Monthly Archives: April 2020

EDDY DAVIS, PRESENT TENSE (1940-2020), Part Three — AT THE EAR INN with ORANGE KELLIN, SCOTT ROBINSON, CONAL FOWKES, JON-ERIK KELLSO, DAN BLOCK

Eddy Davis at ScienSonic Laboratories

Eddy Davis was a stubborn fellow — he did what he wanted to, but more important, he would not budge from what he had in mind.  (I speak from experience.)  So Eddy refuses to go away, which is a wonderful thing.

Here is the third part of my delighted-yet-grieving evocation of him: a session from The Ear Inn on June 3, 2012.  The Ear was darker than usual (hence the yellow graininess of the image so that you and I could see as well as hear) but the brilliant music is nearly blinding.  The details, and the music, below, as I offered them in September 2012.  The first part of my series can be found here; the second part here.  I have one more session to offer, from even more years ago.  But love and joy and loss are not bound by clocks.

Eight years ago, I first visited the Cajun Restaurant in the West Village (that’s Greenwich Village, New York) on Eighth Avenue.  It had been around for a long time, but it was known as the only place that still featured “traditional jazz,” however one defined the term, seven nights and two afternoons a week.*

A regular attraction was the Wednesday night band — a compact unit led by banjoist / singer / composer Eddy Davis, and dubbed by him late in its run WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM.  Most often, the instrumentation was Conal Fowkes, string bass; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet, and Eddy — four players with a strong lyrical streak who could also make a bandstand seem wildly hot in the tradition of the Bechet-Spanier Big Four or Soprano Summit on an uptempo outchorus.

THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene — a Wednesday night.

Since the regular Wednesday night gig ended, this band has gotten together for musical reunions — although not as often as its fans and partisans would like.  Thus, I was thrilled to learn that Eddy, Conal, Orange, and Scott would be “the EarRegulars” on Sunday, June 3, 2012, at The Ear Inn.  And I present some of the frankly magical results herein.

Eddy would not be insulted, I think, if I called his approach “quirky,” and his whimsical view of the musical spectrum colors and uplifts the band.  Another leader might have stuck to the predictable dozen “New Orleans” or “trad” standards, but not Eddy.  His musical range, affections, and knowledge are broad — he approaches old songs in new ways and digs up “new” ones that get in the groove deeply.  He knows how to set rocking tempos and his colleagues look both happy and inspired.  In addition, Eddy writes lyrics — homespun rather than sleek — for some classic jazz tunes, and he sings them from the heart.  All of these virtues were on display at The Ear Inn — friendly, jostling, witty solos and ensembles, and performances that took their time to scrape the clouds.

The melody for BABY, YOU’RE THE BEST might be elusive for some, but it has deep roots — Lil Hardin Armstrong’s TWO DEUCES, which Eddy has turned into a love song and the band has turned into a down-home West Village classic:

TWO-A-DAY is one of Eddy’s favorite obscure songs — a Jerry Herman number praising a kind of vaudeville bill (and time and place) from the ill-starred musical MACK AND MABEL, charting the lives and times of Mack Sennett and Mabel Normand.  When Eddy sings lyrics about the “atomic age,” Scott emphasizes the point through his distinctive space-age attire:

POTATO HEAD BLUES, with jaunty lyrics and wondrous playing.  All for you, Louis:

I DON’T WANT TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE needs no introduction — recalling the Ink Spots and their sweet lovemaking on Decca Records:

Jon-Erik Kellso, Hot Man Supreme, came into The Ear Inn after another gig — hence the formal wear — sat down, and joined the band for a calypso-infused THE BUCKET’S GOT A HOLE IN IT.  Maybe this bucket was full of Red Stripe beer?:

At the start of THANKS A MILLION, you’ll notice an empty chair next to Orange — soon to be filled by the illustrious Dan Block on bass clarinet, with Scott switching over to one of his taragotas, or taragoti — which he’d first taken out for POTATO HEAD BLUES:

STRUTTIN’ WIH SOME BARBECUE, complete with verse:

And the session closed with Eubie Blake’s lovely affirmation, LOVE WILL FIND A WAY, taken at a strolling medium tempo:

P.S.  This session happened in the beginning of June and has only emerged three months later — no reflection on the splendid heartfelt music, but because of some small technical difficulties . . . now happily repaired.

