I’ve been publishing interviews done with Dan Morgenstern over the past few days — the best tribute I can pay Dan is to let him be himself — but here is one that hasn’t been seen yet.
Dan praises Tommy’s beautiful art and character . . . many of the same things could be said of the man seen in his Upper West Side apartment:
Here’s Tommy, solo, at the 1981 Montreux Jazz Festival:
If you’re reading this post early on Wednesday, October 27, and you’re within reach of midtown Manhattan, there’s still time to get to Birdland for the celebration of Dan’s 92nd birthday with David Ostwald’s Louis Armstrong Centennial Band . . . the music starts at 5, the doors open at 4.
Less than a week ago, I published a post here, marveling at the riches made available in an eBay auction by “jgautographs” which have been all bought up now, including this glorious relic.
I don’t know how much Lester’s signature fetched at the end of the bidding, but Mr. Page’s (with the telltale apostrophe, another mark of authenticity) sold for $147.50, which says there is an enlightened and eager audience out there. That auction offered more than 200 items, and I would have thought the coffers were empty.
Now, the gracious folks as “jgautographs” have offered another seventy items for bid. I can say “gracious with certainty,” because I’ve had a conversation with the head benefactor.
Thisis the eBay link, for those who want to get in line early. The new listing has only one item held over from the past sale, and it is full of riches (including blues luminaries). I’ll mention only a portion: Ellington, Brubeck, Armstrong, Cootie Williams, Paul Gonsalves, Johnny Hodges, Horace Silver, Stan Getz, Cannonball Adderley, Paul Desmond, Don Byas, Dizzy Gillespie, Cat Anderson, Alberta Hunter, Little Brother Montgomery, Coleman Hawkins, Sippie Wallace, Rex Stewart, Ruby Braff, Lee Konitz, Zoot Sims, Jay McShann, Flip Phillips, Billy Butterfield, Phil Woods, Buck Clayton, Buddy Tate, Benny Carter, Bud Freeman, Thad Jones, Charlie Ventura, Teddy Wilson, Eubie Blake, Roy Eldridge, Sweets Edison, Erroll Garner, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Dorham, Sonny Rollins — you can explore these delights for yourself, and if you have disposable income and wall space, some treasure might be yours. Those whose aesthetic scope is larger than mine will also see signatures of Chick Corea, Archie Shepp, and Keith Jarrett among others . . .
For now, I will offer only five Ellingtonians. And as David Weiner pointed out to me years ago, a sloppy signature is more likely to be authentic, since musicians don’t have desks to sit at after gigs.
Incidentally, “jgautographs” has an astounding website — not just jazz and not just their eBay store: spend a few hours at www.jgautographs.com.
Much of what I read about Billie Holiday strikes me as morbidly unhealthy: the fascination with her drug addiction, her abusive men. I can’t pretend that those aspects of her life did not exist, but I was thrilled to ask Dan Morgenstern, now ninety, to recall the Lady — and to have him share warm, personal stories.
First, a musical interlude:
Now, here’s Dan, at his Upper West Side apartment: the subject, Lady Day as she was in real life, with anecdotes about Martha Raye, Tommy Flanagan, Lester Young, Zutty Singleton as well:
and the second part — more about Billie, with anecdotes about George Wein, Lester Young, Budd Johnson, Paul Quinichette, Chuck Israels, John Simmons, and Benny Goodman:
Thank you, Dan! And there are more beautiful stories to come.
Those of you who get excited by genuine paper ephemera (as opposed to this, which is not even a careful forgery) will have noticed my recent posting with many signatures of jazz greats here. After I had posted my elaborate cornucopia of collectors’ treasures, I returned to eBay and found this holy relic I had overlooked:
I find the card very pleasing, and fountain pen blots add to its c. 1944 authenticity. But here’s the beautiful part:
and another version:
There wasn’t enough time between my discovery and the end of the bidding to post it, so (I hope readers will forgive me) I offered a small bid and won it. I am completely surprised, because usually someone swoops down in the last two minutes and drives the price up beyond what I am willing to pay.
