A homeopathic practitioner would tell us that “like cures like”: if you’re suffering from an excess of X, take a tincture of more X. I don’t know how it works, but allium cepa works on my allergies. You heard it here first. Many people I encounter these days are unhappy as can be — for a multiplicity of reasons that I don’t need to explore here. So I offer some mournful music by Andy Schumm, clarinet; Paul Asaro, piano; John Donatowicz, banjo, performed at last year’s San Diego Jazz Fest on November 30, 2019. (This trio is a band-within-a-band from the esteemed Chicago Cellar Boys, whom I’ve praised and posted often here.) And Andy is working in and around Johnny Dodds’ choruses on the Louis Armstrong Hot Five recording — the composition is by Lil Hardin:
Feeling better? I thought not. Tune in tomorrow for more attempts at spiritual rescue.
A scholarly friend recommended Patricia A. Martin’s 2003 doctoral dissertation, THE SOLO STYLE OF JAZZ CLARINETIST JOHNNY DODDS 1923-1938 (Louisiana State University) which you can read here. She has created transcriptions and analyses of solos, erudite discussions of clarinets, comparative analysis of Dodds and Noone, and more.
But an insight on page 44 stopped me right there: Dodds was the consummate professional. Most people who knew Dodds thought of him as quiet, serious and, unlike most musicians of the time, a man who drank very little (only a little beer, according to his son John). He took care to maintain his 5′ 8″ 210 pound frame, generally looking fit and trim all in all his pictures. Dodds always considered himself first and foremost a musician. John Dodds II recollects:
Father impressed on us by his personal care (chap-preventative to his lips; wearing gloves in the cold; and dieting to avoid unsightly bulges) that his occupation was solely that of a musician!
(Martin’s source is John Dodds Jr.’s 1969 liner note to the Milestone Records issue, CHICAGO MESS AROUND.)
This character study is now incredibly relevant, not only for those of us who have gained weight during quarantine. Another collector-friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous told me of a previously unseen pocket notebook that Dodds kept. John Dodds, Jr., let the collector copy down a few relevant sentences.
What was important to the great New Orleans clarinetist? Joe Oliver’s business practice? Reed stiffness? Compositions? A gig diary?
No. Johnny Dodds was focused on was not gaining weight, staying trim. Here are some of his entries, so appropriate today.
Instead of Pie, an Apple. Instead of a Cookie, have half an Orange. Instead of a Roll, Melba Toast.
Leave space on your Plate. If you can’t see the dish, there is Too Much Food.
Half Grapefruit at every meal. Black Coffee, please. Hot Water with lemon.
“Clothes too tight? You ain’t Living Right!”
They used to say when I was a boy, “All that Gumbo making you Jumbo!”
Don’t eat just because everyone else is. Stop before getting full. Take a Walk!
Beans and Greens, our Grandparents said.
Say NO THANK YOU to Whisky, Butter, Cream, Sugar!
I am the Boss of my Stomach, my Stomach won’t tell Me what to Do.
“Don’t be afraid,” Clint says to some audience members, timidly straggling in to this session at the Jazz Bash by the Bay, and I would echo his words. I know that “seminar,” to some, will mean a dry academic exercise . . . heaven forbid, a lecture. But that isn’t the case here. Clint guides us through the subject, so I don’t have to write much, but this set is a joyous exploration into music that we take for granted, and players unjustly neglected in the rush to celebrate the newest and the most photogenic. Take your seat: the fun’s about to begin.
This dapper young man spent eight years studying Albert-system clarinet under the tutelage of Professor Baker, and you’ll hear the delicious results. (More musical than my doctoral orals.) Clint plays trumpet here; Riley Baker, trombone; Hal Smith, drums; Jeff Hamilton, piano; Katie Cavera, string bass; Bill Reinhart, Jess King, banjo.
JUST A LITTLE WHILE TO STAY HERE, for Willie Humphrey:
PERDIDO STREET BLUES, for Johnny Dodds:
ORIENTAL MAN, for Dodds and Jimmy Blythe:
JUST TELEPHONE ME, for Tom Sharpsteen and the New Orleans revival players:
WOLVERINE BLUES, for Jelly Roll Morton and his clarinetists:
ST. LOUIS BLUES, for Larry Shields and the ODJB:
BURGUNDY STREET BLUES, for George Lewis:
HIGH SOCIETY, for Alphonse Picou and all the giants who play(ed) it:
I didn’t deceive you. That was fun, and you’ve gotten some post-graduate music and education also. Hail Ryan Calloway and his bandmates, and Professor Baker!
I’ve known the multi-instrumentalist and jazz scholar Michael McQuaid for ten years now (we first met at the Whitley Bay Jazz Party, on a bus from the airport, if I remember); I just became Facebook friends with guitarist Curtis Volp. This post is to let you know about their brand-new CD — can I call it a CD if it only, for the moment, exists intangibly? — available here. There you can hear the first track for free, no obligations implied or expressed.
Some words, not mine, but right on target:
Established hot jazz authority Michael McQuaid and youthful guitar virtuoso Curtis Volp team up for a dynamic yet intimate series of duets, for no reason at all – other than musical enjoyment, of course.
The album features a surprising array of tunes from the 1920s and 30s, ranging from familiar favourites like ‘The Man I Love’ and ‘Melancholy’ to unjustly neglected gems such as ‘Forget-Me-Not’ and ‘If I Can’t Have You’.
Though inspired by the likes of Bix Beiderbecke, Johnny Dodds, Frank Trumbauer, Annette Hanshaw, Eddie Lang and Teddy Bunn, the duo achieves a fresh new sound through their warm and witty musical dialogue.
Some facts, now that you’ve figured out the personnel. The songs are THERE AIN’T NO LAND LIKE DIXIELAND TO ME / WITHOUT THAT GAL! / FOR NO REASON AT ALL IN C / MELANCHOLY / THE MAN I LOVE / LOTS O’MAMA / MOONLIGHT ON THE GANGES / BLUE RIVER / FORGET-ME-NOT / LOOKING AT THE WORLD (Thru’ Rose-Colored Glasses) / IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU / WAITING AT THE END OF THE ROAD / BECHET’S STEADY RIDER /
And another sample:
Some random observations, because it seems important to me to make the JAZZ LIVES readership aware of this music right now. I’m on my third playing, because when the “disc” ended the first time, I was shocked. “Is it over? Is that all?” which you can take as a positive endorsement.
The music is nicely varied — in tempo, in mood, in emotions and emotional associations. Several of the more morose songs (you’ll know them when you hear them) are taken a little more brightly than is conventional, but the approach works. Both Michael and Curtis are free, imaginative players, but they clearly love the melodies, so no track is a blowing exercise on the chord changes. The person who has been deep in the music for a half-century (wait, that’s me!) can find subtleties to admire, but this is also unashamedly “pretty” music that wouldn’t scare the new kitten back into the closet.
