on the stage grooving on I'll Play the Blues For You, and then Crosscut Saw (funky version, circa 1972), both out the Albert King playbook and (2) seeing the Voodoo Blues Band being welcomed by my wonderful family at my house. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful parents for being such great hosts - my Dad just talking to everyone, making them feel right at home, my Mom and her delicious pies (the look on their faces as they ate that wonderful crust!), and my sis and brother-in-law for the incredible work on the chowder. Those guys dug into that chowder like you'd never believe - I think some of the guys would have done just as well to pull up a chair to the pot! And thanks to the Voodoo Band for doing the gig--a long drive to some place they only vaguely knew about (except for Mr. Marshall). A leap of faith--thanks guys!
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!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Injustice at the Hall!
Ok, not really. But more about that later.
Great trip to Cleveland this week to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nathaniel and his friend Pete Holohan made what they describe as their first sojourn there (of course, counting on that time in the future when they themselves will be inducted).
We started off things right with a Monday night visit to Progressive Field (f/k/a Jacobs Field, or "the Jake"). A short walk from our hotel room, we settled into some great seats right behind home plate. Pete treated us to burgers and waffle fries (well, he slipped me the cash later, but I had to fork over the actual $$ to the concessionaire because I bought a cold frosty one). The Indians were playing the White Sox, and there were quite a few Sox fans (good thing, it wasn't very crowded there, by St. Louis standards). Just the day before, the Indians and Cardinals had made a trade, swapping everyday player Mark DeRosa for reliever Chris Perez and a player to be named later. From the Indians' perspective, the other player better be named sooner rather than later.
Perez
entered for the Indians in the top of the 9th, with the Tribe trailing 2-0. He hit the first batter in the head (had to be removed from the game). Then he hit the second batter in the head. Then he walked the bases loaded. They left him in for some inexplicable reason. He got a couple of outs, but along the way coughed up three. Then wild-pitched in the fourth. As he left with two outs and the Tribe down 6-0, he was lustily booed off the field. Then of course Cleveland plated 3 in the bottom of the ninth, which would have been enough to win the game (pre-Perez). Oh well. We had fun--we certainly didn't care! We did notice the ridiculousness of that crazy mascot Cleveland has.
Then on to the main event Tuesday--a short walk in the other direction was the RRHF. It's a really cool building designed by architect I.M. Pei. The streets have giant Fender Str
atocaster sculptures to lead the way and whet the appetite. A modest Michael Jackson figure was in front of the hall, where people had laid little mementos, but there was no real MJ memorial set up yet (I'm sure it will come).
We entered and Pete and Nathaniel posed for the obligatory entry photo (forgot to check it out at the end--just now remembered--I was going to spring for the photo this time). You can't take photos inside the hall (bummer!), but it was the right tone from the beg
inning. Before you enter the exhibitions and get your wristband, there is a neat display of guitars, with about six Jerry Garcia guitars (these boys are real Dead-Heads, so that got them going), a Kurt Cobain guitar, and a Jimi Hendrix guitar, among others. (I don't think they were as impressed as I was with the Johnny Cash and Chet Atkins guitars there, but oh well.)
Then we parted ways and I let the boys ramble and explore. We'd bump into each other periodically and exchange the "did you see" this or that conversations, and then go to respectively check out what the other party recommended. I think they particularly enjoyed seeing the original lyric sheet for Hendrix's Purple Haze, Jeff Beck's well-worn Telecaster:
and the signature display (instead of plaques, like the baseball Hall of Fame, the inductees have their signature on a wall in the induction hall; the signatures are white against a black background and the lighting is quite cool). Pete and Nathaniel violated the no picture rule once, telling me they couldn't resist getting their picture beside the display of the little statuette the inductees receive when they get in. That was neat.
But the "injustice" they marveled at (2 really) was that neither Nirvana nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been inducted. There was a big Springsteen thing going on ("two whole floors to Bruce Springsteen?!?!" they said, "but no Nirvana??? Metallica is in but not the Peppers??"). The rules of induction are that you are not eligible until 25 years after your first record release. My dispassionate pleas to them that, they probably are right on the cusp of those numbers, don't worry, they'll get in, was not enough for these boys. Then we hit the gift shop. They were very reserved shoppers, opting mainly for some cool posters (the Who and the Grateful Dead for Nathaniel).