But the card now belongs to someone who loves Pee Wee Russell in all his many incarnations. Here is a quick and idiosyncratic tour of Charles Ellsworth Russell’s constantly changing planetary systems — all held together by surprise, feeling, and a love for the blues.
Incidentally, some otherwise perceptive jazz listeners have told me that they don’t “get” Mr. Russell: I wonder if they are sometimes distracted from his singular beauties by their reflex reaction to, say, the conventions of the music he was often expected to play. If they could listen to him with the same curiosity, openness, and delight they bring to Lester or Bix they would hear his remarkable energies even when he was playing MUSKRAT RAMBLE.
The famous IDA from 1927:
Philip Larkin’s holy grail — the Rhythmakers with Red Allen:
and CROSS PATCH from 1936:
even better, the 1936 short film with Prima, SWING IT:
DOIN’ THE NEW LOW DOWN, with Bobby Hackett, Brad Gowans, Eddie Condon:
and the first take, with Max Kaminsky, James P. Johnson, Dicky Wells, Freddie Green and Zutty Singleton:
and thank goodness a second take survives:
and Pee Wee with Eddie and Brad:
in 1958, with Bud Freeman, Ruby Braff, Vic Dickenson, and Nat Pierce:
and this, so beautiful, with Buck Clayton and Tommy Flanagan, from 1960:
with Coleman Hawkins, Emmett Berry, Bob Brookmeyer, Milt Hinton, Jo Jones:
an excerpt from a Newport Jazz Festival set in 1962:
a slow blues with Art Hodes in 1968, near the end of Pee Wee’s life:
and another wonderful surprise: the half-hour documentary on Pee Wee, in which our friend Dan Morgenstern plays a great part:
Pee Wee truly “kept reinventing himself,” and it would be possible to create an audio / video survey of his career that would be just as satisfying without repeating anything I’ve presented above. His friends and associates — among them Milt Gabler, George Wein, Ruby Braff, and Nat Pierce — helped him share his gifts with us for forty years of recordings, a wonderful long offering.
In the video interviews I have been doing with and of Dan Morgenstern (since March 2017) I have learned to be a better detective . . . when I arrive with a few names on a notebook page that Dan and I have agreed he wants to speak about, and he tells me a story about Perry Como and Cozy Cole (the evidence is here) I abandon the piece of paper and follow his lead. On December 14 of last year, we’d decided to speak of Randy Weston, who had recently moved on, age 92, about Kenny Dorham, about Jaki Byard, and (as a little experiment) I asked him about Jerry Newman, musical archaeologist and recording engineer.
Even though we kept to the script, the videos have beautiful surprises in them, including an informal jam session with two tenor players and a pianist, a cash box with not much in it, a loyal beagle, and a leather trumpet case. Enjoy the stories!
First, some music — HI-FLY, from the famous Randy Weston date at the Five Spot (1959) with Randy, Coleman Hawkins, Kenny Dorham, Wilbur Little, Roy Haynes, arrangements by Melba Liston:
Randy by Dan, the first part:
I HAD THE CRAZIEST DREAM, also 1959, with Kenny Dorham, Tommy Flanagan, Paul Chambers, Roy Haynes:
Kenny by Dan, the first part:
Part Three (a postscript):
Jaki Byard, TWO DIFFERENT WORLDS:
Jaki by Dan, the first part:
Jerry Newman’s 1941 recording of Monk with Joe Guy:
A few words about Newman:
There will be more stories from Dan, I guarantee (to quote Justin Wilson).
Because he is justifiably one of the most busy musicians I know, it was hard to find a time when saxophone master and master raconteur Michael Hashim and I could sit down and talk at leisure. And because Michael is so busy gigging, it was hard to find a photograph of him without a horn attached to him, but I did. (I love the dashing color palette here.)
Michael and I had a long afternoon’s conversation last July, the first two segments of which I posted here.
Now, throwing caution to the winds — or another apt cliche — I offer the four remaining segments of our talk. And, as you’ll hear, Michael is one of those rare creatures who can speak beautifully, extemporaneously, without hesitation: lovely long sentences, full of information, feeling, and wit, come tumbling out. A master of improvised prose as well as one of improvised music.
