IS THERE AN ART HISTORIAN IN THE HOUSE? (or NAME THE UNIDENTIFIED BAND, PLEASE?)

What follows is off the track — it may strike some JAZZ LIVES readers as being lost in the woods — but humor me if you will.  I know my readers are very well versed in subjects that go beyond jazz, so I am asking for their assistance.

Cast your eyes on the object below.

I bought this at a Berkeley, California, outdoor flea market in the summer of 2011.  The Beloved and I love flea markets and yard sales — something about the thrill of the chase, not buying things new, getting a bargain, and (whisper this) getting a peek into other people’s lives through the objects they have for sale.  Much of this is disappointing, and it brings out my worst snobbery.  I have seen more “country antique” home decor objects than is good for me, and the records are often a fairly depressing reminder of what people actually listened to . . . the OKeh test pressings have so far eluded me.

But this small, heavy object delighted me.  Is it eight men rowing in a galley, or are they carrying wine barrels on their shoulders?  What animals are carved at the front and rear of this sculpture?  I tried for a moment to convince myself that it was really an antique Greek jazz band — the Athenian Washboard Beaters — or a German trad group — but even my whimsy could not be extended that far.  I know it’s not the George Barnes Octet or the Jones-Collins Astoria Eight — so we won’t go there.

I love it and it’s on my coffee table.  Can anyone explain?

And the answer to the question you were too polite to ask is, “Twelve dollars, and I didn’t haggle.”

(I’m still holding out hope that it is an ancient rendering of the Brock Mumford Arcadian Dance Orchestra of sainted memory.  Or perhaps I’m a little too early: the third fellow from the left looks a bit like Leon Rappolo.)

QUIETLY SPECTACULAR: “NICE WORK IF YOU CAN GET IT”: MARK LOPEMAN’S DEBUT CD

If you’ve been following the New York City jazz scene, you’ll know Mark Lopeman — a master saxophonist who’s been an invaluable addition to many bands for the past few decades.  Mark has just released his first CD under his own name, and it’s wonderful.

You can skip the prose and go right to the heart of things here

But if you’ve never heard or heard of Mark Lopeman (which I could understand) a few words might be in order.  Mark is another one of those people who proved F. Scott Fitzgerald wrong — not only are there second acts in American lives, but the plays we write and act in go seamlessly on without intermissions or other arbitrary divisions.  Mark is now in his early fifties, but this is no middle-aged man’s self-indulgent effort.  Rather it is beautiful music throughout — no pretenses, nothing antiquarian or postmodernist.  It is lively and fresh (locally sourced and organic, too), yet not a familiar running-through-an-hour-of-tried-and-true.  Readers of a certain age will know what I mean when I say it reminds me very happily of an imagined session for the Prestige-Swingville label, in better sound.  Mark and his colleagues know how to hit a variety of grooves, but the music never pokes a listener in the ribs and says, “Gee, look at how funky we are!”

Rather than retell Mark’s biography, I would direct you to his site — where the tale, involving the circus, a traffic ticket, Gerry Mulligan, and other notables, can be found here

I would offer my own narrow version of the Mark Lopeman saga.  When I first began to haunt New York jazz clubs, I heard Mark as a member of Vince Giordano’s Nighthawks, someone who could work his way through the reeds without fear.  He swung hard, never missed a turn, and when it came to his feature number — a transcription of the 1939 Hawkins BODY AND SOUL — he played it with accuracy and fervor, but I could hear his personality peeking out through the transcribed notes.  Then I had the good fortune to hear him as a guest EarRegular at The Ear Inn with Jon-Erik Kellso and Matt Munisteri.  To use the ancient locution, I flipped.  He swung, he soared; he was lyrical, witty, and to the point.  Ruby Braff had originally wanted to play the tenor saxophone; had he gotten his wish, he would have sounded like Mark Lopeman: wearing his heart on his sleeve but never getting in anyone’s way.