*At the end of July 2006, The Cajun closed after a twenty-eight year run — to make way for a faceless high-rise apartment building.  When I find myself on Eighth Avenue and Sixteenth Street, I try not to search the spot where it once was.  It was a flawed paradise, but we miss it.

Early on in this post, you can see Barbara Rosene’s painting of The Cajun.  Barbara, as you know, is also a very personal singer — heartfelt and tender.  It was in this incarnation that I first met her, and she knew Eddy before I did.  Here are her feelings about him:

Eddy Davis.

He welcomed me on the stage of The Cajun with Conal Fowkes, Debbie Kennedy, Scott Robinson, Simon Wettenhall and a myriad of other players and singers. I never wanted to be anywhere else on Wednesday nights. I would often sing “My Foolish Heart” which was a favorite of my Mom’s and I later realized was a favorite of Eddy’s. He was always so pleased when someone knew something other than the “regular” tunes. He would play “Artificial Flowers,” a Bobby Darin hit, or a Jerry Herman tune. There were no rules. Just good songs.

A few of us worked on a play that he had written for a while and we would do read-throughs at his apartment. One particular time I was late, having just gone through an emotional goodbye with someone we all knew, and he gave me a fatherly hug and an expression of understanding that made me know how much he cared for me. It floored me. This depth of feeling and understanding certainly came out in his music, but not always one on one, so it was very meaningful to me. About this same time he arranged for me to sit in at the Carlyle with Woody Allen for a couple of different nights. He would just gesture for me to come up and sing a chorus without any fanfare. I remember doing “One Sweet Letter From You.” He knew how much this meant to me. If he could give someone an opportunity, he did so with joy and without thought of compensation.

I also loved that he was from Indiana. We were small town midwesterners in Manhattan. He reminded me of the people I had grown up with. We talked the same language. My parents would have liked him. I will miss him terribly. He taught me so much.

May your happiness increase.

EDDY DAVIS, PRESENT TENSE (1940-2020), Part Two — AT THE EAR INN with JON-ERIK KELLSO, JENS “JESSE” LINDGREN, and JAY RATTMAN

Eddy Davis at ScienSonic Laboratories

Let us begin with beautiful perceptive words from Jon-Erik Kellso:

Eddy Davis passed away. I’m trying to wrap my head around this fact.

In a week of many heartbreaking losses to the music community, this one hits closest to home for me. I’ve been playing with Eddy since I moved to New York thirty years ago, including a weekly steady for several of those years.

Eddy enriched so many people’s lives; he loved to perform, and loved connecting with the audience and with musicians. The unabashed, unbridled joy he bubbled over with when making music was infectious (pardon my choice of word, I just can’t think of a better way to describe it).

I learned many songs from Eddy, often on the fly, on the bandstand. He loved playing and singing songs in a stream of consciousness flow, as he knew an incredible amount of songs, in ALL styles. He loved encouraging musicians to jump in and pick them up by ear, often calling out the chord names *while* singing and playing the off-the-beaten-path song. Talk about multi-tasking!

He once told me that he tried to compose music *every* day. He wrote a lot of terrific music, jazz, show tunes, Brazilian style, all kinds. He wrote lyrics to older instrumental songs by Ellington, Armstrong, and others.

He was a wonderful player, singer, bandleader, and storyteller. He led a very full and fascinating life, which included leading the Eddy Davis New Orleans Jazz Band (featuring Woody Allen on clarinet) for decades.

Like many of my musical heroes and mentors, he did not suffer fools gladly. He was very opinionated, but also very generous, encouraging, kind and fun-loving.  He simply could not contain his passion for traditional jazz and the Great American Songbook, and that came out in his tremendous rhythmic drive, and in his ability to spur on any band he was in to greater heights than they knew they could achieve.