The repertoire is of a certain era, and the playing is spiritually and chronologically appropriate — there are no quotes from 1958 Rollins or Wes here — but it isn’t a museum tour, with a guard glowering at us to keep our distance and not touch the precious OKeh icons. Their approach is loving but not timid, reverent but not imitative (except in their FOR NO REASON AT ALL, which has its own little individualistic nuances). Occasionally I felt as if I’d wandered into an alternate universe of “What if?” as in “What if Tram and Lang had had a whole side to themselves to play BLUE RIVER?” Although Curtis reminds me beautifully of Salvatore Massaro, he isn’t a clone; Michael knows so many reed players so deeply that there’s no danger of him getting buckled into one cosplay suit and never being able to free himself.
I admire this session all the more because I know how risky duet improvisations are when the two musicians are in the same space, can make mutual eye contact to signal changes in the itinerary, and can prance simultaneously together. Somehow, I think watching the monitor and listening through earbuds doesn’t make it easier, and I rejoice at the warmth of their duet.
Incidentally, there are no jokes, no gimmicks, no earnest or comic vocals, but the musicians are having fun — this is a very lively jovial session, and Curtis even shouts “Yeah!” on BECHET’S STEADY RIDER. Appropriately.
This is beautiful fulfilling warm music, a real accomplishment. I think you’ll love it. I certainly do.
Kris Tokarskihas been one of my favorite solo and ensemble pianists for some years now. It can’t be “many” years, because Kris is perhaps half my age, but my admiration is not limited by the length of our acquaintance. He listens, he creates melodies, he swings, he sounds like himself, and he has a deep appreciation for the past without being chained by narrow historical definitions.
He’s recorded in a variety of settings, but here I draw your attention to two CDs of ragtime pieces done with delicacy and individuality: the first, issued in 2016 on Solo Art, paired him with drummer-scholar Hal Smith and string bassist Cassidy Holden, pleased me and others immensely: read more about it here. KINKLETS from that disc:
The second disc by Kris and Hal, now joined by bassist Joshua Gouzy, issued on Big Al Records, is called RAGTIME – NEW ORLEANS STYLE, VOLUME TWO, and it’s a real pleasure. Hear a sample for yourself here (scroll down the page through the evidence of how well Kris plays with others and on his own).
The premise is a collection of rags that Jelly Roll Morton planned to record — or would have known and played. And it’s not a fanciful vision, as Hal Smith’s solid annotations show — in 1939, Morton discussed with Roy Carew his plans to play Joplin and others in his own style, because, as he told Carew, “he didn’t know of anyone more qualified to do it than himself,” and he envisioned recording thirty or forty rags. (Oh, had he lived for another decade!)
He didn’t live to accomplish this, but we have Tokarski, Gouzy, and Smith to make the fantasy real.
I am especially fond of projects that take a gently imaginative look at the past. Let those who feel drawn to such labors reproduce recordings: the results can be dazzling. It takes decades of skill to play BIG FAT MA AND SKINNY PA and sound even remotely like the Hot Five. But even more entrancing to me is the notion of “What might have happened . . . .?” going back to my early immersion in Golden Era science fiction. An example that stays in my mind is a series of Stomp Off recordings devoted to the Johnny Dodds repertoire, with the brilliant Matthias Seuffert taking on the mantle. But the most memorable track on those discs was Porter’s YOU DO SOMETHING TO ME, a pop tune from 1929 that Dodds might well have heard or even played — rendered convincingly and joyously in his idiom. (It really does something to me.)
That same playful vision applies to this disc. It merges, ever so gently, Jelly Roll Morton and an unhackneyed ragtime repertoire, mixing piano solos and piano trio. That in itself is a delightful combination, and I replayed this disc several times in a row when I first acquired a copy.
Kris plays beautifully, with a precise yet flexible approach to the instrument and the materials. He doesn’t undercut, satirize, or “modernize”; his approach is simultaneously loving and easy. It’s evident that he has heard and absorbed the lessons of James P. Johnson and Teddy Wilson — their particular balance of propulsion and relaxation — as well as being able to read the notes on the page. He doesn’t pretend to be Morton in the way that lesser musicians have done (with Bix, Louis, Monk, and others) — cramming in every possible Mortonism over and over. What he does is imagine a Mortonian approach, but he allows himself freedom to move idiomatically, with grace and beauty, within it. And he doesn’t, in the name of “authenticity,” make rags sound stiff because they were written before Joe Oliver and Little Louis took Chicago. He’s steady, but he’s steadily gliding. His approach to the rags is neither stuffy reverence nor near-hysterical display.
He’s in good company with Josh and Hal. Many string bassists working in this idiom confuse percussiveness with strength, and they hit the fretboard violently: making the bass a victim of misplaced enthusiasm. Not Joshua, who has power and melodic wisdom nicely combined: you can listen to his lines in the trio with the delight you’d take in a great horn soloist. Every note sings, and he’s clearly there with the pulse.
As for the drummer? To slightly alter a famous Teagarden line, “If Hal don’t get it, well, forget it right now,” which is to say that Hal’s playing on this disc is a beautifully subtle, completely “living” model of how to play ensemble drums: gracious yet encouraging, supportive. He doesn’t just play the beat: he creates a responsive tapestry of luxuriant sounds.
The CD is beautifully recorded by Tim Stambaugh of Word of Mouth Studios, and the repertoire is a treat — rags I’d never heard (THE WATERMELON TRUST by Harry C. Thompson, and ROLLER SKATERS RAG by Samuel Gompers) as well as compositions by Joplin, Lamb, Scott, Turpin, Matthews, and May Aufderheide. Nothing overfamiliar but all melodic and mobile.
Here’s another sample. Kris, Joshua, and Hal are the rhythm section of Hal’s Kid Ory “On the Levee” band, and here they play May Aufderheide’s DUSTY RAG at the San Diego Jazz Fest in November 2018:
Hear what I mean? They play with conviction but their seriousness is light-hearted. Volume Two is a disc that won’t grow tired or stale. Thank you, Kris, Josh, and Hal! And Jelly, of course.
I admire the Chicago Cellar Boys immensely, as JAZZ LIVES readers have seen since their inception in 2017, and I’ve been privileged to see and hear them in person (the most recent time just a day ago at the Juvae Jazz Mini-Fest in Decatur, Illinois . . . more from that occasion soon). I also hear that their debut CD is on the way.
Their virtues are considerable. They are that most glorious entity, a working band with beautiful arrangements, hot or sweet, wonderful solo and ensemble playing. But something that may not catch the listeners’ attention quickly is the breadth of their repertoire — visible in the thick black binders brought to the stage. Every CCB set has several tunes in it that I’ve known only as obscure recordings or ones I’ve never heard at all, and when they perform a “chestnut,” it is beautifully alive in its own idiomatic shape. They are: Andy Schumm, cornet, clarinet, tenor saxophone, arrangements; John Otto, clarinet, alto saxophone; Paul Asaro, piano, vocals; Johnny Donatowicz, banjo, guitar; Dave Bock, tuba. And here are six delights from the 39th San Diego Jazz Fest, performed on November 25, 2018.