A late afternoon swim, then dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, which itself had some pretty darn cool memorabilia. We googled Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and found the dates of their first releases, and when we found they were almost, but not quite, at 25 years, I think they felt more reassured. That, and getting their picture taken next to Jimi Hendrix's purple pants, which were on display at the restaurant.
A lazy day on Wednesday, sleeping in, trotting briefly down to the Science Center, then on the plane back, and voila, what a trip. Thanks to the Holohan family for taking us to the airport and then feeding us pizza on our return. Really one of the best parts of the trip was the "debriefing"--the boys are great, well-suited for each other, but VERY quiet (they retired to their room (we had a pretty large suite that worked out nicely, I slept on the fold out couch in the main room), and I looked in to see what they were doing and they were reading books!!). But it was so great to hear them just buzzing about the whole trip to Faith and Michael, Pete's mom and dad.
Bad dad--I also suggested a return trip (senior trip, anyone?) to the induction ceremonies in a few years. The clips they had of those ceremonies looked pretty darn cool! (Prince jamming on While My Guitar Gently Weeps with Tom Petty? C'mon!)
Great trip to Cleveland this week to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nathaniel and his friend Pete Holohan made what they describe as their first sojourn there (of course, counting on that time in the future when they themselves will be inducted).
We started off things right with a Monday night visit to Progressive Field (f/k/a Jacobs Field, or "the Jake"). A short walk from our hotel room, we settled into some great seats right behind home plate. Pete treated us to burgers and waffle fries (well, he slipped me the cash later, but I had to fork over the actual $$ to the concessionaire because I bought a cold frosty one). The Indians were playing the White Sox, and there were quite a few Sox fans (good thing, it wasn't very crowded there, by St. Louis standards). Just the day before, the Indians and Cardinals had made a trade, swapping everyday player Mark DeRosa for reliever Chris Perez and a player to be named later. From the Indians' perspective, the other player better be named sooner rather than later.
Perez
entered for the Indians in the top of the 9th, with the Tribe trailing 2-0. He hit the first batter in the head (had to be removed from the game). Then he hit the second batter in the head. Then he walked the bases loaded. They left him in for some inexplicable reason. He got a couple of outs, but along the way coughed up three. Then wild-pitched in the fourth. As he left with two outs and the Tribe down 6-0, he was lustily booed off the field. Then of course Cleveland plated 3 in the bottom of the ninth, which would have been enough to win the game (pre-Perez). Oh well. We had fun--we certainly didn't care! We did notice the ridiculousness of that crazy mascot Cleveland has.Then on to the main event Tuesday--a short walk in the other direction was the RRHF. It's a really cool building designed by architect I.M. Pei. The streets have giant Fender Str
atocaster sculptures to lead the way and whet the appetite. A modest Michael Jackson figure was in front of the hall, where people had laid little mementos, but there was no real MJ memorial set up yet (I'm sure it will come).We entered and Pete and Nathaniel posed for the obligatory entry photo (forgot to check it out at the end--just now remembered--I was going to spring for the photo this time). You can't take photos inside the hall (bummer!), but it was the right tone from the beg
inning. Before you enter the exhibitions and get your wristband, there is a neat display of guitars, with about six Jerry Garcia guitars (these boys are real Dead-Heads, so that got them going), a Kurt Cobain guitar, and a Jimi Hendrix guitar, among others. (I don't think they were as impressed as I was with the Johnny Cash and Chet Atkins guitars there, but oh well.)Then we parted ways and I let the boys ramble and explore. We'd bump into each other periodically and exchange the "did you see" this or that conversations, and then go to respectively check out what the other party recommended. I think they particularly enjoyed seeing the original lyric sheet for Hendrix's Purple Haze, Jeff Beck's well-worn Telecaster:
and the signature display (instead of plaques, like the baseball Hall of Fame, the inductees have their signature on a wall in the induction hall; the signatures are white against a black background and the lighting is quite cool). Pete and Nathaniel violated the no picture rule once, telling me they couldn't resist getting their picture beside the display of the little statuette the inductees receive when they get in. That was neat.
But the "injustice" they marveled at (2 really) was that neither Nirvana nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been inducted. There was a big Springsteen thing going on ("two whole floors to Bruce Springsteen?!?!" they said, "but no Nirvana??? Metallica is in but not the Peppers??"). The rules of induction are that you are not eligible until 25 years after your first record release. My dispassionate pleas to them that, they probably are right on the cusp of those numbers, don't worry, they'll get in, was not enough for these boys. Then we hit the gift shop. They were very reserved shoppers, opting mainly for some cool posters (the Who and the Grateful Dead for Nathaniel).