Three. In which Michael speaks so well and affectionately of Jimmy Rowles — the pianist, the man, and the artist — with side-glances at Robert Mitchum, Henry Mancini, and The Fifth Dimension, Tommy Flanagan, Phyllis Diller, Benny Carter, Michael’s own recording with Rowles, Ray Brown, and some comments on race:
Four. In which Michael tells anecdotes of encounters with heroes in New York, saxophonist Pony Poindexter, trombonist Benny Morton, as well as jazz clubs Eddie Condon’s and Jimmy Ryan’s, with memories of Red Balaban, Jo Jones, Bobby Pratt, Tony Bennett, Joe Muranyi, Artie Baker, Roy Eldridge, Scott Hamilton, Lou Donaldson, Freddie Freeloader, and others:
Five. In which Michael remembers not only individual musicians but the feeling and understanding of their art that they embodied, including Cab Calloway, the Widespread Depression Orchestra, Eddie Barefield, Sammy Price, Jerry Potter, Earle Warren, Phil Schaap,Toots Mondello, Percy France, Doc Cheatham, Scott Robinson, Roy Eldridge, Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, Lester Bowie, Haywood Henry:
Six. In which Michael lovingly speaks of the importance of the drums and remembers memorable percussionists and the players surrounding them, including Buddy Rich, Philly Joe Jones, Eddie Locke, Ray Mosca, Oliver Jackson, with a special pause for the master Jo Jones, for Sonny Greer, Johnny Blowers, Brooks Kerr, Russell Procope, Harold Ashby, Aaron Bell, Sidney Bechet, Charlie Irvis, Bubber Miley, Elmer Snowden, Freddie Moore, Eddy Davis, Kenny Washington, Billy Higgins, Wynton Marsalis, Branford Marsalis, George Butler, Jazz at Lincoln Center, Joe Henderson:
What an afternoon it was, and what a person Michael Hashim is.
I first heard pianist Mark Shane a long time ago on someone’s illicit cassette recording of an outdoor festival. Through the rustlings and the sonic murk, he came through like a beacon of swing. I heard finely detailed melodic invention owing a good deal to Tatum and Wilson, translucent improvisations with subtleties reminiscent of Hank Jones and Tommy Flanagan. I had to wait until 2004 to meet him in person, but he didn’t disappoint, and still doesn’t.
When I started to purchase Shane’s CDs (a venture I commend to you) I found he was often in tandem with a glorious singer. She swung without a letup but her approach was delicate and warm. She was very much aware of the great singers of the past but had brought her own tender sound to their repertoire. Her work was and is genuine, and when I played her music for other musicians and fans, the reaction was always, “Who IS that? Wow, she is the real thing!” I had to wait until 2013 to meet Terry Blaine, and it was a joy to see Mark and Terry perform together.
Not everyone can make their way to a Shane-Blaine gig . . . but their music can come to you. And it has!
Their new CD is available here at CDBaby (as a physical disc) and will be available at all the usual sources as a digital download in a few days.
When I heard that Mark and Terry had recorded a disc, I asked to write some notes for them:
Our special friends are back in town, and I am so grateful.
Play a piece of music for a jazz historian and ask for a response: you’ll get an analytical primer of famous names, influences and styles, cities, dates, and record labels. A musicologist will talk of rhythmic and harmonic patterns, ethnic and cultural influences.
But music is much larger than the words and ideas that attempt to explain it. It is vibrating energy sent from its creators’ hearts to ours. True, physical entities are part of it: the uniqueness of a singer’s voice, a pianist’s touch on the keys. But ultimately music is one marvelous way that artists, devoted to feeling and craft, send messages to us.
Terry Blaine and Mark Shane are remarkable transmitters of wondrous vibrations. In the Thirties they would have been called “solid senders.” Although they have lovingly studied the great improvisers of the past, they emerge whole and joyous as themselves. In swinging synergy, Terry and Mark travel through and beyond any song. Hearing them, we emerge, refreshed and nourished by what they embody in music. They do not “imitate”; they do not approach the music from an ironic postmodern distance. They are the emotions they transmit – sly hilarity, pleasure, longing, romantic fulfillment, contentment. This is the real thing, without pretense, full of warmth.