First, a charming 1929 exclamation of delight:
and something cosmological from the same year, by Phil Baxter. Feel free to sing the special aviation-themed lyrics as the Cellar Boys soar lyrically:
Here’s Andy’s superbly indefatigable reading of the Johnny Dodds showcase, LITTLE BITS:
and a reading of THE SHEIK OF ARABY that owes more to Rudolph Valentino than to Hot Lips Page, but I don’t mind at all:
I’ve already posted the two videos below, but these exercises in spontaneous combustion, Chicago-style, deserve multiple watchings. Don’t be afraid to cheer! (As I write this, the first video has been seen 591 times. One person took the trouble to “dislike” it. What a pity, Sir!) Here the youthful multi-instrumentalist Colin Hancock sits in on cornet with the Cellar Boys (Andy switches to clarinet) and the results are ferocious:
Finally, a rousing WEARY BLUES:
I promise you there will be more of the Chicago Cellar Boys “while breath lasts,” as my dear benefactor Harriet Sheehy used to say. For now, enjoy the sweet heat.
That’s the opening track of Benny’s new CD, and when the band shifts into tempo after Benny’s interlude I find myself in tears of joy.
Benny Amónis one of my heroes And hero Benny can also write.
Often I’ve felt complete awe and incredulity for my experiences playing music in the city of New Orleans. I have been incredibly fortunate to gain mentors, many of whom are featured on this recording session, who have taught me to play New Orleans traditional music with the right feeling and spirit while also encouraging me to find my own voice as a musician.
This recording session is snapshot of that journey after spending most of my 20’s living in this beautiful city. The session is comprised of some of the most treasured musicians to come from this city and some of the greatest to have moved here. This exchange of generations, of cultures, of perspectives of music and life is what has helped make this recording session so successful.
My most important mentor and collaborator over the past several years, Steve Pistorius is featured prominently on this record whether it be ragtime duets, trios with horn players, or in the 7 piece ensemble. As Wendell Brunious likes to say, Steve is the #1 interpreter of the Jelly Roll Morton style of piano. Steve contributed much by writing out good melodies and chords as well.
Speaking of Wendell Brunious, we have worked together often at Preservation Hall over the past few years. Wendell is one of the best trumpet players and entertainers in the whole world and comes from one of the most important musical families of New Orleans. He is a gem that we cannot take for granted.
Freddie Lonzo is another of the New Orleans born and raised musicians who I have been working with over the past years at Preservation Hall and also at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe. He is one of the few trombone players left who understands how to play New Orleans style tailgate trombone. His positive energy and humor is infectious, as is his singing.
Tom Fischer has been in New Orleans for longer than I have been alive and his dedication to excellence on both clarinet and alto saxophone is evident on this record.
New Orleans’ own clarinetist Tim Laughlin recorded two songs on this cd that turned out beautifully. He is one of the my first and most important mentors in New Orleans.
Tyler Thomson also known as “Twerk” by many, is absolutely on fire on this record. Bringing incredible power and solidity to the bands he plays with. He would make Pops Foster, Chester Zardis, and Alcide Louis “Slow Drag” Pavageau proud.
Alex Belhaj is a dear friend of mine who moved to New Orleans a few years ago and he is a frequent collaborator with the Riverside Jazz Collective. His fine banjo and guitar playing is featured in the 7 piece band.
Joe Goldberg is another transplant to New Orleans who has earned the respect of all the top players in both the traditional and modern jazz scenes. His clarinet and soprano saxophone playing as well as his singing is featured on a couple of songs.
As a final note I would like to add a reflection on the actual site of the recording session. George Blackmon, an old friend and excellent studio engineer moved his entire set up to the Scandinavian Jazz Church (Formerly known as the Norwegian Seamen’s Church) to record the bands. The sound he got in that beautiful old church is reminiscent of old New Orleans dance halls where the New Orleans Jazz Revival bands led by such luminaries as Bunk Johnson and George Lewis used to play and record. The Jazz Church unfortunately was sold and since has been closed down after over a 100 years of service to the New Orleans community. The Church hosted jazz concerts and jazz prayer services for decades. The Church generously allowed us to record and use their facilities free of charge. This recording, and the accompanying videos produced, will stand as a last testament to this beautiful and historically important New Orleans institution.
Most importantly, the music on this record is an authentic and timeless account of the New Orleans Jazz scene as I experienced it at this time of my life; full of life, and joy. I am proud to release this music and hope that you enjoy it!
You might think that Benny has said everything that needs to be said, but I want to add some perceptions he might be too modest to write himself. Although he turns 30 this year, he is a mature artist with large heartfelt visions and sensitivity. He is a spectacularly fine drummer. He makes beautiful sounds, he plays for “the comfort of the band,” he knows dynamics and timbres, and he swings no matter what the tempo. But he’s more than a wonderful percussionist.
Much of what is marketed as jazz these days — although it says it is inclusive — is a matter of boundaries and barriers, enacted in terms of repertoire and colleagues. “Ourselves alone,” as the Irish used to say. Benny understands the music as spacious, its boundaries easy and flexible. That doesn’t mean the new CD takes an iconoclastic approach for novelty’s sake, but it does mean that his vision of New Orleans jazz is easy and loose. There are echoes on this disc of Bunk Johnson, King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Jelly Roll Morton, Johnny Dodds, Jimmy Blythe, and Zutty Singleton — but also Eddie Condon, Billie Holiday, James P. Johnson. Sidney Bechet is in town, but it is the later rhapsodic French Bechet; the Bunk echoes are of the “Last Testament” session. I am tempted to write a track-by-track guided tour, but why spoil your surprises?
Benny’s gracious understanding also extends to the musicians he chose for this disc. He has opened his musical house to friends who can really play and sing, people who are individualists. And the welcome includes Elders and Youngbloods, which makes the session particularly earthy, fresh, and sweetly -surprising — it has some of the feel of a cross-generational down-home jam session where everyone is grinning their faces off at what they are hearing and what they are part of creatively. It isn’t trad-by-the-numbers; it isn’t busker-stomp; it isn’t formulaic in any way. And the repertoire is splendidly unhackneyed without being consciously esoteric.
Many CDs offer a huge plateful of The Same Thing, the musical equivalent of an eight-pound plateful of shrimp with lobster sauce. But I have played this disc half a dozen times from first to last, enraptured. There are full-ensemble pieces, one-horn, piano-drums trios, a gorgeous drum solo (BENNY FACE, as melodic as any orchestral piece), piano and drums, a few vocals (Goldberg on MY BABY; Brunious on BACKYARD; Lonzo on CALIFORNIA) — and speaking of BACKYARD . . .
How fresh and heartfelt that is!