A late afternoon swim, then dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, which itself had some pretty darn cool memorabilia. We googled Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and found the dates of their first releases, and when we found they were almost, but not quite, at 25 years, I think they felt more reassured. That, and getting their picture taken next to Jimi Hendrix's purple pants, which were on display at the restaurant.
A lazy day on Wednesday, sleeping in, trotting briefly down to the Science Center, then on the plane back, and voila, what a trip. Thanks to the Holohan family for taking us to the airport and then feeding us pizza on our return. Really one of the best parts of the trip was the "debriefing"--the boys are great, well-suited for each other, but VERY quiet (they retired to their room (we had a pretty large suite that worked out nicely, I slept on the fold out couch in the main room), and I looked in to see what they were doing and they were reading books!!). But it was so great to hear them just buzzing about the whole trip to Faith and Michael, Pete's mom and dad.
Bad dad--I also suggested a return trip (senior trip, anyone?) to the induction ceremonies in a few years. The clips they had of those ceremonies looked pretty darn cool! (Prince jamming on While My Guitar Gently Weeps with Tom Petty? C'mon!)
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!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Monday was a Fun-day
After a long day at work, I stopped by the Broadway Oyster Bar before heading home. The Voodoo drummer, Kirk Gryce, is the Soulard Blues Band's drummer, and Kirk and SBB hold forth every Monday night at the BOB. I don't know if it is officially a jam session but they treat it as such, at least with folks they know. I wanted to show support for Kirk--Mondays are generally a tough slog after Sundays at Hammerstones--Kirk never mentions it, but you can tell he truly likes when his buddies show up.
A lot of familiar faces were there--Jimmy Stevens, a great alto player, and as well as the Voodoo's own Raul. The Soulard Blues Band's personnel has shifted over the years, but now is pretty regularly Kirk, Art Dwyer on bass and Tom Maloney on guitar, with another rotating player. I thought Matt Murdick (keyboard) was going to be there (that's what Kirk thought Sunday), but Matt apparently couldn't make it, so they called in trumpet player Brian "Big B" Casserly.
And boy what a treat. Brian used to be a mainstay of the SBB, but has developed his own career, principally with a group called Cornet Chop Suey, as well as the Big Bamou. He is a wonderful singer and an incredible trumpet player. He has got that style down pat. And they were inside (not on the roofed over patio), which meant it was a mellower sound. Brian plays a wonderful Selmer trumpet, with a big, buttery sound. He is the best blues trumpet player in town in my book. Jim's comment to me after a particularly memorable solo: "He doesn't suck." (If you haven't, go out and hear Brian some time.)
I was reluctant to sit in, but the fellas were having none of it. I'd never played with Brian, and he'd never heard me play before. At most we'd had a few quick conversations and I'd mentioned I was a trumpet player too--and he gave me that look ("Oh, isn't that niiice")--I don't say it with any mean-spirited-ness toward Brian (I've given that look many a time too, and I can spot it a mile away--hey I would've given me the same look!). It was nice, no blasting away, but some very fun ensemble playing. I felt good in that I played a couple of tunes then made it clear I'd had fun and was skedaddling off the stage and Brian said very gently but sincerely, "Where you going, man? Stay up here until you have to go." (Didn't hurt that it was a small crowd--felt like we were all just playing for our mutual pleasure.) Trumpet players don't often "play nice" with each other, but this was a true exception. I popped off some serviceable solos (and even some good ones) and was enjoying watching Brian work his magic (and learning--I was glued to those fingerings up close and I'll be copying some of those licks come Sunday). John Wolfe stopped in with his new E flat alto trombone and it was just a gas, especially when Raul also came up.
Fun playing with friends.
A lot of familiar faces were there--Jimmy Stevens, a great alto player, and as well as the Voodoo's own Raul. The Soulard Blues Band's personnel has shifted over the years, but now is pretty regularly Kirk, Art Dwyer on bass and Tom Maloney on guitar, with another rotating player. I thought Matt Murdick (keyboard) was going to be there (that's what Kirk thought Sunday), but Matt apparently couldn't make it, so they called in trumpet player Brian "Big B" Casserly.
