Monthly Archives: December 2013

WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO PLAY LIKE EDDIE MILLER?

What a wonderful tenor saxophonist (and occasional clarinetist) the late Eddie Miller was!  Whether he was on records with the Bob Crosby Bobcats or big band, next to Wingy Manone, Bunny Berigan, leading his own bands in New Orleans or New York, he was a bubbling, exuberant delight.

Here’s a small sample:

Miller’s easy pulse, bright tone, and irresistible swing make him sound as if he’s simply floating along — but the illusion of weightlessness is never so simple to maintain. Perhaps seven years earlier, Miller was in his natural habitat — as a sideman in a New Orleans-tinged small band:

Miller is hardly acknowledged these days as a remarkably subtle player.  He was modest, content to make the most of sixteen bars, a man less vigorously ambitious than some of his peers, a fellow who enjoyed the camaraderie of the ensemble (how beautifully his lines weave in and out — he never gets in anyone else’s way) without being a Leader, a Star. Modesty doesn’t always make for name recognition, although Miller was well-known in his Crosby days.

I suspect that the rollicking fluidity of his essential style — Miller never seems to be working hard — caused listeners to underrate him in favor of more dramatic players.  Indeed, as I listened to as much Miller as I could to prepare this blogpost, I thought, “Really, he is the Bing Crosby of the tenor saxophone: everyone would think ‘I could do that,’ without realizing how difficult it is.”

But now.  For a limited time only!  If JAZZ LIVES readers would like to learn the secrets of Eddie Miller’s hot style, these hot licks can be yours for a pittance, half a dollar.

Here’s how.

Study these pages.  Practice every day. EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 004 Let’s look inside! EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 005 I hear you saying, “But I’m not a tenor saxophone player.” EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 006 Everyone of a certain generation copied Louis (no matter what their instrument), then Bird and Diz (likewise).  Couldn’t we start a small Eddie Miller movement? EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 007 With some concentration, I could play those on the piano (if I weren’t so busy blogging). EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 008 I want to hear my friends work these hot licks into their solos. EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 009 It’s not so hard, is it? EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 010 I’d also love to know which of the licks — for the player / historians out there are recognizably the children of other famous saxophonists. EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 011 The book was published in 1940, and I think dreamily of a time and place where young people (or older ones) wanted to grow up to sound like Eddie Miller.  This seems like a distant Paradise now. EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 012Those sharps are beginning to proliferate.
EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 013Courage!
EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 014Just think what possibilities are open to the person who can perform these hot licks: be the life of the party forever!EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 015 And here’s a complete solo chorus, transcribed for us.  (There is a version of this song by the Crosby Bob Cats on YouTube, but I’ve been hesitant to include it, simply because Eddie doesn’t play all thirty-two bars, so it might be a different version.  Research! as we used to say. EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 016 Bregman, Vocco and Conn had more ideas than simply helping everyone to sound like Eddie Miller.  New worlds to conquer: EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 017 “Fellas!  Gals!  Let’s start our very own Swing Band!” EDDIE MILLER PEE WEE RUSSELL 018 One of the pleasures of this blog is the way it permits — encourages! — me to share what I have.

This book cost $2.95 at an antique store a few years ago.  I bought it without hesitating and only thought of it again recently, because of a conversation with a young reedman about the Pee Wee Russell folio.

So now I feel I’ve done my part in making the air full of the light-hearted buoyant sounds of Eddie Miller.

The rest is up to you.  Be sure to report back!

May your happiness increase!

ONE SOUNDTRACK FOR MY IDEAL WORLD

THAT’S MY WEAKNESS NOW was a very popular song in the late Twenties: in my memory, it is connected to Whiteman, Bix, and the Rhythm Boys; Helen Kane; Cliff Edwards, and I am sure two dozen others.

If you’ve never heard it, here is Miss Kane’s 1927 version (with the verse and at a sweet tempo):

Its bouncy melody and amorous conceit –“[S]he loves these [apparently difficult] acts, so I am compelled to perform them also — pity poor me who has to suffer billing and cooing [but not really]” — made both singers and audiences float along in amusement.