Now I must explain the “GFP Award.” I’d asked Benny to send me a copy of the disc when it was ready (handsome art direction there, too) and when I got it in the mail, drawn by whatever magnetism, I played it that night and wrote him immediately that it was, and I quote, a GIANT FUCKING PLEASURE (I use the vernacular when possible) and he asked me to please use that language in my blog. I am too restrained to make it the heading . . . but the disc makes me happy. You can buy the physical disc or a digital download here. Don’t miss an opportunity to be uplifted.
It’s January, and the temperatures are, shall we say, brisk. Let’s assume your house has drafts — air pours through windows and air-conditioners — or it’s simply not that warm inside. You could buy this to solve the problem:
or, in honor of the King of Swing, you could put on a sweater (credit to CLEO of Kildare Street, Dublin, Ireland):
But I have a more immediate solution, one that won’t require you to wait several days for a product to be shipped. That is, you could invite — through cyberspace — Colin Hancock and the Chicago Cellar Boys over for a visit. You can learn more about Colin, a tremendously gifted multi-instrumentalist, arranger, vocalist, bandleader, and scholar here, or on this blog here. Colin was at the 39th San Diego Jazz Fest this past November with the Original Cornell Syncopators, and you will see some videos from their performances shortly. But the Chicago Cellar Boys were also there — Andy Schumm, cornet, clarinet, saxophone; John Otto, reeds; Paul Asaro, piano, vocal; Johnny Donatowicz, guitar, banjo; Dave Bock, tuba. Learn more about them here or on the blog herealso.
At the San Diego Jazz Fest, there were two bright shining moments — Hot Camelot, if you will — when Colin sat in with the Chicago Cellar Boys and magic ensued. See if the room temperature doesn’t rise.
SHIM-ME-SHA-WABBLE, for the New Orleans Rhythm Kings and the Chicagoans (and https://jazzlives.wordpress.com/2016/05/26/the-latest-prance-words-and-music/ is the music and lyrics for that intoxicating 1917 melody):
WEARY BLUES, for Johnny Dodds and Louis and generations to come:
It feels like May now, thanks to these great hot spirits.
It’s one thing to have a bright idea, another to give that idea tangible shape. But consistent unflagging creativity is dazzling. The Complete Morton Project — Andrew Oliver, piano, and David Horniblow, reeds, with occasional doubling and special guests — is a wonderful embodiment of all the principles above.
I have trouble keeping up with their weekly gifts, but here is another sustained offering of pleasure.
DON’T YOU LEAVE ME HERE was recorded in Morton’s last flourish, although I suspect he had had the composition in his repertoire for years. With its melancholy title, it’s always a pleasing shock to hear it treated in this jauntily ambling fashion:
and a Morton line that used to be played more often — famous versions with Louis, Bechet, Red, Johnny Dodds — WILD MAN BLUES, with a delicious conversation-in-breaks created by Andrew and David:
GAN JAM (or GANJAM) was never recorded by Jelly, but was envisioned as an orchestral composition for a big band. James Dapogny reimgined it as it might have been, and here the CMP envisions it as a duet — full of what might have been called “Oriental” touches but to our ears might simply be extended harmonies, quite fascinating. I’d bet that someone hearing this for the first time would not think Morton its composer. You can read Andrew’s observations on both tune and performance here:
Finally, a title that would not apply to what Andrew and David have been giving us so generously, THAT’LL NEVER DO (did Morton say that to one of his musicians at a rehearsal or run-through?).
Thanks to Chris and Chris! Here’s the first set at a bar called GRUMPY’S. Beautifully recorded and annotated, too:
Bix Beiderbecke’s 47th Annual Memorial Jazz Festival 2018 had a pre-arranged gathering at Grumpy’s Village Saloon, Davenport, Iowa, August 1st. The Fat Babies, here somewhat reduced in numbers, but with sit-in David Boeddinghaus on piano and Andy Schumm cornet, clarinet, saxophone, John Otto reeds, John Donatowicz banjo, guitar, Dave Bock tuba, gave us, the lucky ones that day, a jolly good time. This plus-hour full first set was videographed in one-go, in pole position, head on, with a handheld SONY Handycam, FDR-XA100 in quality mode. For those who couldn’t make it to Grumpy’s, this coverage might be the next best thing. Enjoy!
THAT’S A PLENTY (with a special break) / HOT TIME IN THE OLD TOWN TONIGHT / Andy introduces the band / HE’S THE LAST WORD (which I hadn’t known was by Walter Donaldson) where Andy shifts to tenor sax to create a section, and Maestro Boeddinghaus rocks / FOREVERMORE, for Jimmie Noone, with Andy and John on clarinet: wait for the little flash of Tesch at the end / Willie “the Lion” Smith’s HARLEM JOYS / a beautifully rendered GULF COAST BLUES, apparently a Clarence Williams composition [what sticks in my mind is Clarence, as an older man, telling someone he didn’t write any of the compositions he took credit for] / HOT LIPS / Alex Hill’s THE SOPHOMORE, and all I will say is “David Boeddinghaus!” / THE SHEIK OF ARABY, with the verse and a stop-time chorus. Of course, “without no pants on.” / Bennie Moten’s 18th STREET RAG / GETTIN’ TOLD, thanks to the Mound City Blue Blowers / Andy does perfect Johnny Dodds on LONESOME BLUES, scored for trio / For Bix, TIA JUANA (with unscheduled interpolation at start, “Are you okay? Can I get that?” from a noble waitperson) / band chat — all happy bands talk to each other / a gloriously dark and grieving WHEN YOUR LOVER HAS GONE that Louis smiles on / and, to conclude, STORY BOOK BALL (see hereto learn exactly what Georgie Porgie did to Mary, Mary, quite contrary. Not consensual and thus not for children.)
A thousand thanks to Andy, David, John, Dave, Johnny, and of course Chris and Chris — for this delightful all-expenses paid trip to Hot!
Have you heard this recently, this ecstatic sustained outpouring of wise joys?
You can read the names off the record label before the music starts, so I don’t have to name the divine figures.
I nearly drowned in an online discussion this morning — what is the difference between “New Orleans jazz” and “Dixieland”? That dangerous question quickly branched off into definitions of “Chicago jazz” and “true traditional jazz,” with small mutterings about “two-beat” and “four-beat.”
Gentlemen (for they were all male), these names were not invented by musicians. From what I’ve seen in practice, the Ancestors did not go on the job or into the record studio and say, “Well, fellows, now we are about to create three minutes — or ten minutes — of Authentic _____________ (insert divisive name here).”
They might have said, “Here’s a song we love. Here’s a good old good one,” but usually they referred to what they were doing as “playing music,” or — when things got too divisive — as “our music.”
(At this point, someone will expect me to repeat what Eddie Condon or Duke Ellington said about music. I won’t. My audience already knows those quotations by heart.)