Mark is also one of those players who has thoroughly absorbed the tradition but has managed to bob along on the waves, remaining true to himself.  So a tenor aficionado will hear affectionate side-glances of Charlie Rouse and Al Cohn, Lucky Thompson and Stan Getz, but Mark is not one of those Real Book / play-along creations who coast from one learned phrase to another.  He is himself, and what a good thing that is!

Back to our story.  When I meet an artist I admire, I am not subtle or restrained in saying so.  After the first EarRegulars experience, I think I buttonholed Mark and said, “Wow, you play beautifully!  Have you got a CD of your own?”  And he looked a bit shy and said he hadn’t.  Later on, either at Sofia’s or The Ear Inn, I met his wife, the artist Susan Manley, and said (once again subtly), “Damnit, he plays so well.  When the hell is he going to make a CD of his own?”  And she agreed with me.  I can’t take any credit for helping NICE WORK IF YOU CAN GET IT see the light of day, but I would like to think that my nagging had a point: if there were enough annoying people hanging around the Lopemans making this pesky request, perhaps the CD emerged in some small part to get us to be quiet.  Maybe?

Would you like to hear some of the music?  I thought so.  Here are a whole raft of thirty-second snippets, enough to give you a sense of the CD’s candor and variety.  Click here

You can read all about the genesis of the music in Bill Kirschner’s perceptive, concise liner notes, but I would add a few things.  Mark is joined in his lyrical efforts by a splendid rhythm section of Ted Rosenthal, piano; Nicki Parrott, string bass; Tim Horner, drums.  He plays not only tenor saxophone but soprano and clarinet, and about half of the CD is illuminated by the presence of Brandon Lee on trumpet and fluegelhorn and Noah Bless on trombone — both players who know their stuff without cliche.  The repertoire is deliciously varied — from a trotting I’M ALWAYS CHASING RAINBOWS that begins and ends with a hilariously swinging Rosenthal-plays-Chopin, to the title tune, with hints of Charlie Rouse and Monk, a hip-swinging MY KIND OF GIRL (several selections have their roots in Mr. Sinatra’s repertoire), and two very intriguing Lopeman originals, WORLD ECONOMY BLUES (a collaboration with saxophonist Chris Byars) and INTENTIONS — which also feature fascinating scoring by their composer.  My absolute favorites on this disc are two Lopeman – Rosenthal duets, EVERYTHING HAPPENS TO ME (which keeps its yearning quality without any of the self-conscious pathos this song often encourages) and the heartbreaking I’M A FOOL TO WANT YOU.  (Jonathan Schwartz would love them: I hope he gets his own copy.)

I worry that JAZZ LIVES readers will think I am always tugging at their collective sleeves (and credit cards) saying “Buy this!  Buy this!”  But this CD is quietly spectacular.  Nice work indeed, Mark — and how lucky we are that we can indeed get it.

P.S.  The cover portrait is a family affair — a watercolor done with wit and affection by Rosie Lopeman . . . another artist in the house!

MARTY GROSZ’S FIGPICKERS at JAZZ AT CHAUTAUQUA (Sept. 18, 2011)

Martin Oliver Grosz, or Marty to his intimates, is a scholar of many arcane subjects — not just music.  He buttonholed me once at Chautauqua to speak about Ben Jonson’s play THE ALCHEMIST.  Since my areas of concentration in graduate school were more recent, I told Marty I hadn’t read the play.  He was undeterred, and told me happily that a memorable line in Jonson had one character angrily offering “a Spanish fig” as his response to an idea he disliked deeply.  A “Spanish fig,” Marty then went on to explain, was a hand gesture — the thumb thrust through the fingers of a closed fist: some non-verbal Esperanto for “Up yours.”

I introduce this to suggest that Marty’s newest band title has less to do with fruit or the men and women who harvest it for us than with his own private comedy, although I could be wrong.  Surely MARTY GROSZ AND HIS “UP YOURS!” BOYS would have looked poorly on the marquee, although Jazz at Chautauqua has no marquee.