In the first minutes of this disc, a listener will hear great sincerity in music that never parades itself, an art secure in its wisdom. Terry’s voice is sweetly intuitive, connected to the mood of each song. The way she slides from one note to the next is a caress. Her approach is both generous and wise, for she always lets the song shine through. Mark Shane is a master of delicate yet profound swing; he honors the great musical traditions by creating an orchestra at the piano, with unceasing rhythmic motion. A simple melody statement in his hands has the fluidity of a river, with currents of shading and light, surprising depths and textures. Mark and Terry are a marvelous team, a musical community that needs no other players. Their interpretations of music and words are whole-hearted gifts to the composers, the lyricists, and to us.
We know what our response to this music is: it makes us feel the joy of being alive. We’re happy in the Blue Heaven Terry and Mark create for us. You will be, too.
The songs are MY BLUE HEAVEN / HONEYSUCKLE ROSE / AIN’T HE SWEET / SKYLARK / LOCK AND KEY / MY MELANCHOLY BABY / ROCKIN’ CHAIR / I LOVE BEING HERE WITH YOU / THE NEARNESS OF YOU / THERE’LL BE SOME CHANGES MADE / MY SPECIAL FRIEND IS BACK IN TOWN / COME UP AND SEE ME SOMETIME / LET’S DO IT / SOME OF THESE DAYS / WRAP YOUR TROUBLES IN DREAMS. The recording is delightfully clear and unadorned. It’s heavenly.
In case you have never heard Mark and Terry before, here is a performance recorded at the High Falls Cafe in New York, with drummer Matt Hoffmann gently joining in. Their rollicking WHEN DAY IS DONE is a joy:
Bassist, cellist, and composer Oscar Pettiford is in the odd position of being both legendary and forgotten (as Whitney Balliett wrote of Pee Wee Russell). If you ask any aficionado of jazz string bass playing to name a dozen favorites — living and dead — it’s likely that the names will come easily. But Pettiford’s is often not among them.
Yes, he died young, but not before performing and recording every famous musician (with some notable exceptions) in a short career. An incomplete list would include Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, Bud Powell, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Tatum, Django Reinhardt, Les Paul, Charlie Christian, Gil Evans, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Woody Herman, Coleman Hawkins, Ray Charles, Stan Getz, Lucky Thompson, Charles Mingus, Zoot Sims, John Coltrane, Sonny Stitt, Julius Watkins, Ben Webster, Sammy Price, Ruby Braff, Mel Powell, Ellis Larkins, Max Roach, Shelly Manne, Billie Holiday, Red Norvo, Clifford Brown, Buddy De Franco, Phineas Newborn, Kai Winding, Roy Eldridge, Ray Brown, Lionel Hampton, Don Byas, Clyde Hart, Earl Hines, Budd Johnson, Joe Thomas, Pee Wee Russell, Jimmy Giuffre, Martial Solal, Attlia Zoller, Lee Konitz, Warne Marsh, Billy Eckstine, Cozy Cole, Shadow Wilson, Charlie Shavers, Johnny Hodges, Rex Stewart, Cootie Williams, Ed Hall, Lawrence Brown, Sonny Greer, Maxine Sullivan, Dick Hyman, Eddie Bert, Joe Derise, Ike Quebec, Jonah Jones, Buck Clayton, Helen Humes, Benny Harris, Boyd Raeburn, Serge Chaloff, Howard McGhee, Sir Charles Thompson, Wynonie Harris, Vic Dickenson, Red Rodney, Tal Farlow, Denzil Best, Jo Jones, Leo Parker, Al Haig, Al Hibbler, Nat Pierce, Bill Harris, Howard McGhee, J.J. Johnson, Art Taylor, Wynton Kelly, Lockjaw Davis, Jackie McLean, Kenny Clarke, Dave McKenna, Milt Jackson, John Lewis, Chris Connor, Hank Jones, Earl Coleman, Thad Jones, Tommy Flanagan, Donald Byrd, Billy Taylor, Chuck Wayne, Roy Haynes, Art Farmer, Gigi Gryce, Al Cohn, Frank Wess, Jimmy Cleveland, Barry Galbraith, Joe Morello, Joe Wilder, Harry Lookofsky, Jimmy Jones, Urbie Green, Ernie Royal, Herbie Mann, George Barnes, Clark Terry, Dave Schildkraut, Helen Merrill, Jimmy Raney, Horace Silver, Doug Mettome, Quincy Jones, Duke Jordan, Hank Mobley, Kenny Dorham, Cecil Payne, Toots Thielmans, Red Garland.