I backed away from the online discussion because my GP is trying to get my blood pressure down, and such conversations are not good for me. But I think of it this way: if your birthday present comes in a box wrapped with newspaper, and the present pleases you, do you need to obsess on the newspaper?
The nomenclature was invented by clubowners, record companies, journalists — to sell a product. Music might be made into a product, but it is essentially a heartfelt personal creation, and arguing about the names for it ultimately has little to do with the art. And such arguments fragment what is already a small audience.
So . . . call it what you will, if you must. But realize that names are not the reality of what we cherish when we hear or play it. And perhaps you might want to listen to that sainted recording once again.
P.S. For once, I am going to exert imperial privilege — my blog is like my house, and if guests behave badly, I point them to the door. So negative comments will not see the light. And now, I am going into Manhattan — below Fourteenth Street — to savor some music.
I think of the deliriously pleasurable precedent established by Bent Persson and friends some forty years ago — that of understanding Louis Armstrong and colleagues so deeply and expertly that they could move in and out of his music, embellishing a characteristic phrase here or there, reminding us gently of a particularly memorable invention, but ultimately, going for themselves. Bent and colleagues are still playing beautifully, but here are some slightly younger players from Norway, having the most wonderful time with Louis’ music. These three performances were recorded at Stortorvets Gjæstgiveri, Oslo, on February 17, 2018, and they are made available to us through reed virtuoso Lars Frank’s YouTube channel.
They are the Norwegian Jazz Kings, and I am not going to argue with a single letter of that band-title. On trumpet and cornet, Torstein Kubban; on clarinet and saxophone, Lars Frank; playing the bass saxophone and sousaphone, Christian Frank; piano, Morten Gunnar Larsen; banjo and guitar, Børre Frydenlund. I have a particularly warm feeling for Torstein, Lars, and Morten, because I met and spoke with them several times at the jazz party formerly known as the Whitley Bay Jazz Party. Christian and Børre I know from recordings, and admire them deeply as well. (Incidentally, the gentleman sitting right in front of the sousaphone is friend-of-jazz, patron-of-the-arts, and record producer Trygve Hernaes, whom I also know from visits to Newcastle.)
These three videos honor the exalted period of Louis’ life when he was working with Earl Hines, Johnny Dodds, Baby Dodds, and Zutty Singleton. Certainly regal even if not Norwegian.
I don’t know the order in which these pieces were performed, but let’s begin this blogpost with the lyrical and majestic TWO DEUCES, by Miss Lil:
Here’s a riotous but precise frolic on COME ON AND STOMP STOMP STOMP. I had to play it several times because I couldn’t believe it. I’m amazed that the fire marshals were not called in. (I adore the translated title on the Dodds record. Don’t you?):
And for me what is the piece de reistance, POTATO HEAD BLUES. In case of historical quibbling, just remember Louis’ words, “Cat had a head shaped like a potato”:
As befits any person or organization in this century, the Norwegian Jazz Kings have a Facebook page. Those in the know will immediately go there and do the fashionable act of “liking” it. And since the wonders of cyberspace are limitless, here you can read the menu of the Stortorvets Gjæstgiveri, an Oslo landmark since the 1700s. It made me hungry and wistful at the same time.
What a band, balancing elegance and focused power. I wish them well and look forward to more marvels.
Edward Ory — that’s the Kid to those of us who admire and keep his name and music alive — is a fabled figure. His 1925-28 Chicago recordings with Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, Luis Russell, Johnny Dodds, Lil Hardin, George Mitchell, Jelly Roll Morton, Ma Rainey, even Tiny Parham are bedrock masterpieces of the pre-World War Two jazz canon, and many bands celebrate them.
But the California climate — whether you consider the ground-breaking 1922 recordings or the evidence of Ory’s second career — must have agreed with him, because the music he made from 1943 on, while less celebrated, is as gratifying, to some even more so. In the middle Forties, Ory’s band was not a formulaic “trad” group; like Bunk Johnson, he played popular songs. Rather than have a two-beat rhythm section with banjo, tuba, and a pianist playing their impressions of an older style, the Ory band carried a rhythm guitarist, a string bassist who mized 2/4 and 4/4, and often had the elegantly down-home pianist Don Ewell keeping things light, bright, and swinging. At its most gliding, the Ory band suggested a fraternal meeting of New Orleanians still in beautiful form and a swing rhythm section with hints of Basie’s . . . quite a lovely blend.
Ory’s music of the Forties and Fifties has been well-documented on disc, because the band was caught live on radio broadcasts, and, later, for Norman Granz, but I think many lovers of “traditional jazz” associated him with a rough-hewn trombone style over their idea of “traditional” rhythms. That is, until the superb drummer and jazz scholar Hal Smith assembled a group of congenial players for his new “On the Levee” Jazz Band, its title referring to a San Francisco club owned by Ory, where he and his band played from 1957-61.
I asked Hal about his first awareness of this period of Ory’s music, and he told me, Back when I bought my first Lu Watters record, the owner of the record store handed me the Watters LP, looked at the label and said “Oh — ‘Good Time Jazz.’ I have another Good Time Jazz record here that someone ordered, but never came in to pick up.” The LP she offered me was “Kid Ory’s Creole Jazz Band, 1954.” I gladly accepted it, and from the first hearing the combination of Ory’s tailgate trombone and the swinging rhythm section (Minor Hall, Ed Garland and Don Ewell in particular) became some of my favorite sounds in Jazz.
Hal later told me, Based on our performances in New Orleans and Pensacola, I think the On The Levee group most closely resembles the GOOD TIME JAZZ ensembles, circa 1953 – 1955. A lot of that is due to Kris’ admiration for Ewell, and Josh Gouzy’s Ed Garland-inspired bass. (Ory’s sound changed considerably after Ewell and Garland left, and even more in the late ’50s and early ’60s).
The band has already played gigs in New Orleans and in Pensacola, Florida, with Clint Baker nobly filling the Ory role; Ben Polcer, trumpet; Joe Goldberg, clarinet; Kris Tokarski, piano; Alex Belhaj, guitar; Joshua Gouzy, string bass; Hal Smith, drums. And early in 2018 they will again play in New Orleans . . . and will appear at the San Diego Jazz Fest in November. I am sure that there will be many other opportunities to hail this group in between.
For now, here is the band’s website, and here are a few videos. Many more are on YouTube, and the site has a whole cloud of audio-only performances, more than enough to roll up the rugs (if anyone does that) and invite the neighbors over for swinging cheer.
DOWN HOME RAG:
Many bands are playing this repertoire, but few are doing it in this fervent;y swinging way. And since the club no longer exists on the Embarcadero — 987 would be part of the Ferry Plaza Maketplace — we should embrace this new band, so nicely keeping a jazz legacy vibrantly alive.
Count Basie and his Orchestra recorded this fast blues, two sides of a 78, on August 8, 1940. They had good reasons for that title: look up the date in a history of the Second World War and you bang into the Luftwaffe and the Battle of Britain, its thirtieth day.