But to the music, recorded on September 18, 2011, at Jazz at Chautauqua, music that has no hidden imputations: it’s just lovely inventive jazz.  Surrounding Marty, the Players were Duke Heitger, trumpet; Dan Block and Scott Robinson, reeds (Marty’s “Hot Winds”); Bob Havens, trombone; Rossano Sportiello, piano; Frank Tate, string bass; John Von Ohlen, drums.

In this brief set, Marty chose not to sing but showed off his talents as a shape-changing arranger / recomposer / bandleader.  One thing he particularly likes is to offer material in new stylistic guises — moving songs slightly out of their expected stylistic niches (as he’d done in his BIXIANA set, which I’ve also posted).  And aside from ROSE OF THE RIO GRANDE, I think these songs and arrangements are new for Marty — at least I don’t recall hearing them frequently.  Marty is such a splendid arranger: his charts offer soloists space amidst nifty ensemble passages that show off varied voicings, the lead being passed around.  It’s the very opposite of one chorus in — solos — a jammed ensemble out, the formula for many bands.  And against these shifting backgrounds, the soloists shine so brightly!

Harold Arlen’s musical insistence on cheering up, GET HAPPY:

A familiar mournful Twenties blues (with a vengeful cast) kicked forward two decades — ALL THE WRONGS YOU’VE DONE TO ME — given a sweetly pastoral cast:

SHOUT ‘EM AUNT TILLIE (does that have a comma) coming from Ellington at the end of the Twenties.  May I say that they don’t write tune titles like that anymore?  I understand why Aunt Till was shouting, I do:

And the closer, Harry Warren’s ROSE OF THE RIO GRANDE:

It’s fitting that Marty should reference THE ALCHEMIST.  He is one.

BIG SID SPEAKS, or KNOW YOUR WORTH

An excerpt from HOT MAN: THE LIFE OF ART HODES (by Art and Chadwick Hansen, University of Illinois Press, 1992).  The subject is ostensibly the Chicago jazz club, Jazz Ltd., run by Bill and Ruth Reinhardt, but I think you’ll agree it opens up to greater vistas:

Someone once asked Big Sid [Catlett] why he would play a joint like Jazz Ltd., and Sid promptly answered, “It’s not a joint.  When Big Sid plays there it’s the spot in town.”

I know many people who undervalue themselves; their mental soundtrack is “Oh, I’m so incompetent,” and their opposite numbers, who inflate themselves out of proportion to the evidence.  Sidney Catlett knew who he was and what he did, and wasn’t afraid to acknowledge it: neither false modesty or immodesty, a lesson for all, even those who don’t play drums.

THE ATLANTA JAZZ PARTY (April 2012) IS ON THE WAY!

It’s only the beginning of December 2011 but I am fortunate enough to know where I will be on the weekend of April 20-22, 2012.  The 32nd Atlanta Jazz Party!

If you need to ask WHY . . . .

How about this brass section: Jon-Erik Kellso, Duke Heitger, Ed Polcer, Bob Schulz, John Allred, Russ Phillips; Allan Vache, Harry Allen, reeds; John Cocuzzi, Freddy Cole, Mark Shane, Rossano Sportiello, piano; Ed Metz, Chuck Redd, percussion; Matt Munisteri, Bucky Pizzarelli, guitar; Richard Simon, Frank Tate, bass; John Cocuzzi, Becky Kilgore, Freddy Cole, Ashley Locheed, Bob Schulz, vocals.

I can already imagine the bands I would like to hear, and one of the nice things about the AJP is that everyone gets a chance to lead sets.

It will take place at the Westin Atlanta North — clean and friendly — and there will be a profusion (or perhaps a satiety) of hot jazz, tender ballads, and good feeling.

You can purchase tickets here — either online or fill out the form and mail it in.