Miss you already, Edgy (one of many nicknames he had, including “the Manhattan Minstrel,” and “Greenmeat”)!
Thanks a million! 🍻🪕🎤🎺🎼🎶🎵🔥💯

– Lead Boy (his nickname for me, as he loved the way I play the lead in a traditional jazz ensemble, I’m proud to say)

For those of you who didn’t know of Eddy’s moving to another neighborhood, I invite you to read about it here (a post which contains previously unseen videos and a heartfelt essay by Scott Robinson).

And I can present one of my musical meetings with Eddy — they didn’t happen often enough, but they were always memorable.  This one took place at the Ear Inn (326 Spring Street) where the Blessed EarRegulars played every Sunday night since summer 2007 — and where they will reassemble again, soon, I hope.

For this session, the four heroes are Eddy, banjo, vocal; Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Jay Rattman, bass saxophone; Jens “Jesse” Lindgren, trombone, vocal. My notes tell me that this happened on December 27, 2015.  But it’s right now. Here are two beauties from that night.

W.C. Handy’s adaptation of a folk melody or a hymn, HESITATING BLUES, with an earnest vocal by Eddy and a vocalized solo by Jon through his glass mute:

And here’s Jesse’s version of the lovely song PLEASE (Leo Robin – Ralph Rainger) forever associated with Bing Crosby:

May your happiness increase!

“DOING THINGS RIGHT”: EDDY DAVIS, PRESENT TENSE (1940-2020)

Eddy Davis — that bright light, never very far from his banjo, always ready to propel the band, to play the proper chords, to uplift everyone with song — one that he wrote or a venerable classic — moved on after his illness yesterday afternoon.  My title for this post is because I think it will never be possible for me to think of him as was.

Eddy Davis and Conal Fowkes, Cafe Bohemia, Dec. 26, 2019.

Although I witnessed him in all his splendor over fifteen years, I didn’t get to know him in the way I might have others whom I saw and spoke to more regularly.  So in Eddy’s case, the music — eloquent, subtle, brightly-colored —  will speak for him here.  The last time I saw him was December 26, 2019, at Cafe Bohemia in Greenwich Village, where he was one-fourth of that night’s swinging quartet: Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Evan Arntzen, reeds and vocal; Conal Fowkes, string bass and vocal.  I’ve presented a hot performance from that evening here.

And now, with more complicated emotions, I offer the first three performances of that night.  They start off easily — I think of the way musicians feel the pulse of the room, get used to their instruments (even if it’s only been a day since they were last playing), take the  measure of their friends on the stand.  But don’t underestimate this music: I think of spicy cuisine that initially tastes tame but then after a few spoonfuls, you realize just how hot it is.

BOGALUSA STRUT:

and some basic math — doin’ things right:

and a dream of the place where they make you welcome all the time:

I will devote the next few days to honoring the sly, expert, exuberant Eddy — through performances I captured and through the recollections of others who were at closer range . . . who were playing rather than behind a camera.  He remains is.

And someone I respect deeply, Scott Robinson, has written this tender essay about Eddy, which I offer to you here:

I’ve just lost one of the dearest friends I’ve ever had in music. Eddy Davis was a highly significant and influential presence in my life. He was a fiercely individualistic performer… a veteran of the old Chicago days when music was hot, joyful, exuberant and unselfconscious. A character and a curmudgeon, who could hold court for hours after the gig. And a loving mentor who helped younger musicians like myself learn and grow in this music.

I had only played with Eddy a handful of times when he called me in late 1998 to say that he was forming a new band to fill a weekly Wednesday spot at the Cajun on 8th Avenue. He wanted me to play lead on C melody saxophone, in a little group with two reeds, and no drums. This by itself gives a clue to what an original thinker he was.