And if you’d want other evidence of cosmic distress, Johnny Dodds died on that day, age 48. (How come no one writes about him as short-lived, one of jazz’s early deaths?)
But here’s Basie.
Part One, with that glorious rhythm section, Buddy Tate, the trombone section featuring the under-featured Vic Dickenson, the saxophone section leading in to Lester Young (with Jo Jones commenting behind him):
Part Two (with apologies for the intrusive advertisement) with a little more Lester, Walter Page and that rhythm section, then riffing alongside a very explicit Jo Jones, more from Walter, Lester out in the open over stop-time chords, trumpet section hosannas, more Jo . . . . and a s low-motion ending:
I write this post — oddly enough — with only a tangential although reverent nod to Basie. If you are a sentient informed adult, you might think at many points during your day that, yes, the world IS mad. If you think everything is just peachy, I envy you your sweet oblivion.
For me, Basie’s title is correct but one consonant is off. I propose, rather, THE WORLD IS SAD. Thanks to Matt Munisteri, I read this article this morning:
It is terrible, and terribly worth reading. The answer to the rhetorical question posed by the title is YES. Now, it would be easy to shake our heads at “those dopey kids and their phones,” and since I have taught 17-21 year olds for decades, I know the difference between THEN (pre-phone) and NOW — the article says that 2012 was the tipping point, when more than fifty percent owned a smartphone. I see the manifestations as attention deficit disorder, inability to concentrate, unwillingness to have what we used to think of as normal social contact (i.e., speaking to the person next to you), a world shrunk down into a tiny bright screen. What the article says that is new and saddening is that the young people who are addicted to their phones are not only socially crippled and terminally insular, but that they are depressed and world-weary: weary of a world they don’t care to engage in.
And I see the manifestations in my generation: the couple at dinner who are silently staring into their phones; the couple I once saw on the subway, all snuggly, she half-asleep on her handsome Beau, who took the opportunity to scroll down and see what had happened in the four minutes he’s been away.
I wonder where this willful isolation will lead us as a culture. The smartphone world is the complete antithesis to dancing to Basie, listening to Basie on the radio, playing your new Vocalion 78 for your pals, or even (heaven forbid) learning a musical instrument and starting a band.
At one point, when cellphones were new, I said whimsically to a friend that I wanted them to be prohibitively expensive, with certain exceptions: you could call and say, “I’m going to be late,” “I miss you,” “I love you,” “Is there anything you wanted me to pick up on the way home,” “You don’t sound right. Is everything OK?” — those calls would be free OR the provider would pay you for making them. Now I think that my whimsy was too tame. I’d like to see people’s smartphones self-destruct if they took them out in the middle of a conversation. I’d like to see smartphone use socially relegated to private places, in the same way that flatulence, onanism, and inside-the-nose interior decorating are (among those who have some tact).
It won’t happen, but now when I go back to teaching in September, I will get to add another toxic side-effect to the smartphone’s power, not just boredom, inertia, narrowness — but despair. Who would have thought?
I’m a relic, so I seek the company of other people rather than my phone. Human contact — with the right people — is my joy. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want the authorities to arrest me for rampant archaism.
A few nights ago, I was sitting in my apartment, entertaining friends (one of them the fine guitarist Larry Scala) and I was playing 78s for them. After a particularly delightful performance, which may have been the Keynote I WANT TO BE HAPPY with Roy, Emmett Berry, and Joe Thomas, or 46 WEST 52 with Chu Berry, Roy, and Sidney Catlett, I turned to them and quietly said, “Music like this is why some bands that everyone else goes wild about do not appeal to me. I’ve been spoiled by the best.”
But there are glorious exceptions to my assessment of the present. One of the shining musicians of this century is Michael McQuaid— heard on a variety of reeds and cornet, even possibly breaking in to song when it seems right. I first heard him live in 2010 and admired him powerfully, and although our paths don’t cross often (we meet every few years, not only in Newcastle but also in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, and in New York City) he remains a model to me of what can be created within and without those venerable musics. (Full disclosure: he quotes from JAZZ LIVES on his blog, but I simply take that as evidence of his good taste in literature.)
If you’d like to read a brief biography of Michael, you can do just that here, but I will offer three salient facts: he is Australian by birth; he has been playing professionally for twenty years even though he is a mere 35; he and the lovely Ms. Anna Lyttle will take up residence in London in November 2017.
Michael, feeling the spirit
His newest CD, DIASPORA, is an exceptional pleasure. It’s a trio CD — Michael’s first as a leader in this format — where he is nobly paired with pianist Andrew Oliver and percussionist Nicholas D. Ball. When you click on the title above, you can hear selections from the disc, and if so moved, then purchase it from Bandcampor CDBaby.
But enough commerce. I’ve found it daunting to review this CD in a hurry, not, I assure you, because I had to dig for adjectives, but because each performance — none of them longer than a 12″ 78 — is so dense with sensation, feeling, and music, that I feel gloriously full and satisfied after each track. I couldn’t compel myself to listen to this disc, stuffing in track after track at one sitting: too much glorious stuff was going on. So I promise you that it will not only appeal at the first listening but for many more to come. Michael, Andrew, and Nicholas D. are strong personalities but willing to merge their egos into a band, which in itself is a deep reward for us.
The music here is nicely contradictory: comforting but full of surprises, aesthetically familiar but never rote. “Clarinet, piano, and traps,” as they would have written in 1928, lends itself to all sorts of formulae: the Goodman / Dodds / Noone “tribute” album. Or, more loosely, “Chicago jazz.” DIASPORA, it is true, nods affectionately to early Benny, Wingy, Leon, the Halfway House boys, Fats, Bud Jacobsen, Charles LaVere, and others, but it is not a series of copies: it’s as if Michael, Andrew, and Nicholas D. have made themselves so familiar with the individual songs and the idioms they came from that they are at ease and can thus speak for themselves. There is so much shining energy in their playing: nothing seems forced or tense. And although this would be marketed as “hot jazz,” some of the finest moments in this recital are sweet, rueful, tender: Fats’ CHELSEA, for one.
I asked Michael for his thoughts about the CD, especially because there are no liner notes, and he told me that he wanted to let the music speak for itself, and that DIASPORA has been on his mind for some time: “I wanted to do a project featuring my OWN playing rather than a larger group with a more democratic purpose. I also wanted to record in a very good studio, because I think the clarinet is rarely recorded well . . . it’s just me and my Albert system clarinet! And my colleagues, of course.” [Note from Michael: the recorded sound is superbly natural.]
The songs Michael chose are admiring homages to various clarinetists without imitating them. “For instance, ‘Do Something’ was imagined as a hypothetical Don Murray/Arthur Schutt/Vic Berton collaboration; ‘Tiger Rag’ asks ‘what if Rappolo and Jelly Roll made a trio side?’.”