This suggests that Oscar’s peers respected him and called him for gigs and recordings. It’s not as if he was obscure: his career was longer than, say, Blanton’s or Steve Brown’s. But, oddly for jazz, which loves to mythologize the musicians who die young and abruptly (and Pettiford died as the result of a 1960 automobile accident) he hasn’t received the benefit of the weird reverence fans and writers have for the young dead.
Of course, it could be that bass players don’t get the respect they and their instruments deserve, but it is and was hard to ignore Pettiford on a session. He offered a rhythmic foundation that was powerful rather than obtrusive, but when he soloed, his lines have the solid eloquence that any horn player would aspire to — while seeming light rather than ponderous. And as the list of players above suggests, his musical range was exceedingly broad: he wasn’t captured on record in free jazz or ragtime, but he elevated every other variety of jazz and jazz vocal performance he was part of. Had he lived longer, he might have enjoyed the visibility of a Milt Hinton or a Ray Brown, but we have only brief moments of him on film (the 1945 THE CRIMSON CANARY) and a few seconds of his speaking voice.
Surely he should be better known.
Enough words and keystrokes for the moment: listen to his 1960 feature on WILLOW WEEP FOR ME:
and here he is, playing his own BLUES IN THE CLOSET — from a little-known 1953 television broadcast — on cello (which he took to for a time after breaking an arm in a baseball game):
And his stirring solo on STARDUST:
Now, two pieces of good news that might go some distance in making Oscar’s name and music known to a larger audience. One is that there is a YouTube channel, PettifordJazz, with sixty videos of Pettiford solos, ensembles, and compositions. That means that no one has to start collecting Oscar’s music — it is being made available to all for free.
Oscar (or “O.P.”, as his colleagues called him) also spent the last two years of his life in Europe (mostly in Scandinavia and Germany), and recorded often there. Sessions with guitarist Attila Zoller have been issued and reissued on a variety of labels (in the vinyl era, they appeared on Black Lion) and a famous 1960 concert in Essen with Bud Powell, Kenny Clarke, and Coleman Hawkins was available forty years ago. Recordings made in 1958-59 for the German radio network have now been issued for the first time on compact disc, in beautiful sound, as OSCAR PETTIFORD: LOST TAPES — GERMANY 1958 / 1959, on SWR Music.
American expatriates Lucky Thompson (on soprano sax for a gorgeous, melancholy SOPHISTICATED LADY) and Kenny Clarke (drums on the final five performances of the disc) are the “stars,” but Zoller stands out as a beautifully measured guitarist.
And although some US critics of the time might have been condescending to European players, this disc shows their equal mastery. Trumpeter Dusko Goykovich duets with Oscar on the opening BUT NOT FOR ME. Other notable players here are clarinetist Rolf Kuhn; light-toned tenorist Hans Koller; baritone saxophonists Helmut Brandt, Helmut Reinhardt, Johnny Feigl; altoist Rudi Feigl; guitarist Hans Hammerschmid; drummers Jimmy Pratt and Hartwig Bartz. The songs are a mix of standards and originals: BUT NOT FOR ME / SOPHISTICATED LADY / A SMOOTH ONE / O.P. (Hans Koller) / MINOR PLUS A MAJOR (Kuhn) / POOR BUTTERFLY / ANUSIA (Hans Koller) / MY LITTLE CELLO (Pettiford) / THE NEARNESS OF YOU / YESTERDAYS / ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE / BLUES IN THE CLOSET (Pettiford) / BIG HASSLE (Hammerschmidt) / ATLANTIC (Helmut Brandt) / ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE / BLUES IN THE CLOSET — the last two are live performances.