THAT-S-MY-WEAKNESS-NOW

But between 1929 and 1939 no one recorded it in a jazz context (according to Tom Lord’s discography) and it’s understandable: its bouncy two-beat melody line and rhythms didn’t lend themselves all that easily to a smoother Swing Era treatment, and it may have seemed to contemporary audiences a relic of their parents’ now-ancient flapper / sheik past.  (The song re-emerged in later decades — with recordings by George Lewis and Humphrey Lyttelton — as a sweet homage to the late Twenties, and that is how modern bands play it today.)

I don’t know who thought of the song for this July 1944 record date, but it’s a wonderful choice.  This was one of Harry Lim’s Keynote dates, so he might have been the inspiration — or leader Pete Brown might have liked the song as a perfect match for his own jaunty, accented, ebullient playing.

As a record producer, Harry Lim had a thousand virtues: good taste in musicians, a liking for medium tempos and melodic improvisation, and the courage to have players who weren’t household names lead sessions.  His 12″ 78 recordings are a body of work that remains its freshness.  (I am only sad that when I was a young record-buyer at one branch of the New York City Sam Goody’s, I didn’t recognize him, wring his hand embarrassingly and tell him how much his fine musical taste had enriched my life.)

Here is THAT’S MY WEAKNESS NOW, performed by Brown, alto saxophone; Joe Thomas, trumpet; Kenny Kersey, piano; Milt Hinton, string bass; J.C. Heard, drums.

I think the beauties of this recording are self-evident to anyone willing to listen closely for just over four minutes — perhaps a seeming-lifetime in our restless century.

The disc starts with an unaccompanied introduction by the under-celebrated Kenny Kersey, who had absorbed Teddy Wilson and Earl Hines but also was very much aware of what the jazz critics like to call, retrospectively, “advanced harmonies,” but which musicians of the time might have called “funny chords.” Kersey had played with Andy Kirk as well as with Red Allen’s Cafe Society band, and (for me) his accompaniment nearly steals the show during the first chorus, where the melody is played in a neat, clipped way by the horns.  And as for bass and drums: they provide a swing heartbeat.

The horns offer very individual sounds.  I don’t think an experienced listener would mistake Brown for any other altoist: the way he pushes the beat, as if his notes and phrases were impetuous, his solos impatient to get out of the horn where they could be heard.  And his tone!  Lemony, bittersweet, tart?  One would need a truly subtle food writer to describe the sound of his alto.  Joe Thomas, ah, Joe Thomas — glowing and spare but deeply emotive without playing one more note than needed . . . a true lesson in storytelling, full of nuance but never over-elaborated.  In the melding of the horns, they are synchronous (you hear the professionalism of musicians used to working in sections, in big bands, where blending was essential) but their individual voices are audible, their sounds so personal.

Even on longer-playing discs, the idea of splitting a chorus (the horns play the first sixteen bars of a thirty-two bar chorus; another instrument takes the eight-bar “bridge,” then the horns return or let the other players have the second half) was nothing new, but Kersey’s piano, spare and elegant, is refreshing.  But while Kersey is exploring, so — in the most sympathetic way — is Milt, climbing higher on his instrument without ever seeming to solo.  Heard’s emphatic brushwork (out of Sidney Catlett) never falters, wavers, or becomes mechanical.  The following sixteen bars are equally calm — they are riffing this evening! — with an emphatic flare on the last notes of the chorus, where the horns seem especially determined to repeat the title in song.

Brown was either a  generous or wise leader — I think both — content to build a performance architecturally rather than saying THIS IS MY RECORD and playing all through it, so if we are waiting for the leader to solo, it doesn’t happen for some time.

So the next chorus is apparently a Kersey solo, and what an elegantly swinging pianist — great musical intelligence and no cliches — he was.  But just as Kersey stole the show behind the horns, the horns (with their simple little pushing riff) might easily distract us from his gleam.  Horn backgrounds to a piano solo used to be commonplace — in the departed ideal world — but one does not hear them in this century, with some exceptions.  The way the whole band — is it only a quintet? — sounds, with such sweet subtle variety — is gratifying.  Kersey has some of the same quiet energy of Johnny Guarneri (someone Lim also loved and featured) but he is his own man, steering his own course between Fats and Bud Powell.