I already knew that Eddy was a proficient and highly individualistic stylist on the banjo, who sounded like no one else. What I didn’t know, but soon found out, was that this man was also a walking repository of many hundreds if not thousands of tunes of every description, ranging far beyond the standard repertoire… with a fascinating background story at the ready for nearly every one. I quickly learned that he was also a prolific and idiosyncratic composer himself, with a wonderfully philosophical work ethic: write original music every day, keep what works, and throw the rest away without a backward glance.

Eddy was also what used to be called a “character”: affable, opinionated, hilarious, and irascible all in one, and above all highly passionate about music. What I learned over the ensuing 7 ½ years in Eddy’s little band, I cannot begin to describe. I came to refer to those regular Wed. sessions as my “doctor’s appointment” — for they fixed whatever ailed me, and provided the perfect antidote to the ills of the world, and of the music scene. Over the years we were graced with the presence of some very distinguished musicians who came by and sat in with us, including Harry Allen, Joe Muranyi, Bob Barnard, Howard Johnson, and Barry Harris.

Eddy was generous with his strong opinions, with his knowledge and experience, and with his encouragement. But he was a generous soul in other ways as well. When he heard that I was building a studio (my “Laboratory”), he had me come by the apartment and started giving me things out of his closets. A Roland 24-track recorder… three vintage microphones… instruments… things that I treasure, and use every single day of my life. When my father turned 75, Eddy came out to New Jersey and played for him, and wouldn’t take a dime for it.

When I got the call today that Eddy had passed — another victim of this horrible virus that is ruining so many lives, and our musical life as well — I hung up the phone and just cried. Later I went out to my Laboratory, and kissed every single thing there that he had given to me. How cruel to lose such an irreplaceable person… killed by an enemy, as my brother commented, that is neither visible nor sentient.

THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene –a Wednesday night.

One night at the Cajun stands out in my memory, and seems particularly relevant today. It was the night after the last disaster that changed New York forever: the World Trade Center attack. There was a pall over the city, the air was full of dust, and there was a frightful, lingering smell. “What am I doing here?” I thought. “This is crazy.” But somehow we all made our way to the nearly empty club. We were in a state of shock; nobody knew what to say. I wondered if we would even be able to play. We took the stage, looked at each other, and counted off a tune. The instant the first note sounded, I was overcome with emotion and my face was full of tears. Suddenly I understood exactly why we were there, why it was so important that we play this music. We played our hearts out that night — for ourselves, for our city, and for a single table of bewildered tourists, stranded in town by these incomprehensible events. They were so grateful for the music, so comforted by it.

The simple comfort of live music has been taken from us now. We must bear this loss, and those that will surely follow, alone… shut away in our homes. I know that when the awful burden of this terrible time has finally been lifted, when we can share music, life, and love again, it will feel like that night at the Cajun. My eyes will fill, my heart will sing, and the joy that Eddy Davis gave me will be with me every time I lift the horn to my face, for as long as I live.

Scott Robinson

Eddy Davis at ScienSonic Laboratories

May your happiness increase!

TELL MARIE KONDO: THIS SPARKS JOY! REGINALD FORESYTHE, 1935

Maybe everyone has already repented of their Marie Kondo-obsession (I hope you didn’t throw out something or someone you now miss terribly) but I thought of her criterion for keeping an object: did it “spark joy” or not?  The music that follows does for me.

If people recognize Foresythe at all, it might be from his compositions recorded by others — SERENADE TO A WEALTHY WIDOW by Fats Waller, DEEP FOREST by Earl Hines, less so for his own orchestral work which looks forward to the Alec Wilder Octet and perhaps backwards to Spike Hughes’ 1933 compositions.  He was a truly fascinating individual, as I’ve learned from Terry Brown’s splendid biographical essay, the first part of which is published        here.  I haven’t been able to find the second part online.

Some months ago, I saw this intriguing 78 rpm disc for sale on a record colletors’ site — at a pleasingly affordable price — and holding to the philosophical principle of “What could possibly go wrong?” I bought it, played it, and was instantly smitten.

