Daily Archives: December 8, 2009

“KEEP HOT!”

In THE SPIRIT OF LOUIS, 2009, not long ago, I posted three video performances where the Scandinavian Rhythm Boys were joined by one of the remaining Elders, clarinetist Joe Muranyi.  (https://jazzlives.wordpress.com/2009/11/02/the-spirit-of-louis-2009/)

If those videos eluded you, or the SRB are new to you, here they are, in Toronto, playing BLUE (and BROKEN-HEARTED).  The “Boys” in this incarnation are Hans Jorgen Hansen, bass saxophone and other reeds; Robert Hansson, trumpet; Paul Waters, bass; Michael Bøving, banjo and vocal.  And the nicely-done video is by Flemming Thorbye, who has preserved so much fine jazz on YouTube.   

I find this very affecting.  It takes experience to play with such emotion yet to be so restrained.  As the late Leroy “Sam” Parkins often said, a group like this is in no hurry; they are taking their time.  And they get there!

A package arrived the other day, STARDUST, a CD with two sessions by the SRB — one with Joe Muranyi.  I had been impressed with the YouTube clips I had seen, but they were nothing compared to the sound of the SRB in the recording studio.  For one thing, the studio itself is spacious — I would guess that the musicians get to see each other and hear other without baffles and headphones.  Thus the result is like being very close up to a live performance in a space with ideal acoustics and ambiance. 

And the SRB plays its collective heart out, without strain.  Waters’ bass is propulsive without being pushing; his slap-technique is never monotonous or wooden.  Hansen has a fine, eloquent facility on all his horns, and he is a masterful ensemble player.  Boving is a steady, serene banjoist without the excesses of enthusiasm often connected to that instrument, and he is a compelling singer — idiosyncratic but with a huge, exuberant voice and attack, a heroic vibrato that made it seem as if every song was his own personal, passionate utterance.  And Hansson is simply a magnificent trumpeter — with a casual daring that honors Louis and Bix, without copying their phrases.  His easy mountain-scaling reminded me of Hackett, Cheatham, and Bob Barnard — and it’s supported by a sophisticated harmonic and rhythmic awareness.  Muranyi, the guest star, brings his own amused fervor to the proceedings, whether playing or singing his own gleeful I DIG SATCH.  And the SRB, with or without Joe, is clearly having fun without being self-consciously silly.  They are a wonderfully rewarding band, and this CD is just delightful, with repertoire that goes from Handy to Lyttelton to Jobim and back to Bix-associated tunes without anything sounding forced.  (A prize goes to listeners who recognize the Armstrong ending that brilliantly concludes SMILES!)

The CD is available through the SRB website (www.srbjazz.com.) and email inquiries can be sent to srbjazz@srbjazz.com

And my title?  It’s how Michael Boving signed his little note along with the CD.  The music it contains shows that he and his colleagues are keeping the faith.

“THE RECORD RACK”

About ten days ago, the Beloved and I took a day trip to Lambertville, New Jersey — a town known to some for its proximity to Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

But the Beloved and I like flea markets, and although we have never made it to Lambertville’s flea market at the right just-after-sunrise time to see all its wares spread out at once, we enjoy walking around through the tables of what must now be called “mid-century American vernacular furnishings,” which sometimes translates to the objects you recall from the Fifties and would not want to have in your house, and sometimes it means McCoy pottery, sheet music, and . . . recordings.

The outdoor flea market had little we wanted, so we found ourselves in one of the buildings that surround it, which was called “the Golden Nugget.”  In it, I wandered through an autograph dealer’s shop and poked through bookshelves.  Finding little to interest me on the first floor, I went upstairs, and there, at the end of the corridor, I encountered

THE RECORD RACK

“Vinyl From All Eras”

I’ll say

I saw a great number of neatly arranged 78 rpm records.  Early Pathes.  Albuns of twelve-inch jazz 78s.  Crosby reissues on mid-Forties Brunswick.  A bin full of Commodore recordings from that same period.  Many many swing and dance band and vocal recordings from the late Twenties on to the Fifties.  All of these delights were reasonably priced (a rare record went for eleven dollars; the Commodores were two dollars).

I was thrilled, and although I bought only two items, they were enchanting.  One is a Swaggie vinyl recording of an Australian jazz group — Roger Bell and His Pagan Pipers — featuring Bell’s originals, one of which is fetchingly titled ALL SHE WORE WAS A HECTIC FLUSH. 

The other had a rim crack which had been neatly repaired: it was a 1939 Vocalion by a Johnny Hodges small group.  Incidentally, I believe “goon” comes from a Popeye character, Alice the Goon, which might explain Sammy Price’s THE GOON DRAG.

What was equally delightful was that the young man in charge, Brooke Sudlow, was enthusiastic and well-informed.  We got into conversation about the music I was excited by, and it led to Brooke’s pleasure in listening to and playing Maxine Sullivan — so he is more than a purveyor of old records. 

I do not ordinarily use this blog to plug businesses, but I think that Brooke’s business (he runs it with Pat Doron) deserves your attention.  Here is what we now call “contact information,” and I know if readers are also looking for a mint copy of a Buddy Holly recording, they have a very good chance of finding it through Brooke and Pat . . . fairly priced, too.

Brooke’s phone is 609.712.2751; Pat’s is 609.462.2894.  Someone’s email is footmoon59@yahoo.com., and the Record Rack itself is located at 1850 Route 29, Lambertville, New Jersey 08530.  And those Commodores might still be there . . . !

FAULTY TECHNIQUE (by John McWhorter)

In the December 14, 2009 issue of THE NEW YORKER, the book review is given over to Terry Teachout’s Louis Armstrong biography, POPS, which has received unprecedented media coverage.  The review is titled “THE ENTERTAINER,” which gave me pause. 