With a push from Heard, Thomas is on.  And how beautiful his tone is — dark, clear, not “sweet” but not harsh, brassy.  All his trademarks are in place: the careful repeated notes, the breath-like phrasing, the upward arpeggios, the pace (no matter how fast the tempo gets, at his best, Thomas mastered the Louis trick of relaxing, of “playing whole notes,” of letting everyone else seem hurried while he takes his time, admires the scenery, adjusts the knot on his tie just so.  His bridge is especially luxurious.  If, perhaps, you think, “Oh, that’s just Louis-influenced Swing Era trumpet playing, and everyone was doing that,” may I respectfully suggest that a deep immersion in the period will prove revelatory. No one sounded like Joe.  Ask a trumpet player you know to listen to that solo, closely, and see if it’s easy to create such a sound, such an effect.

Behind Thomas, Brown has been nudging the band along (there are no dead spots on this record) as it shifts into a higher gear, with Heard and everyone else deciding — to use the Thirties expression — “to put the pots and pans on,” to get seriously playful.

And then comes our leader — Mister Brown to you.  What a remarkable sound!  At first, it makes me think of someone with laryngitis who insists on speaking although his voice croaks and cracks, but one quickly gets accustomed to the sound because Brown’s pulse is so warm and enthusiastic.  He doesn’t rush, but he intently gives each phrase its own shape and a rocking momentum.  And his solo is made up of small gems, a phrase turned round and round over the harmonies, without pressure or monotony.  (I am not usually fond of quotations — some musicians overindulge — but Brown’s reference to FUNKY BUTT at 3:12 is hilarious. I hope that there is no particular connection between that subject and what the imagined lover prefers, but more likely it was just a witty idea, floating by, that laid nicely over the chords.)

And that last chorus is a marvel of tidy architecture, of generosity, of variety: sixteen glorious bars for the Judge, Milt Hinton — no one ever talked through his solos! — with the band riffing around and through his sonorous notes, then a “modern” bridge featuring Kersey, four more bars for Milt (how many people understand what Milt understood about the string bass, parallel to Jimmy Blanton?) then four bars where the band says in a politely declamatory ensemble, “THAT’S MY WEAKNESS NOW!” and the record is over.

Yes, I have heard recordings like this in our century, and, better yet, bands actually doing these glorious acts of solo brilliance and communal swing on the bandstand, in person, but this 12″ 78 is imperishable.  There are a million ways for an improvising jazz group to sound, and I wouldn’t be such a bully to insist that this is the only one, or the best one, but it moves me every time I hear it.

May your happiness increase!

THE ARTIST, THE AUDIENCE: CHICAGO 1948

This picture just turned up on an NPR blogpost about the contemporary guise of the “hipster” as opposed to “hep cat” and people who were genuinely “hip.” I have my own — perhaps acerbic — thoughts on the current phenomenon of hipsterdom as practiced by comfortably affluent urban young men, but I will not inflict them on you.  (Here is the original post.)

Rather, I offer this portrait of someone I admire: Mister Strong, surrounded by fans, presumably after playing a set at Chicago’s Blue Note in 1948 (photograph by Edward S. Kitch for the Associated Press):

ap480401072

My first reaction to this photo was, “Goodness, he looks furious,” but I was wrong.

What I see here now is the absolute intent focus on a task — in this case, making sure that he is in touch with the people who have come to see and hear him create music. “Playing for the people” didn’t stop with the final notes of WHEN IT’S SLEEPY TIME DOWN SOUTH; these fans must be honored.  And those last notes have sounded so close to this picture that he still has trumpet and handkerchief at the ready — no time to go back to the dressing room.

The fans are equally intent: what is this, for them, but approaching a deity at close range and going home with something he has touched?  In 1948, young men and women still dressed to go out; perhaps they are all too young to have suits, but they know something about “dressing up,” and their clothing is anything but ironic.

And, although I am in a wholly life-enhancing relationship, I would like to time-travel back to 1948 — not only to hear the music, but to ask the diminutive young woman who is peering in at the scene if she will go with me for an ice-cream soda sometime. Or to a movie.

Louis, COME BACK! This world needs you so.

Thoughts on a snowy New York morning.

May your happiness increase!