And just because it’s accessible and stirring, here is that film clip — from an otherwise undistinguished 1945 murder mystery, THE CRIMSON CANARY, which features Hawk, Pettiford, Howard McGhee, trumpet; Sir Charles Thompson, piano; Denzil Best, on a fast SWEET GEORGIA BROWN line by Hawkins called HOLLYWOOD STAMPEDE:
Ultimately, I think if you’d asked Coleman Hawkins, Duke Ellington, or any number of jazz luminaries, “What about this O.P. fellow? Should I listen to him?” the answer would have been a very strong affirmative. So let us do just that. These tapes were lost, but have been found: spread the word about Oscar. Remind those who have forgotten; introduce those who never knew. “Learn it to the younguns!” as the youthful protagonist of Ellison’s INVISIBLE MAN hears at the start of that novel.
Artists rarely get paid in relation to how beautifully they create or how much their art pleases us — but if that were the case, the subtly brilliant pianist Chris Dawson would be a wealthy man.
Here’s the evidence, twice:
Victor Young’s aptly named BEAUTIFUL LOVE*:
A souvenir from Fats Waller’s 1939 London sojourn, PICCADILLY:
So, as you can easily hear, Mr. Dawson is a man of many talents: he can sweetly rhapsodize in a most restrained, elegant manner — not an extra note in an hour — with a beautiful touch. And he can swing out in the best hot manner, evoking Fats, Nat Cole, Mel Powell, Teddy Wilson . . . imitating no one, staking his own claim.
Because he is based in Southern California, Chris is — to my way of thinking — both a National Treasure and a Well-Kept Secret . . . but ask musicians about him — Jean-Francois Bonnel, Connie Jones, Tim Laughlin, Clint Baker, Dawn Lambeth, Dan Barrett, Hal Smith — and they will agree with me.
If you find yourself deep down South (down Santa Monica way) in the next few days, Chris is playing two gigs . . .
The “South Bay Swing Combo” will be appearing this Friday night, August 10, beginning at 6:30PM, at DeLuca Trattoria, 225 Richmond Street, El Segundo, California: 310.640.7600. Musicians who have eaten there say the food is delicious and the atmosphere relaxed. Chris will be playing with two fine improvisers: Bryan Shaw, trumpet; Albert Alva, reeds.
The other appearance is a solo recital on Sunday, August 12, at 5:00pm in PDT at Mt Olive Lutheran Church Elca, on 1343 Ocean Park Boulevard in Santa Monica, California 90405. The telephone number is 310.452.1116.
I’m beginning the one-man JAZZ LIVES campaign to make sure that everyone hears Chris and that wise concert / party / festival promoters put his name at the top of their lists. Anyone want to join me in this endeavor?
*As an experiment, play BEAUTIFUL LOVE for someone who can’t see the screen or identify Chris. Ask the listener who’s playing — my guess is that all sorts of august names (Tommy Flanagan, Hank Jones, Bill Evans) will come up — which is praise for Chris and more evidence that he should be better known.
Although I had heard them on record for some years, I first encountered reedman Dan Levinson and pianist Mark Shane in 2004 at the tenorist / jazz maven Ray Cerino’s birthday party. Not surprisingly, they were even better in person than on records. Levinson could and can execute anything he thought of (and that was plenty) with a true swing phrasing and melodic shapeliness. Shane was and is a subtle master of swing piano — not a thumping Strider but someone who’s made the influences of everyone from Teddy Wilson to Mel Powell and Tommy Flanagan into his own quietly intense style.
I had to wait a few years more before having the pleasure of hearing Molly Ryan sing — her voice so earnest yet so supple, her delivery unaffected and warm. She’a a straightforward, easy rhythm guitarist as well. Readers of JAZZ LIVES know how I revere the guitarist / singer / whistler John Reynolds, and Banu Gibson can’t say “Good morning!” without turning it into a lilting expression.
Dan, Molly, and Mark played a set at the 2011 Sweet and Hot Music Festival on September 3, 2011, which I present here in all its sweet and hot glories. And later on, John and Banu dropped by — not for tea, but for swing. See and hear for yourself.