My own story is that I have a deeply sentimental attachment to the AJP: the first time I went there was in 2007, because many of my heroes were playing.  I got to meet Eddie Erickson face to face (and of course receive the first of many hugs) and to hear the world-shaking rhythm quartet of Mark Shane, Matt Munisteri, Vince Giordano, and Kevin Dorn.  But I have personal, romantic memories of my Atlanta experience.  I had met the Beloved about three weeks before and recognized that she was far beyond the ordinary.  And of course she liked jazz.  So one of our nice early shared memories was my opening my cellphone during a Becky Kilgore set so that the Beloved could come home, check her voicemail, and hear Miss Kilgore sing ALL I DO IS DREAM OF YOU.  Right place, right time.  Amor vincit omnia, you cats!

Oh.  I will be bringing my camera, but don’t let that stop you.  I believe that the best seats go to those who sign up early . . . so don’t wait for the end of March to make up your mind.  I didn’t.

And as for the ATLANTA BLUES — I don’t expect to have them at all.  The Westin is very plush: no pallets on the floor for us!

LOVELY AND SPACIOUS: SERBIAN FOLK-JAZZ RHAPSODIES by PAT O’LEARY

Most of us  know Pat O’Leary as a stellar bassist, a swinging jazz cellist, someone with a quick verbal wit and an untrammeled imagination.  But our Patrick (as I’ve already discussed on this blog) is someone with wider visions, going deeper into his own combination of creative improvisation (jazz for soloists and ensemble) and Serbian folk-melodies.  Here is a wonderfully moving segment from his latest work, called Trojanka:

What expansive music that is — and I don’t mean loud or overblown.  Rather, Pat has merged the three or four worlds: the jazz quartet of himself, Stjepko Gut, trumpet;  Renato Chicco, piano;  Dennis Mackrel-drums, the lovely symphony orchestra, the choir, and those deeply melodic folk strains to create something new and lovely, where one element doesn’t overpower the other.  Musical synergy at its best.

This performance was recorded (also beautifully!) at the Sava Centar, Belgrade, Serbia, on June 4, 2011.

In two days, I hope to see the eminent Mr. O’Leary swinging out with the EarRegulars at The Ear Inn — but to know what else he is capable of makes me very proud to know such a creative fellow.

THE ELUSIVE PAUL GONSALVES (on eBay)

I no longer would speculate on the relationship between ignorance and bliss, but it fascinates me when sellers on eBay have only a tenuous relationship with the items they put up for sale.  Sometimes it works greatly to the advantage of the knowing buyer: years ago, I bid on and bought a photograph of Bobby Hackett, taken in the early Seventies at a local jazz festival — he was smiling while being embraced by a non-musician, male, wearing a velour top . . . and Hackett had autographed the photo in an unusually angular scrawl, suggesting that he was not seated or comfortable at the time.  But the seller didn’t recognize Hackett or his autograph, so the photo was undervalued — although not by me.

These photographs are intriguing studies of the tenor saxophonist Paul Gonsalves, who spent much of his performance career in the Ellington sax section.  The earliest one is autographed, which gave the seller a clear clue:

I would guess that is a high school graduation photograph.

Because the seller didn’t know that Gonsalves also played guitar quite well (he even soloed on a 1961 Stanley Dance session) this photograph went unidentified.  But you’ll notice the saxophone on the floor near his right foot — a clue of sorts.

Looks like the same fellow to me, much more mature.

Could this also be our man?  I have my doubts, but Gonsalves was obviously light-complected (he had “Portuguese” in his background, even though his Ellington colleagues facetiously called him “Mex”) and holding your saxophone in a Lestorian way was probably very common in the Forties.  Fascinating and still elusive.

I JUST FLEW IN FROM SAN DIEGO!

. . . and boy, are my arms tired!  But my ears are still full of wonderful music.  I don’t mean “San Diego” as a city, but the 32nd annual San Diego Thanksgiving Dixieland Jazz Festival, which began for me on last Thursday night and continued into the middle of Sunday afternoon.