I’d heard and seen the New York Jazz Repertory Company in 1974 and onwards reproduce Louis’ solos scored by Dick Hyman for three trumpets; Earl Hines had recorded BEAU KOO JACK in 1929, and there are numerous examples of homages to famous solos — particularly Bix’s — recorded years later, but this is a wonderfully unusual homage — six reeds, three rhythm, playing every note of Louis’s solo on CHINATOWN (personnel thanks to Gary Turetsky): REGINALD FORESYTHE and His Orchestra: Cyril Clarke, Dick Savage (cl), Jimmy Watson, Harry Carr (as), Eddie Farge (ts), J. L. Brenchley (bsn), Reginald Foresythe (p, a), Don Stuteley (b), Jack Simpson (dr). London 19 July 1935:

Jon De Lucia was also taken with this record, and has promised to write it out for saxophone ensemble: I look forward to the day when I can hear it live. Until then, spin this more than once and enjoy the joy-sparks: more fun than bare shelves and empty clothes-hangers, no?

May your happiness increase!

AN HOUR OF JOY WITH EDDIE ERICKSON and FRIENDS at the JAZZ BASH BY THE BAY: DANNY TOBIAS, KATIE CAVERA, GARY RYAN, JERRY KRAHN (March 6, 2020)

In one of those curious episodes of dislocation we all take for granted (read Philip K. Dick’s “The Eyes Have It”) my ears met Eddie Erickson long before the rest of me caught up.  Perhaps I first heard him on recordings with Dan Barrett, Rebecca Kilgore, Melissa Collard?  I know we met in Germany in 2007 for one of Manfred Selchow’s concert weekends, and a few years later, in California.  More to the point: I saw him, to my great delight, at the Jazz Bash by the Bay in March of this year.

Those who know Eddie only superficially categorize him as a dazzling vaudevillian — someone who, had he been born earlier, would have starred in Vitaphone short films and on Broadway — a natural comedian, a banjo virtuoso, a walking compendium of lovable entertainment.  I think of his performances of MY CANARY HAS CIRCLES UNDER HIE EYES and the dreadful honeymoon night of SIDE BY SIDE.  But he goes much deeper.  I celebrate the other Eddie: the swinging guitarist whose solos make sense, and, perhaps most of all, the very touching ballad singer.  And were you to visit my YouTube channel,  “swingyoucats”, you would find that I’ve been documenting Eddie’s multi-faceted self for nearly a decade now.

But that’s history of a very delightful kind, which I plan to add to right now.  What follows is a set of music performed on March 6, 2020, at the Jazz Bash by the Bay in Monterey, California, under the title “Eddie Erickson and Friends.”  Strictly speaking, that was inaccurate, because if all of Eddie’s friends had assembled at 7:39 in the Colton Room, all the other rooms would have been empty and the fire marshals would have been called.  So it was “and Friends who are Expert Musicians,” which meant Jerry Krahn, guitar; Katie Cavera, string bass and vocal; Danny Tobias, trumpet and Eb alto horn; Gary Ryan, banjo and vocal; Kathy Becker, attendant to the Emperor.

Two details to point out before you dive in.  Ordinarily, I would edit the pre-song conversation and getting-ready more seriously, but in Eddie’s case, his asides are precious, so what you have here is as close to the full hour as my camera would allow.  (I lost a few notes of ALWAYS, but you can imagine what was left out.)  And ordinarily I would not post ten performances at one time, but I envision people — needing more joy and uplift right now — setting aside an hour to visit with Eddie, to savor the joy they might not have been able to have when it was happening.  So . . . stop multi-tasking and enjoy, please.

After an introduction that hints at ZONKY, Eddie heads into BLUE SKIES:

What would a jazz festival be without a belated coronation?