WAILING SOULFULLY IN SAN DIEGO: RAY SKJELBRED AND HIS CUBS PLAY FRANK MELROSE

I had a wonderful time at the 34th annual San Diego Jazz Fest, held over Thanksgiving weekend 2013. Thanks must go to the diligent and generous Paul Daspit and his Pals, including the heroic Jim McNaughton and Myrna Beach Goodwin, who laid out a hearty spread for us.  Incidentally, the SDJF is ON for 2014: click here!  (The 2014 schedule isn’t posted yet, but I know that Andy Schumm and Josh Duffee will be joining the West Coast luminaries for some hot music.)

Here’s some auditory proof of the 2013 delights — one of the best small bands ever, pianist Ray Skjelbred and his Cubs . . . featuring Kim Cusack, clarinet / vocal; Clint Baker, string bass; Katie Cavera, guitar / vocal; Mike Daugherty, drums.

They played two delectable sets full of Chicago rhythm, something you don’t always hear these days in traditional circles — swing before Swing, hot without self-consciousness about it.

I offer one performance only (I want people to savor this!), WAILING BLUES, written by that vanished paragon of music, “Kansas City” Frank Melrose, whose music — performance and composition — always takes surprising turns, whether gutty or tender or both.

We miss him, and I am honored to have his surviving child, Ida Melrose Shoufler, as a devoted reader of JAZZ LIVES . . . so a little pre-Christmas present of her father’s particularly flavorful WAILING BLUES:

Now, that music exemplifies “tonation and phrasing.”  It gets in the gutter because from there you can really see the stars.

After this performance, Ray said, thoughtfully, “There was something dynamic and strange about everything that Frank Melrose did, which is very appealing to me.”

Frank’s physical self left the planet a long time ago in a death that has the frightening impact of Greek myth, but his spirit — whimsical, intense, curious, heartfelt — is with us today, embodied by these players and those who love him.

I hope you never have to wail, but if the spirit moves you in that direction, may this music guide and shelter you.

May your happiness increase!

CONAL FOWKES, MUSICIAN

CONAL FOWKES

Conal Fowkes is a fine fellow. He plays piano — delicately or stomping; he is a first-class accompanist.  He is a splendidly romping string bassist (think Pops Foster with a subtle harmonic sense), a compelling singer, arranger, and more.

He’s at home with Woody Allen and Wynton Marsalis, with John Gill and Bette Midler, with Sam Manning and Scott Joplin, at The Ear Inn and the Cafe Carlyle. He can play New Orleans funk circa 1911 or post-bop or sweet melodies or naughty calypso, rocking salsa, or deep Cuban music.

He has elegance, taste, and wit, but isn’t pretentious in person or in his music.

I first heard him in 2006, at The Cajun, but millions of people have heard him singing and playing on the soundtrack of MIDNIGHT IN PARIS — for which he won a Grammy. Virtue rewarded, I think.

All these nice — and true — words are because a friend pointed out Conal’s new website, which is nicely designed and worth a visit.  I’m waiting for the next Conal Fowkes CD, which I hope will come soon.

May your happiness increase!

JO JONES, HERO

Energy. Ready, alert, masterful.  Focused, intent, ready to explode. Rhythm embodied. Ferocious, delicate.  Precise, abandoned.

Jo Jones comp.

Thanks to Sonny McGown for this photograph. Thanks to Jo Jones for undying beauties of sound, of passion, of wit.

May your happiness increase!

THE TEACHINGS OF CHARLES ELLSWORTH RUSSELL (PRICE 50 CENTS)

Thanks to my sharp-eyed friend Andrew Jon Sammut*, I am now in possession of this Ancient Writ, the inexpensive pages a beguiling yellow. Its owner loved, used, and admired it: as the creases and fingermarks on the back show.

CHAUTAUQUA, LAURA SMITH, SAN DIEGO, PWR 056

It allows us another way to experience — perhaps at a distance — the legerdemain of Pee Wee Russell.

Those of us who revere certain musicians know enough to be mildly suspicious of these folios.  The more idiosyncratic a musician’s style, the less likely it could be reproduced as a series of notes on paper.  Also, the  “method books” that propose to be presenting solos performed by our heroes are often untrustworthy.  Did Dave Tough or Cliff Edwards ever sit down to create the books that bear their imprimatur?