Festivals and parties take on the personalities of their organizers, and this one benefited so much from Paul Daspit, who stepped in after the death of the much-loved trombonist Alan Adams.  Paul is tall, soft-spoken, carefully-dressed, usually sporting a nifty hat (no beanie with a propeller for this gent), and his demeanor is both calm and amused.  Even when he was dealing with a series of flooded hotel rooms, he seemed to know that getting all flurried would do him — and us — no good.  So it was a great delight to see Paul come in, savor the music with a quiet smile on his face, and move on to something else.  His generosity of spirit made it possible for me to attend, for the musicians to play their best.  By the way, when I asked Paul about this, he said he was only carrying on Alan’s philosophy: to establish a space where everyone would be so comfortable and easy that the music would flow out and around everyone.

And it did.  I am a devoted follower of a few bands — my heroes are the Reynolds Brothers and the Tim Laughlin-Connie Jones All-Stars, the Yerba Buena Stompers, High Sierra, as well as the individual musicians Clint Baker, Jeff Hamilton, Sue Fischer, Bryan Shaw, Dawn Lambeth, Hal Smith, Carl Sonny Leyland, Marty Eggers, Kevin Dorn, Marc Caparone, the amazing Paul Woltz, and a dozen others . . . but I looked at the schedule more than a dozen times and figured that if I had been able to see all the sets I’d wanted to, the number would have been more than fifty . . . not possible for one person.  Because the festival was unashamedly a cornucopia, with six or more bands playing at once in different venues, I would have had to be willing to run from the middle of one set to the middle of another, which I wasn’t willing to do.

Too many highlights, and I won’t list them here for fear of leaving something out that was good, better, best.  I think I liked the surprises, though: being outside the main building, coming back from dinner, and hearing a band — it turned out to be Grand Dominion — and recognizing, “My goodness!  That’s Clint Baker — on trumpet — beating out JOE LOUIS STOMP!”  Or, again, hearing music from afar of a small group, around 9 AM, working its way through MUSKRAT RAMBLE — with an absolutely spine-tingling trombone solo . . . none other than tne Saint of Dixieland, Uncle Howie Miyata, playing that thing.  I also had my spirits lifted by people who don’t play instruments, at least not professionally: Jane Lynch and husband Kevin; Allene Harding; Frank Selman; Susie Miyata, Yvonne and Bill Au, Brandon and Justin of the same lineage.  I got to sit between Jane, Laurie Whitlock, and Carol Andersen . . . fun times in SoCal!

I’ll be posting my videos in a few weeks (I have Whitley Bay to share with you) but would point out that my newly-mobile West Coast doppelganger Rae Ann Berry had her video camera, her tripod, and many batteries . . . and she’s already posted a great many videos which would warm the coldest day.

But I’ll just say that there was a Reynolds-Brothers-plus jam session on Saturday night . . . where fourteen musicians got onto a tiny bandstand to wail — and I don’t use that word lightly — on MY LITTLE BIMBO and DIGA DIGA DOO.  You could hear the angels stomping.

More to come . . . . but I have already made a mental space for Thanksgiving 2012.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH. IN FACT, TAKE TWO!

Look closely at the faces of the people you pass on the street or at your workplace.  See how many of those faces are full of tension; how many people look as if they would like to relax but are putting it off for their two weeks off.  Now focus on yourself: are you taking it easy?  To bring it to the more familiar subject of JAZZ LIVES, do you feel as if you are the sound of Freddie Green’s guitar or of Jo Jones’ hi-hat?  Do you float along as if you were a Benny Carter solo?  Or is your inner music ORGY IN RHYTHM by Art Blakey and colleagues?

I am writing this post to nudge my readers in the direction of a new blog, full of compassionate, easy-to-swallow wisdom . . . affectionate thoughts to help anyone get through the day with sweetness rather than strain.

It’s Lorna Sass’s new blog, REFLECTIONS OF A LIFE COACH, and you can read about breathing easily here:

http://lornasassreflectionsofalifecoach.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/breathing-into-a-new-day/

And if all of this sounds oddly digressive to you and you wish I would go back to posting videos and writing about Boyce Brown, I do understand.  But let’s never forget that the lovely music we so admire — say the voice of Lee Wiley singing SUGAR — requires proper breathing.  Had Lee been as tense as some of us are, we’d never listen to her records.  Purr, don’t gnash!