Gary Ryan keeps working at it, in honor of the National Pastime:

When skies are cloudy and gray . . . we can always think of Eddie:

Katie Cavera’s saucy feature, I BET YOU TELL THAT TO ALL THE GIRLS:

Louis, 1947 — SOMEDAY YOU’LL BE SORRY:

Jerry Krahn’s pretty IF I HAD YOU:

A banjo Ecstasy for Messrs. Erickson and Ryan, THE WORLD IS WAITING FOR THE SUNRISE, with a little Prokofiev at the start and some NOLA:

Something to change the mood, Danny Tobias’ ST. JAMES INFIRMARY:

Eddie’s heartfelt version of Berlin’s ALWAYS:

And a closing romp on Hoagy’s JUBILEE:

What a treasure Eddie is!

May your happiness increase!

BUD (Part Two, November 26, 1988)

Here’s the second part of our vision of Bud Freeman — uniquely swinging tenor saxophonist, raconteur, a singular stylist for more than six decades before this appearance (from the Manassas Jazz Festival, introduced by Johnson “Fat Cat” McRee).

The first part can be found here — with Al Stevens, Marty Grosz, Johnny WIlliams, Johnny Blowers.  For this set, it’s Bud with Larry Eanet, piano; Steve Jordan, rhythm guitar; Johnny Williams, string bass; Johnny Blowers, drums.

And the roadmap or menu is: ‘S’WONDERFUL / story about Benny Goodman and Hank D’Amico / SUNDAY / Bud praises Johnny Blowers and tells a joke and remembers George Gershwin / THE MAN I LOVE / a John Barrymore story / THREE LITTLE WORDS / a story about Eddie Condon //

Another view of the great man, courtesy of jgautographs on eBay:

Bud is worth everyone’s closer investigation.  Thanks to Joe Shepherd for his sustaining generosities.

May your happiness increase!

“WOLVERINE BLUES”: WEATHERBIRD JAZZ BAND (BENT PERSSON, KAJ SIFVERT, TOMAS ORNBERG, ULF JOHANSSON WERRE, GORAN LIND, GORAN ERIKSSON, SIGGE DELLERT)

My dear jazz friend Christophe from Lugano, who happily answers to the sobriquet “Swiss Kriss” just sent me a present, a video-performance by the Weatherbird Jazz Band of Mister Morton’s WOLVERINE BLUES, which he asks that I share with you, as an antidote to isolation.  (The photograph below is from the cover of their Stomp Off Records lp, which may still be available through that company.  Inquire here.

The Weatherbirds (named for that famous Louis-Earl duet) flourished about forty years ago, but many of their members are thriving and continuing to make music — chief of them being Bent Persson, trumpet, who is also a Louis scholar making black marks on the page come alive.  You’ll hear it in his second solo chorus, which is his interpretation of a chorus Louis played that was notated in 1927 for the “Fifty Hot Choruses” folio.

But here’s some hot music!  The other Birds are Sigge Dellert, drums; Goran Eriksson, banjo; Goran Lind, string bass; Ulf Johansson Werre, piano; Tomas Ornberg, reeds; Kaj Sifvert, trombone.  And here they are, making music and raising our collective spirits:

This post is also for Laura Wyman, who knows all about being a Wolverine.  And there will be more music from this terrific band to come.

May your happiness increase!

SPREADING JOY IN PHILADELPHIA with MARTY GROSZ, DANNY TOBIAS, RANDY REINHART, SCOTT ROBINSON, DAN BLOCK, JACK SAINT CLAIR, VINCE GIORDANO, JIM LAWLOR, BRENNAN ERNST (March 4, 2020)

On April 1, Bucky Pizzarelli left us, and he is much in my and other people’s thoughts: see here.  But as Gabriel Conroy says in Joyce’s The Dead,” referring to people we mourn, “Our path through life is strewn with many such sad memories: and were we to brood upon them always we could not find the heart to go on bravely with our work among the living.

So let us also celebrate the living who continue to uplift our spirits.

and

and

Looks like fun.  It was.

On February 28, Marty turned ninety, and on March 4, there was a party held in his honor (organized by Joe Plowman and Jim Gicking) at the World Cafe Live — in conjunction with the publication of Marty’s autobiography, IT’S A SIN TO TELL A LIE (Golden Alley Press, thanks to Nancy J. Sayre) — which I’ve described here.  Excellent reading material for those rediscovering books these days!