I’d asked Michael about his original compositions. “‘Black Spur’ takes its name from a treacherous mountain road to the north east of Melbourne, while ‘Diaspora’ is a Beguine/Jazz mix, paying tribute to the musical styles (and peoples) scattered widely throughout the world by the time of the 1920s/30s. Of course, there’s a link there to the album title as well; an Australian, playing music of American origin (broadly speaking) with an American and a Briton, recorded and mixed in London and mastered in Helsinki!”
I hope all my readers take the opportunity to hear DIASPORA: it’s music that travels well.
No, not Cortot-Thibaud- Casals, or any more formally garbed trio. Rather, another visit to the marvelously melodic world of Hot Classicism, the trio of Kris Tokarski, piano; Andy Schumm, cornet and clarinet; Hal Smith, drums, described here.
One of the pleasures of visiting New Orleans last September for the Steamboat Stomp was the opportunity to visit some places new to me off the steamboat, one of them being Snug Harbor — living up to its name — to hear the trio perform on September 25, 2016. I posted five glowing performances, glowing even in the purple haze, here, some time back, so now it’s time for more.
What makes these performances a little different is that they all have Andy on clarinet, which he plays with his usual passion and precision, here summoning up Noone, Dodds, early Benny, Don Murray, Fud, Tesch, Mezz who had stuck to practicing, and a few others — all nicely combined in his own beautiful personal synthesis. Incidentally, Andy does play some cornet here, but you already noticed that. Kris and Hal show why they are intensely and intently reliable, creative, swinging, and surprising.
And some beautifully obscure, seldom-played songs to improvise on.
I’D RATHER CRY OVER YOU:
ORIENTAL MAN (where “Oriental” means generically Asiatic rather than Chinese, if I recall correctly):
RED RIVER BLUES (with the most gorgeous Hal Smith press rolls):
There’s more to come from this peerless hot chamber trio.
I’ve been back in New York for eleven months now, and it does move at a fast pace now and again. I still don’t walk at a proper Manhattanite tempo, but I’m getting back into tempo. So when I was at the Mike Durham Classic Jazz Party on November 7 of this year and heard Thomas Winteler announce the next song as EAST COAST TROT, I thought, “They’re playing my song.”
Originally, it was an etude for two clarinets (Johnny Dodds and Junie Cobb), piano (Tiny Parham) and the irreplaceable Eustern Woodfork, banjo. This session offers a splendidly enhanced ensemble: Thomas Winteler and Matthias Seuffert, clarinet; Duke Heitger, trumpet; Keith Nichols, piano; Jacob Ullberger, banjo; Phil Rutherford, brass bass; Nicholas D. Ball, washboard.
And just to show the phenomenal emotional range of this group, I would point readers to the performance that took place just before the TROT — an immensely soulful reading of BLUES IN THIRDS.
Great things happen at the Mike Durham Classic Jazz Party, and will happen again in November 2016 . . . from the 4th to the 6th. Details to come.
This is the final portion of an ecstatic set of music devoted to the clarinet master Johnny Dodds — as created on November 8, 2014, at the Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party. The participants: Thomas Winteler, Matthias Seuffert, Claus Jacobi, reeds; Rico Tomasso, cornet; Emma Fisk, violin; Martin Litton, piano; Malcolm Sked, string bass; Martin Wheatley, Spats Langham, Jacob Ullberger, banjo; Nick Ball, washboard. The other postings from this set can be found hereand here.
MELANCHOLY (featuring Martin Litton, piano; Claus Jacobi, reeds, Matthias Seuffert, clarinet; Malcolm Sked, bass; Thomas Winteler, clarinet; Rico Tomasso, cornet; Martin Wheatley, banjo):
MY BABY (add Nick Ball*, washboard; Spats Langham, banjo, replaces Martin Wheatley):
HEN PARTY BLUES (add Emma Fisk, violin):
MEMPHIS SHAKE (as HEN PARTY):
Frank Melrose’s FORTY AND TIGHT (tout ensemble, posted once, but it should be posted evermore):
These hot ecstasies have been a hallmark of the Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party for decades; now renamed theMike Durham Classic Jazz Party in honor of its beloved founder. This year it will be held from November 6-8, and it will be delightful. (*If you want to know my feelings about being there, you have only to watch Nick’s face — joy and surprise tumbling on one another constantly.)
This was a truly delightful set, balancing neatly between uproarious riot and precise tribute, where the participants paid tribute to New Orleans / Chicago clarinetist Johnny Dodds by evoking some of his less famous recordings. Those expert participants were Claus Jacobi, reeds; Matthias Seuffert and Thomas Winteler, clarinet; Rico Tomasso, cornet; Martin Litton, piano; Spats Langham, Jacob Ullberger, Martin Wheatley, banjo; Malcolm Sked, bass; Nicholas Ball, washboard. (That’s the collective personnel: you’ll see / hear who is playing on each number.)
Here’s the first part, as captured at the Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party on November 8, 2014.
I note with pleasure how happy the musicians look — and that’s no stage joke. The most accurate emotional barometer on this little stage is the visage of one Nick Ball, percussionist supreme: he looks as if he’s going to explode with rhythmic joy. You can imagine how happy I was from behind my camera.
IDLE HOUR SPECIAL (with an unexpected cameo by a t-shirted jazz fan at 4:00, who momentarily blocked the view but thankfully not the sound — I knew he was a “jazz fan” because it was written on his shirt, thus saving me the need to speculate):
39TH AND DEARBORN:
CARPET ALLEY BREAKDOWN:
More to come. And you might want to investigate this year’s Mike Durham Classic Jazz Party. It’s a place where such things happen — beautifully — throughout a long weekend.
I present to you — with pride and gratitude — one of the many ecstatic moments of the 2014 Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party — the finale to the Johnny Dodds tribute set, which featured an astonishing assemblage: cornet, three reeds, three banjos, washboard, piano, string bass, hot violin . . . without ever getting messy.
The song is FORTY AND TIGHT (for once I will leave the etymological questions* to others) and the players Rico Tomasso, cornet; Claus Jacobi, alto; Matthias Seuffert, Thomas Winteler, clarinet; Martin Litton, piano; Malcolm Sked, bass; Emma Fisk, violin; Nick Ball, washboard; Martin Wheatley, Spats Langham, Jacob Ullberger, banjo.
I love this.
Exact and abandoned at the same time, and a triumph of community — notice the musicians’ smiles and tapping feet as well as their common language of signs and experience: a nudge or a shoulder-lean that says “You take the next break,” the circling motion that indicates “let’s conclude this with an ensemble chorus — the language of brothers and sisters who know the tribal signs for joy — people who embody joy as well as understanding it. Look at the happiness on the face of one Nicholas D. Ball, percussionist, to feel that emotion.
Two afterthoughts. FORTY AND TIGHT was obviously a way of signifying the highest level of approval. Whether the unspoken references were to physical attributes that gave erotic pleasure or something else I do not know. Was “forty” in the Chicago Twenties the equivalent of a more recent “a perfect ten”? In-group dialogue, cherished and partially submerged, hidden from us.