Apparently many famous “name” musicians were paid to come to a  studio to record one-chorus solos on songs owned / published by Feist.  The recorded solos were then transcribed and clarinet players (for instance) could have something they could read, study, copy, emulate. Some of this information is hypothesis; some of it is supported by the issuing, years ago (on one of Bozy White’s SHOESTRING vinyl records) of choruses recorded by Bunny Berigan for just this purpose.  The pioneers in such endeavors were Red Nichols and Louis Armstrong.

This folio is not dated, but the one-page introduction refers to Pee Wee’s work with Eddie Condon, Bobby Hackett, and Bud Freeman, so I would place it no earlier than 1938 and perhaps more into the very early Forties. Whether it was connected to Charles Peterson’s famous photograph of Russell in LIFE I cannot say, but he surely was enjoying sufficient fame — as the antidote to Goodman and Shaw, perhaps? — to be awarded such an honor.

I am struck by how very uncomfortable Russell looks in his photograph: needing a haircut (or is it the shadow of the bright flashbulb?) and without a mustache. Perhaps the recordings were done in the morning, which might make any jazz musician look haunted, despairing:

CHAUTAUQUA, LAURA SMITH, SAN DIEGO, PWR 058

And the main event:

CHAUTAUQUA, LAURA SMITH, SAN DIEGO, PWR 057

I haven’t had the time even to try that on the piano, but it strikes me as quite simple — for the student clarinetist — one of those muttering-around-the-melody first choruses Russell loved so.  How would the transcriber have notated the growls and surreal arching sounds that Pee Wee made?  (Think of SERENADE TO A SHYLOCK, for example.) I don’t know, and perhaps it is best that the attempt was not made.

Here’s something that would elude all but the most subtle transcriber, Pee Wee’s solo (beginning at 1:30) on the 1936 Louis Prima CROSS PATCH, a marvel of sound:

To return to the All-Star Series of Modern Rhythm Choruses (ask for that at your local music shop in one breath!) I think it plausible that after Charles Ellsworth Russell recorded ten one-chorus solos, and was given (let us hope) fifty dollars at least in cash, he never thought of his morning in the studios again. But we, now, have another little sliver of Russell to consider into the twenty-first century.

I plan to pack this book with my clarinet — which I used to play quite amateurishly and now perhaps will sound even worse — to take to California. Whether my squeaks and moans will be my own or Russellian, I can’t say. But perhaps I can be inspired by his courage.

*Andrew wrote his own marvelous post on the Feist folio created by Buster Bailey here. As you’ll see, my effort above is what jazz critics would call “derivative” and “imitative”; I call it homage to an inspiring friend who is on the same path. And this post is for Stan Zenkov, another inspirer!

May your happiness increase!

BASIE SAYS YES

Miles Davis has often been quoted as saying, “All the musicians should get together one certain day and get down on their knees and thank Duke.”

I would never disagree with this. I don’t wish to set up any competition, but I think everyone should give thanks to Count Basie — and not just once. And not just musicians, either.

It is fashionable, still, to affect hipness, and that is not limited to people under 30. And some intriguing theoretician has suggested that the qualities we praise as hip — subtlety, originality, a wry way of perceiving the world — were exemplified by Lester Young before Kerouac and the Beats took them as their own. I like this theory, although what Pres would have made of a Williamsburg or Berkeley or Portland hipster is not known.

But I would propose Basie as the original Parent of many virtues we prize. Singularity, although a loving reverence for one’s ancestors (as in Basie’s affectionate nods to Fats Waller), an awareness that joy and sorrow are not only wedded but interdependent (that the blues are at the heart of everything), and a deep emotional commitment to swinging one’s way through life.  Swinging, as embodied by Basie, his peers and their descendants, meant the maximum of grace with the minimum of visible labor.  The style later exemplified by Astaire with a Kansas City world-view. Passion and fun, no less powerful for being streamlined to their essentials. His playing and his approach have been characterized and parodied as “minimalist,” but I think of it more as a Thoreau-inspired simplicity. Don’t need that note, do we? Let it be implied. Unheard melodies and all that. How Basie knew what he knew is beyond us, but the evidence is there for us to hear.

Here’s an audible example of what Basie did. And does:

That’s one of four tracks from the 1939 Chicago session, issued in the Seventies as “Basie’s Bad Boys”: Buck Clayton, Shad Collins, trumpets; Dan Minor, trombone (audibly?), Lester Young, tenor saxophone; Basie, piano; Freddie Green, guitar; Walter Page; string bass; Jo Jones, drums. Yes, the studio sound is foggy and dense, but the music just flies and smiles and rocks.