Its author is John McWhorter, “a Senior Fellow of Public Policy at the Manhattan Institute and a lecturer at Columbia University.”  Thus, he seems not to be an official “Jazz Critic,” which is fine, and his prose is commendably clear.  And the review is mostly an overview of Armstrong’s life, with comments on Teachout’s book sprinkled here and there.  McWhorter closes by quoting alto saxophonist Charlie Holmes, a commendable act.

I suppose I should confess (although close readers will have guessed it by now) that I am what some uncomprehending writer referred to as “guilty of Amstrongidolatry,” although I do not value all of Louis’s performances equally.  But he seems monumental.   

Halfway through the review, nine words leapt out at me:

“Armstrong, like many self-taught geniuses, had a faulty technique. . . .”

Lest I seem to be quoting out of context, I will add that McWhorter then speaks of the scar tissue on Armstrong’s upper lip, and that the result of his “faulty technique” was audible in the Fifties, when “rapid-fire cascades of notes no longer came as easily.”

All of this is true, although I will leave aside the question of whether Arnold Palmer or Joe Louis would have been reproached for, later in life, having less muscular ability than in their youth.

But “faulty technique” sticks in my throat, or my craw, or wherever irritating half-truths can be said to stick.

“So!” I said to myself.  “That “faulty technique” must be the reason Louis’s playing on HE’S A SON OF THE SOUTH and AFTER YOU’VE GONE and GOT A BRAN’ NEW SUIT and WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR is so . . . . “faulty.” 

Had Louis, instead of being placed in the Colored Waifs’ Home, been fortunate enough to master legitimate trumpet technique . . . had he been able to spend several years in a Jazz Studies program . . . had he been able to master the proper rudiments of brass playing with teachers more well-trained than Peter Jones and Joseph Oliver. . . well, then.  Then we would have heard some great music, instead of these flawed performances.

I was a very very bad trumpet player in fifth grade, and my later attempts at the brass family would impress no one.  But I do know how difficult it is to play the trumpet at any level, and thus Louis’s playing strikes me as astonishing.  And it might seem to some to be ad hominem to ask on what instrument McWhorter has distinguished himself, and is his technique beyond reproach?

And before any reproachful readers write in to (of course) deliver reproaches, I would ask that they listen to at least three minutes of an Armstrong performance they hold dear and work diligently to uncover the faults in its technique.  Only then might we be able to discuss this in some informed way.

HOT STORIES, LIMITED EDITION

 I confess that the title of this post might be seen by some as intentionally misleading.  But when a Hot Man like Jim Goodwin writes a book, it should be Hot, too.  I’m taking it on faith.  Here’s the word from my friend Barb Hauser of San Francisco (and I’ve already placed my order):

As you know, Jim Goodwin was a person of many talents; the most widely known being his unique musical abilities. You probably know too that he was very funny, a fan of the absurd and off-the-wall humor. Jim also had a magical talent for putting his humorous thoughts on paper. His personal letters were the kind one saved. They were typed on a manual Royal; sometimes on a proper letter-size sheet of white paper, other times on a torn odd-size piece of recycled paper. If you were lucky an original drawing was tucked into a corner to illustrate something related, or not – but always funny.  

A couple of years ago, Jim and I were talking about his writing skills and fantasizing about his work being published. Afterward I pondered the conversation a while and thought, “Why not compile a book of Jim’s ‘letter stories’?” We could self-publish and sell them to friends and fans. Charge just enough to cover expenses and put a little in the retirement kitty for Jim. 

 We kicked the idea around and completed a mock up. We were on our way to a book! I use the term loosely, as it was really a neatly done binder. The pages were typed with a font that most closely resembled Jim’s old typewriter and the titles and signatures were done in a font that most closely resembled his recognizable style of hand printing – those “small caps,” as they say in the trade.

We needed a title. Jim mentioned that it was easier to write his stories to a person, as in a letter, and came up with “Letters to Ralph.” Ralph Parsons was a close friend of Jim’s with whom he corresponded quite a lot before Ralph’s passing in 1990.

Jim was working on the 11th story and hoped to have an even dozen, plus supply a few of his wonderful cartoons before we considered the book complete. He didn’t quite make it before he passed last April but he did give the mock up a hearty stamp of approval. And so, it is with confidence that Jim was proud of his accomplishment that I present a booklet version of his work. The cartoons were not completed but I included a page with some of Jim’s “J-card Art” as a small representation of the visual humor he put on cassettes he recorded for friends.

The titles by Jim include:

George Probert & The Ice Bears

IMP After Sunrise

The Ambassador of Noise – An Opera Text

Granite Jaw Guenther

The Triple Man

One Louis Armstrong Story

The Story of Joe Louis – A Biography

The Snowman That Wouldn’t Melt

Do You Have a Cat in Your Pocket?

Profile on Edward MacDowell (1534-1923)

If you would like to order one (or some – don’t forget, Christmas is just around the corner!) here is the order information:

Price is $10 each. Please add $3 for shipping (plus $1 for each additional copy). Please send check to:  Barb Hauser, 328 Andover Street, San Francisco, California 94110.

All profits originally intended for the aforementioned “kitty” will be donated toward reimbursement of expenses for the September 09 “Jim Party” incurred by his friends and/or in Jim’s memory to the Forest Park Conservancy he loved in Portland. (If you are in San Francisco, perhaps we can arrange personal delivery. If you are in Portland, Oregon, you may contact Aretta Christie (ARChristie@aol.com) as she has a supply.