And something technical. To watch my videos in the best visual fidelity (preferably on a screen even larger than your iPhone 6!) find a tiny icon of a gear — a toothed wheel — at the bottom right of the YouTube screen. Click on it and raise the number displayed to the very highest, 1080, for the clearest image. I also encourage viewers to watch this in “full screen,” preferably on a monitor the size of the living-room wall, but that last bit may not be possible.
Can you see and hear from this video what a wonderful time we had at the 2014 Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party? (A purely rhetorical question, I assure you.) And there will a 2015 Party . . . let joy be unconfined!
I urge anyone who loves the music to experience it live. For some, that isn’t possible because of cost or one’s health. But even though I am proud of my video recordings, they are not the same thing as being on the spot while beauty is created. And jazz festivals, parties, clubs, concerts can only go on if there are people in attendance.
My readers know all this. But the trick is to make the great leap from an intellectual awareness (“I should go hear some live jazz . . . someday.”) to action. All of us who have said, “I’ll go to hear Hot Lips Ferguson some other Sunday . . . those gigs will go on forever!” know the sadder reality.)
End of sermon.
I cannot attend this year’s Steamboat Stompin New Orleans, but my absence means there’s another seat for you. It begins Friday evening, November 14, and ends Sunday afternoon, the 16th. In between I count nineteen one-hour sets of music, in addition to a presentation about the Historic New Orleans Collection, four steam calliope concerts by Debbie Fagnano. Much of the music will be performed on the two decks of the steamboat Natchez, gliding up and down the Mississippi River. The artists include Duke Heitger, Don Vappie, Evan Christopher, the Yerba Buena Stompers, Dukes of Dixieland, Tim Laughlin, David Boeddinghaus, Hal Smith, Banu Gibson, Solid Harmony, Jon-Erik Kellso, John Gill, Kevin Dorn, Clint Baker, Tom Bartlett, Conal Fowkes, Orange Kellin, Leon Oakley, Steve Pistorius, and another dozen.
I was able to attend in 2013, and had a wonderful time. Some evidence!
SWEET LOVIN’ MAN by Duke and the Steamboat Stompers:
Steve Pistorius considers the deep relationship between music, memory, and love in A DOLLAR FOR A DIME:
Banu Gibson, as always, shows us her heart, and it’s full of RHYTHM:
and the Yerba Buena Stompers play a later King Oliver piece, EDNA:
INSERT FOUR-BAR MODULATION HERE.
I returned last night from the 2014 Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party, exhausted and uplifted. The exhaustion will wear off (it always does) after a day or two of treating myself like an invalid, nut the joy is permanent. It comes from seeing people make friends through music. The music began with rehearsals at 9 AM on Thursday and ended sometime late Monday morning (I heard the jam session at the pub as I was going up the stairs around 1 AM). The texts for those mellow sermons were based on the teachings of Johnny Dodds, Count Basie, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Charlie Johnson’s Paradise Orchestra, Jabbo Smith, Jean Goldkette, Bix Beiderbecke, Red Nichols, Chu Berry, Paul Whiteman, Cootie Williams, Adrian Rollini, Jimmy Dorsey, Joe Venuti, Eddie Lang, Johnny Dunn, Luis Russell, Bing Crosby, Helen Morgan, Jimmie Lunceford, Benny Carter, Don Byas, Willie Lewis, Sidney Bechet, Al Bowlly, Cliff Edwards, Eubie Blake, James P. Johnson, Chick Webb, Jelly Roll Morton . . . you get the idea.
And the performers! Rico Tomasso, Duke Heitger, Menno Daams, Andy Schumm, Bent Persson, Claus Jacobi, Thomas Winteler, Matthias Seuffert, David Boeddinghaus, Graham Hughes, Alistair Allan, Martin Litton, Janice Day, Morten Gunnar Larsen, Keith Nichols, Richard Pite, Malcolm Sked, Phil Rutherford, Spats Langham, Emma Fisk, Frans Sjostrom, Josh Duffee, Nick Ball, Mauro Porro, Henri Lemaire, Kristoffer Kompen, Lars Frank, Martin Wheatley, Jean-Francois Bonnel. . . and sitters-in at the Pub, including Torstein Kubban. (If I’ve omitted anyone’s name, it is because yesterday was nearly twenty hours of travel, which does terrible things to cognition.)
And the friends! Everyone who was there will have a mental list, but I think we all start with Patti Durham — then I think of Bob Cox, Bobbi Cox, Derek Coller, Veronica Perrin, Chris Perrin, the young woman clarinetist, so intent, Jonathan David Holmes, Julio Schwarz Andrade, Andrew Wittenborn — and many more.
If you are wondering, the answer is Yes, I did bring my video cameras. Plural. Safety first.
And I shot video of all the sets, one jam session / concert in the Victory Pub, and many of the rehearsals — several hundred performances. It takes some time to upload and download, so I have nothing from this last weekend to share with you at the moment. But I will.
While you are thinking, “How could I start putting money away for the 2015 WHITLEY BAY CLASSIC JAZZ PARTY?” (for that will indeed happen), I invite you to revel in this, recorded at a rehearsal at the 2012 Party:
All over the quite comfortable Village Hotel in Newcastle (with a very solicitous staff) are signs and photographs advertising the pleasures to be found there, all sharing a lower case “v.” at the start, both to show an intensity of feeling (“very!”) as well as remind you of the hotel chain’s identifying logo. In the mechanism that takes you from one floor to another (I called it an elevator and was reminded that it was a “lift,” because I was in the United Kingdom now) was a photograph of three pillows reading “v. snuggly” “v. cheeky” and “v.lazy.”
All I will say here, as a bow to the Party and to the Village Hotel and to my heroes and friends, is that I am “v.joyous.”
Erastus was very pleased, and told me so. He wasn’t alone.
One of the things the Whitley Bay Classic Jazz Party does best — perhaps with no equals — is to offer vivid panoramas-in-sound of what our heroes sounded like . . . not exactly copying the records, but swinging out in devoted, accurate loving style
Here’s one such example: four beautiful evocations of hot Chicago 1927, in honor of Johnny Dodds’ Black Bottom Stompers (and its close relatives) — brought to life again in 2013 by clarinetist (and Dodds scholar) Matthias Seuffert, Andy Schumm, Duke Heitger, trumpet; Graham Hughes, trombone; Martin Seck, piano; Jacob Ullberger, banjo; Phil Rutherford, brass bass; Nick Ward, drums.
The players in this video are really in there, as they used to say: I delight in the intricate ensemble dance they do and their intense yet loose soloing.
WILD MAN BLUES:
WHEN ERASTUS PLAYS HIS OLD KAZOO:
More of these uplifting sounds to come in November: details here. I am gently nudging those JAZZ LIVES readers who can attend this year’s Party to not wait: both seating and hotel rooms sold out months in advance in prior years.