These thoughts are provoked by two photographs for sale on eBay — from the Frank Driggs Collection (each one for three hundred dollars plus) — of Basie and his colleagues and friends in 1941 and 1943.  Lester had leapt out, but they seemed to be doing fine on their own.  Here’s a rehearsal session at the New York studio of Columbia Records. They are apparently listening to a playback.  Details first:

BASIE IN THE STUDIO 1941 true front

The front:

COUNT BASIE REHEARSAL 1941

What I notice first, always (this is a photograph often reproduced but also often cropped) is Basie’s dreamily unfocused expression which might be deep concentration.  Jo’s nearly angry attentiveness, his thinness (that protruding Adam’s apple), his full head of hair and tidy mustache.  Walter Page’s substantial girth. The handkerchief not quite tucked away in his back pocket.  The way his vest is strained by what’s in it.  The height of Jo’s beautiful trousers, and his suspenders.  The way Page (casually?) is listening to what handsome Buck Clayton is playing.  How beautifully everyone is dressed, in an era before jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, and knapsacks.

And a more formal pose, 1943, where cake predominates:BASIE'S BIRTHDAY 1942 back

Jimmy Rushing steals the show, and all eyes are on him (although Buck is somewhat quizzical and Basie — aware of the photographer — doesn’t turn around; Jo’s smile is world-weary).  What, I must know, is Rushing saying to that forkful? “Sent for you yesterday and here you come today,” perhaps? Or “Tell me, pretty baby, how you want your lovin’ done”?  Or perhaps the plainer, “I am going to EAT YOU ALL UP!” 

BASIE'S BIRTHDAY 1942 front

I chose to title this posting BASIE SAYS YES because I believe he always did. Although Basie spent his life “playing the blues,” his approach to them was always life-affirming.  Even on the darkest dirge, there is a slight grin. “Look how sad I can make this music sound.  Isn’t it a lot of fun to play such sad music?”

Cool, swinging, affirmative.  We could follow him, a Sage, for life-lessons.

May your happiness increase! 

ON THE MOVE (WITH THE SAME SUPERB MUSIC): WELCOME THE ALLEGHENY JAZZ FESTIVAL 2014!

I just found out that the September weekend jazz extravaganza I’ve been calling “Jazz at Chautauqua” for the last nine years is on the move to a new city.  The reasons are too complex for me: I’m just a simple fellow with a tripod, a camera, and a notebook.  But I know the results will be good!

However, the same stellar musicians will find themselves in a congenial place on September 19 – 21, 2014, for the ALLEGHENY JAZZ FESTIVALunder the very generous and astute leadership of Nancy Hancock Griffith, a good and trusted friend of the late Joe Boughton.

Visit www.alleghenyjazz.org to find out what’s happening.  I will keep you posted as soon as I know specifics.  Tell your friends who don’t live through the computer!  And if tell the Allegheny Jazz folks your contact information, you would be assured of getting the news while it is like the music, which is to say hot.

Speaking of hot: how about Andy Schumm, cornet; Dan Levinson, reeds; John Sheridan, piano; Kerry Lewis, string bass; Pete Siers, drums (with a visit from Dan Block on the final song):

OH BABY! (the Wolverines’ song, not the later one):

A SAILBOAT IN THE MOONLIGHT (for Billie and Lester):

RUSSIAN LULLABY:

SWEETHEARTS ON PARADE (more a romp than a stately procession):

I’ll see you at the ALLEGHENY JAZZ FESTIVAL next September 19-21, wherever it finds itself.

May your happiness increase!

KEEP AN IDEALISTIC POINT OF VIEW

Very good advice from Charles LaVere, delivered with sweet sincerity by Jack Teagarden:

I know I am name-dropping here, but (as a born hero-worshiper, it might be permitted me).  I have been in the entirely exalted company of my heroes — Becky Kilgore, Dan Barrett, Paolo Alderighi, Randy Porter  — for a recording session, a club date at Ivories, and a concert at Classic Pianos (here in frosty Portland, OR).

Dan Barrett began to play this song — IT’S ALL IN YOUR MIND — on the piano and we both worked our way through the lyrics, Dan leading the way.