And boy what a treat. Brian used to be a mainstay of the SBB, but has developed his own career, principally with a group called Cornet Chop Suey, as well as the Big Bamou. He is a wonderful singer and an incredible trumpet player. He has got that style down pat. And they were inside (not on the roofed over patio), which meant it was a mellower sound. Brian plays a wonderful Selmer trumpet, with a big, buttery sound. He is the best blues trumpet player in town in my book. Jim's comment to me after a particularly memorable solo: "He doesn't suck." (If you haven't, go out and hear Brian some time.)
I was reluctant to sit in, but the fellas were having none of it. I'd never played with Brian, and he'd never heard me play before. At most we'd had a few quick conversations and I'd mentioned I was a trumpet player too--and he gave me that look ("Oh, isn't that niiice")--I don't say it with any mean-spirited-ness toward Brian (I've given that look many a time too, and I can spot it a mile away--hey I would've given me the same look!). It was nice, no blasting away, but some very fun ensemble playing. I felt good in that I played a couple of tunes then made it clear I'd had fun and was skedaddling off the stage and Brian said very gently but sincerely, "Where you going, man? Stay up here until you have to go." (Didn't hurt that it was a small crowd--felt like we were all just playing for our mutual pleasure.) Trumpet players don't often "play nice" with each other, but this was a true exception. I popped off some serviceable solos (and even some good ones) and was enjoying watching Brian work his magic (and learning--I was glued to those fingerings up close and I'll be copying some of those licks come Sunday). John Wolfe stopped in with his new E flat alto trombone and it was just a gas, especially when Raul also came up.
Fun playing with friends.
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!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Saturday Results
The Voodoo Blues Band unfortunately pulled in the silver medal at last Saturday's Blues Challenge in Springfield. The winning band was from Springfield, and our fellas who stayed to hear them were complimentary but thought that we compared favorably. In any event, we played pretty well and had a chance to strut our stuff, including a lot of originals by Raul, our fearless leader.
Well, maybe we'll end up at the Memphis finals one of these times!
We heard overheard Biden and Obama while in Springfield, but were not able to really attend the event--even though it was close by, there was a completely different entry (complete with top flight security) that made it near impossible to do both things. There were numerous sharpshooters on the roof--I felt equal parts chilled by their apparent necessity and good that they were there and taking it seriously.
Well, maybe we'll end up at the Memphis finals one of these times!
We heard overheard Biden and Obama while in Springfield, but were not able to really attend the event--even though it was close by, there was a completely different entry (complete with top flight security) that made it near impossible to do both things. There were numerous sharpshooters on the roof--I felt equal parts chilled by their apparent necessity and good that they were there and taking it seriously.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Goings On
A big weekend coming up:
First, a show on Friday night in Chicago with the Blue State Cowboys (see sidebar link for Matty Farmer's great BSC blog). We are playing at McKellin's Tavern in Rogers Park, as a warm-up for a Cleveland wedding gig in early September (strange, but true).
Saturday, an early start to get to Springfield for the Voodoo Blues Band, who will be competing in the Illinois Central Blues Club Blues Challenge. 25 minutes to wow the judges for a shot at going to the 25th International Blues Challenge in February 2009 in Memphis! We hit the stage at 12:30, hoping for blues history (or at least a fun chapter in our personal lives) to be written. Check it out:
http://www.icbluesclub.org/
Finally, back to St. Louis for a one-song performance of a cover of Cake's cover of "I Will Survive" with my buddy Chris Lawhorn's band, Rule 3, opening for More Cowbell at a charity benefit for Annie's Hope at the Old Rock House in St. Louis (performance at around the 7:45 to 7:50 mark on Saturday night).
http://www.oldrockhousestl.com/events.aspx
Then, plain old jam session at Hammerstone's, 4-8, in Soulard, per the usual (see Voodoo Blues Band link at sidebar).
Did I mention we've started hitting Benton Park Studios for CD #2? Mostly originals. Sounding good so far....
First, a show on Friday night in Chicago with the Blue State Cowboys (see sidebar link for Matty Farmer's great BSC blog). We are playing at McKellin's Tavern in Rogers Park, as a warm-up for a Cleveland wedding gig in early September (strange, but true).