They began with that simple declaration of intent, I WANT TO BE HAPPY — the overall effect combining Noone and Goodman in the best modern way:
After years of being played and sung by everyone, I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE has often seemed blunted — but Molly brings it into sharp relief, with light-hearted playing from Mark and Dan:
Dan is on a Jimmie Noone kick — immersing himself into the repertoire and approach of the great Chicago clarinetist, which produced this lilting performance of the rarely-played CHICAGO RHYTHM (with an especially true-to-life second chorus):
Here Molly tenderly swirls through an Artie Shaw song — (WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE THE) LOVE OF MY LIFE — how believably romantic she is!
With all its noble Billie Holiday – Teddy Wilson – Roy Eldridge antecedents, WHAT A LITTLE MOONLIGHT CAN DO is troublesome for singers (how to handle the “Oo, oo, oo,” without sounding ridiculous?) and for musicians, because the original recording is so strongly imprinted on everyone — but this trio makes their own version seem newly-minted:
Molly passed her guitar to John Reynolds: he and Dan played a pretty tune that Dan’s father (in the audience, celebrating his birthday) wanted to hear — as we all did — THESE FOOLISH THINGS. A very sweet Lestorian tribute:
I was very happy to have John Reynolds call PARDON ME, PRETTY BABY — one of my favorite songs in any version. (Don’t I look familiar to you?) If Bing had done this whimsical sweet song, it would have sounded much like this:
One of the nicest things about the Sweet and Hot Music Festival is that players drop in on each other’s gigs — as did John — and here came the sweetly witty Banu Gibson to offer Fats Waller’s I’VE GOT A FEELIN’ I’M FALLING (with the verse). Banu had fun and the feeling was mutual. I love John’s whistled half-chorus — he’s got such courage:
Molly came back for the closing song, that rocking sermon on candor in romance, IT’S A SIN TO TELL A LIE:
Who needs more people on the stand when you’ve got such empathic players and singers?
Mark Shane is one of the finest jazz pianists alive. Don’t take my word for it — ask the musicians who have played alongside him, whose music he has enlivened and uplifted. Or ask any other jazz pianist who knows how to swing.
He can swing in a way that is deeply reminiscent of Fats, Teddy, James P. — but he is no archaeologist, no copyist perfecting what he’s memorized from the manuscript. (He’s no museum piece, either — having learned a great deal from Hank Jones and Tommy Flanagan, too.) A long apprenticeship as an improvising player — with Bob Wilber and Ruby Braff, among others — made him a fully mature player.
In his work, you’ll hear great subtleties — his harmonies, his intertwining lines — but he never shows off his technique. Rather, he is both eloquent and plain, serving the song and its emotions. Shane is instantly recognizable (his four-bar introductions are lovely compositions on their own) and he is his own man.
His music is delicate — because of his beautifully executed ideas and his touch (there’s classical training in his background and it shows) but he is a powerful player and his rhythm engine is always well-tuned, his swinging time impeccable.
What is the reason for all this praise?
Shane has issued another self-produced solo CD — TICKLIN’ — its title in honor of the great Harlem piano virtuosi, the “ticklers” of the last century. It took me a long time to listen to it all the way through because I kept playing tracks over and over, returning to a certain passage to marvel at its own kind of luminescence, its joyous forward motion. Under his fingers, Newton’s laws seem to be modified in the happiest of ways — you find yourself delighting in his intensity, his moving things forward in a delightful fashion, while at the same time there is the utmost relaxation, the absence of hurry, of rush. Mark doesn’t like what he calls “draggy ballads,” so most of the CD takes place at a variety of nimble medium tempos . . . music to pat your foot by, but also lovely music to meditate by.
And to practical matters: the piano sounds lovely; the repertoire is varied, offering both the familiar — BODY AND SOUL — and the less so — CRYIN’ FOR THE CAROLINES and James P.’s FASCINATION. No tricks, nothing fancy, just one glorious improvisation after another.