What other song has the words KEEP AN IDEALISTIC POINT OF VIEW in it, expressed with such tenderness and optimism?  (And it’s not jokey — “keep your sunny side up” — but secure in the faith that rescue is possible, that good things come to those who are on the path meant for them.)

I hope the world is never heavy on your heart . . . but perhaps learning this song will be a good spiritual probiotic just in case.  Blessings on La Vere, Teagarden, Kilgore, Barrett, Alderighi, Porter, and my new Portland friends. Their love — expressed in music and other ways — makes it easier to keep my idealistic point of view, to float hope on the waves of change.

P.S.  The “Classic Jazz at Classic Pianos” concert is happening tonight — doors open at 7 PM.  That still leaves a good deal of time for people to get there . . . music that will make the heart light!

May your happiness increase!

“YOU”: BECKY KILGORE, DAN BARRETT, HARRY ALLEN, ROSSANO SPORTIELLO at JAZZ AT CHAUTAUQUA (September 20, 2013)

Thinking about the concert that Becky Kilgore, Dan Barrett, and Paolo Alderighi are giving this Thursday, December 5, 2013, at Classic Pianos in Portland, Oregon, brought this marvel to mind — a romp through Walter Donaldson’s love-song-in-swing YOU performed by Becky, Dan, Rossano Sportiello, and Harry Allen at the 2013 Jazz at Chautauqua:

Yes, YOU!  Come say hello on Thursday.

May your happiness increase! 

DON’T MISS THIS! BECKY, DAN, and PAOLO: “CLASSIC JAZZ AT CLASSIC PIANOS” in PORTLAND, OREGON (Thursday, December 5, 2013)

Mildred Bailey once sang, “If you miss me, you’ll be missing the Acme Fast Freight.”  I don’t know enough about railroad / steam train mythology to even pretend to interpret the seriousness of that metaphor, but I do know this.

On Thursday, December 5, in Portland, Oregon, a remarkable small jazz happening is going to take place at Classic Pianos: a concert by the peerless singer Rebecca Kilgore, trombone / cornet master / arranger / composer / singer Dan Barrett, and pianist Paolo Alderighi.  

This trio will be performing songs that will appear on their next CD.  Classic Pianos (the space) is an intimate room and a good number of tickets have already been sold.  

If this sounds to some like more JAZZ LIVES shameless sleeve-tugging, you can take it as such if you choose.  But if three of the finest musicians now improvising were going to give a quiet concert . . . and you found out only when it was over, wouldn’t you be annoyed?

So I am trying to save you such irksome moments of kicking yourself (always a nasty business, whether you connect or not) and encourage you, if you live within reach of 3003 SE Milwaukie Ave, Portland, Oregon 97202, to join in on the pleasure.  From what I have heard, this concert will sell out.  The doors open at 7 PM; the concert begins at 7:30 PM.  Tickets are $15 apiece (less than a CD) and can be purchased online here.

And here is the Facebook page for the event.  And an Event it is.  If I have to explain to JAZZ LIVES readers who Miss Kilgore, Mister Barrett, and Mister Alderighi are . . . some of you have not been taking proper notes!

This version of the Rebecca Kilgore Trio is making a rare Portland appearance, but any appearance by these three inventive musicians is a delight.  Rebecca calls Portland home, but Paolo has traveled from Milan and Dan from southern California for this.  (Me, I have traveled from New York by way of Novato and San Diego but I would not miss this concert.)

Paolo has performed all over the world and is admired by many jazz greats including Ken Peplowski and Bucky Pizzarelli.  He is an astonishing musician, as I have written here.  Dan Barrett has been amazing and reassuring us since the late Seventies — with Benny Goodman, Ruby Braff, Howard Alden, Scott Hamilton, Rosemary Clooney, Joe Bushkin, Buck Clayton and Bobby Short. Rebecca was a wellspring of sweet swinging melody when I first heard her at the end of the last century and she keeps getting finer.  Usually she’s at Carnegie Hall or in Europe: this is a rare chance to catch this trio in a small quiet room, making small-group swing music come alive with love and wit.

For more information, contact Peggie Zackery at Classic Pianos:

Phone: (503) 546-5622 or Email: peggie@classicportland.com

May your happiness increase!