Saturday, an early start to get to Springfield for the Voodoo Blues Band, who will be competing in the Illinois Central Blues Club Blues Challenge. 25 minutes to wow the judges for a shot at going to the 25th International Blues Challenge in February 2009 in Memphis! We hit the stage at 12:30, hoping for blues history (or at least a fun chapter in our personal lives) to be written. Check it out:
http://www.icbluesclub.org/
Finally, back to St. Louis for a one-song performance of a cover of Cake's cover of "I Will Survive" with my buddy Chris Lawhorn's band, Rule 3, opening for More Cowbell at a charity benefit for Annie's Hope at the Old Rock House in St. Louis (performance at around the 7:45 to 7:50 mark on Saturday night).
http://www.oldrockhousestl.com/events.aspx
Then, plain old jam session at Hammerstone's, 4-8, in Soulard, per the usual (see Voodoo Blues Band link at sidebar).
Did I mention we've started hitting Benton Park Studios for CD #2? Mostly originals. Sounding good so far....
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:
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Hey, baby....
How does one measure a life? How much money did you make? How many things did you accumulate? What did you accomplish at work?
Of course not. We all have and know our own measures which are of a much more personal nature, that carry far more value for each of us. But let me submit one variant for your consideration and amusement: How many times, and by how many people, and in what contexts, were you called "baby"? This seems as good as any to me. And the more the better, from my perspective.
This is a wonderful word, so versatile. Of course it can be innocent, or sweet, or sexy, or loving in the most innocent way (as between and a parent and a child), and everything up to and including much more sultry, adult versions. I love them all.
I've been thinking about this concept a lot lately, and I'll share with you why. The ending line is going to be my new mantra in life.
The Voodoo Blues Band sessions on Sundays at Hammerstone's are, among other things, great jam sessions, when some of the top St. Louis blues performers come by to say hello, share a drink, share a story, have a laugh, and, of course, lay down the blues. Our sit-ins are much more than people who just show up; they become and remain our dear friends.
One such friend who comes by often is both a wonderful drummer and a singer. An older gent who has been on the blues scene for years and years. Played with everybody. He doesn't just play the blues, he lives it, breathes it, drinks it in--it simply oozes out of the pores of his skin. A few weeks ago, he showed up after what for him had been a relatively extended absence. We were all so so glad to see him again, play with him again, just hear him again. As he was leaving the stage from sitting in, I gave a him a big pat on the back, smiled and beamed, "Morris, you sounded great!!"
He stared back at me with an expression I don't quite know how to describe in words (sort of like "huh?") and after a small beat, gave me a response I don't think I'll ever forget as long as I live:
"Baby, I always sound great."
And without more he moved on to his cheeseburger and listened to the rest of the set.
Morris, yes you do. My new mantra. Feel free to share your baby stories with us.
Of course not. We all have and know our own measures which are of a much more personal nature, that carry far more value for each of us. But let me submit one variant for your consideration and amusement: How many times, and by how many people, and in what contexts, were you called "baby"? This seems as good as any to me. And the more the better, from my perspective.
This is a wonderful word, so versatile. Of course it can be innocent, or sweet, or sexy, or loving in the most innocent way (as between and a parent and a child), and everything up to and including much more sultry, adult versions. I love them all.
I've been thinking about this concept a lot lately, and I'll share with you why. The ending line is going to be my new mantra in life.
The Voodoo Blues Band sessions on Sundays at Hammerstone's are, among other things, great jam sessions, when some of the top St. Louis blues performers come by to say hello, share a drink, share a story, have a laugh, and, of course, lay down the blues. Our sit-ins are much more than people who just show up; they become and remain our dear friends.
One such friend who comes by often is both a wonderful drummer and a singer. An older gent who has been on the blues scene for years and years. Played with everybody. He doesn't just play the blues, he lives it, breathes it, drinks it in--it simply oozes out of the pores of his skin. A few weeks ago, he showed up after what for him had been a relatively extended absence. We were all so so glad to see him again, play with him again, just hear him again. As he was leaving the stage from sitting in, I gave a him a big pat on the back, smiled and beamed, "Morris, you sounded great!!"
He stared back at me with an expression I don't quite know how to describe in words (sort of like "huh?") and after a small beat, gave me a response I don't think I'll ever forget as long as I live:
"Baby, I always sound great."
And without more he moved on to his cheeseburger and listened to the rest of the set.
Morris, yes you do. My new mantra. Feel free to share your baby stories with us.
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