Marty’s glowering expression on the cover says, “You can listen to music for free, but buy the book, for Chrissake!”

But back to the music.  The World Cafe Live was sold out, the audience was happy and attentive, and Marty enjoyed himself — he even picked up the banjo on several numbers, and here’s one (the last tune of the first set) JAZZ ME BLUES at a nice easy lope.  His colleagues for this number are Vince Giordano, bass saxophone; Jack Saint Clair, tenor saxophone; Scott Robinson, sarrusophone; Dan Block, clarinet; Brennan Ernst, piano; Jim Lawlor, drums; Randy Reinhart, trombone; Danny Tobias, trumpet:

May your happiness increase!

BUCKY (January 9, 1926 – April 1, 2020)

Bucky Pizzarelli gave so generously of his sound, his melodic intelligence, his wit, his swing.  We could be forgiven for thinking we would always have him.  Here are two versions of TRES PALABRAS from the Atlanta Jazz Party, memorable in their quiet simple intensity.

2012, solo:

2014, accompanying and supporting Rebecca Kilgore, the two of them sending messages of love and loss to an absolutely hushed room:

I’ve  headed this sad post with a photograph of Bucky laughing, because that is how I remember him on the few occasions where we got to speak.  He was joyous and he shared his joys with us.

TRES PALABRAS, translated, “Bless Bucky Pizzarelli.”

I am omitting my customary closing: there isn’t much happiness to increase.  Perhaps tomorrow?

FRED GUY, TRICKY SAM NANTON, CHANO POZO, MEADE LUX LEWIS, J.C. HIGGINBOTHAM, BABS GONZALES, ABBEY LINCOLN, SAM JONES, LEE KONITZ, KARIN KROG, JOHN LEWIS, COUSIN JOE, BUD FREEMAN, EDDIE GOMEZ, ANDY KIRK, MED FLORY, CHUBBY JACKSON, WILBUR LITTLE, HELEN HUMES, FREDDIE GREEN, TAFT JORDAN, and MANY MORE, FROM JG AUTOGRAPHS on eBay

The astonishing eBay treasure chest called jgautographs has opened its lid again.  Apparently the trove is bottomless, since the latest offering is 118 items under “jazz,” with only a few debatable entries.  “Donovan,” anyone?  But the depth and rarity and authenticity are dazzling.

Consider this Ellington collection, including Joe Nanton, Billy Taylor, Fred Guy, Juan Tizol, Johnny Hodges, Harry Carney, and the Duke himself:

The appropriate soundtrack, give or take a few years — Ellington at Fargo, 1940 with the ST. LOUIS BLUES (wait for “WHISTLE WHILE YOU WORK”):

Incidentally, someone wrote in and said, “Michael, are they paying you to do this?” and the answer is No, and that’s fine.  Imagine my pleasure at being able to share Joe Nanton’s signature with people who just might value it as I do.

Here’s Meade Lux Lewis:

And his very first Blue Note issue, from 1939, MELANCHOLY BLUES:

Taft Jordan, star of Chick Webb, Duke, and his own bands:

Taft in 1936, singing and playing ALL MY LIFE with Willie Bryant:

“Mr. Rhythm,” Freddie Green, with an odd annotation:

a 1938 solo by Freddie (with Pee Wee, James P. Dicky, Max, and Zutty):

Tyree Glenn, a veteran before he joined Louis (Cab Calloway and Duke):

Tyree’s ballad, TELL ME WHY:

The wonderful Swedish singer Karin Krog:

Karin and Bengt Hallberg, joining BLUE AND SENTIMENTAL and SENTIMENTAL AND MELANCHOLY:

The link at the top of this post will lead you to more than a hundred other marvels — the delighted surprises I will leave to you.  And as in other eBay auctions, you or I are never the only person interested in an item . . .

May your happiness increase!