To learn more, visit his site (the CD is $15 including shipping):
Clarinetist Joe Licari has been a fixture on the New York scene for a good long time now and he shows no signs of slowing down or of losing his light touch. Tangible proof of this can be heard on his latest compact disc (recorded in December 2010), ALL MY LIFE — a series of duets with the irreplaceable Mark Shane on piano.
The standard repertoire — ALL MY LIFE, BODY AND SOUL, CHINA BOY, I MUST HAVE THAT MAN, and MOONGLOW — would suggest that this is very much in the mood and style of the greatest early Goodman small groups. And indeed it is easy to close your eyes and to think that the King of Swing and Teddy Wilson have come back for a visit to this century. The light touch, the easy, flowing melodies, the respect for the composers’ intentions, the delicate yet convincing swing are all there. The longest track is five minutes and it seems too short. But there’s more here than just another “let’s pretend to be Benny and Teddy” project. This CD is more than Goodman Lite or Tofu-based Swing Era, especially when we move into Django (DJANGO’S CASTLE), a jointly-composed blues that begins with a minor theme that reminds me of KING OF THE ZULUS, a Bob Wilber original and two of Joe’s own compositions — all of the three with simple, haunting melodic lines.
Listened to closely, Licari brings much more than the usual pastiche of Goodmania to his playing. In fact, his woody lower register suggests those two less-heralded masters, Joe Marsala and Rod Cless. And where other clarinetists need to dazzle (or occasionally pummel) us with their facility, running up and down the keys, this is not Licari’s way. He is not overcautious or tentative — he knows where he’s going at every turn of phrase — but he is sparing with his notes and he uses them to construct logical, sweetly balanced phrases that fit in to one another to create fulfilling solos, never getting too far from the melody but enlivening it nonetheless.
And Shane remains a wonder. Yes, his style owes a great deal to Teddy and Fats Waller and Earl Hines . . . but it’s clear that he has also listened hard to the masters Tommy Flanagan and Hank Jones. This is particularly evident in his unaccompanied introductions, each a four or eight-bar jewel, a little resonant composition that would be complete and satisfying in itself. He never rushes, never drags, never overacts . . . he is the very model of a delicious, fully formed composer-at-the keyboard. And Joe and Mark make a wonderful team: no one steps on the other one’s lines. The CD has a lovely homelike natural sound, and it is thoroughly heart-warming, rather like having the good fortune to hear Joe and Mark in your living room. It is available at http://www.joelicari.com., and I think every house should have not one but several copies.
On that same site, you can find a whole big handful of compact discs Joe has recorded with a wide variety of musicians, and his own book — his delightfully down-to-earth memoir, THE INVISIBLE CLARINETIST. Most memoirs are exercises in self-absorption and self-praise or there’s some wrenching trauma at the center. Not so for Mr. Licari — his book is a series of cheerful tales of encounters with Benny Goodman (on record), Bob Wilber, Wild Bill Davison, Dill Jones, Kenny Davern, Larry Weiss, Bernie Privin, Cliff Leeman, and many more. It’s very entertaining because it’s so unaffected — rather like having Joe come over to your house and tell you stories. A delightful experience — and it’s also available on Joe’s website.
Joe Licari is not invisible: he’s alive and well and playing beautifully.
I had an extraordinarily good time at Dixieland Monterey 2011 (March 4-6) which took place at the Convention Center and other venues. For those who might quail at the word “Dixieland,” there wasn’t a sleeve garter in sight — at least not among the musicians. And there was plenty of soaring hot jazz, as my videos will show.
But the weekend started off in a more lovely pensive fashion: Sue Kroninger (vocals, commentary, washboard); Eddie Erickson (vocals, banjo); Chris Calabrese (hot piano) gave a lighter-than-air presentation on five great American songwriters — Irving Berlin, Walter Donaldson, George Gershwin, Johnny Mercer, and Hoagy Carmichael.
All this took place at the Hidden Valley Music Seminars in Carmel Valley, California — in a beautiful room with wood walls, a lovely piano, a delighted audience. Click here for more details: http://www.hiddenvalleymusic.org/.
Here is the whole precious program (I couldn’t bear to keep a note of it to myself). Catch the wonderful interplay, wit, and feeling. Unlike other programs of the sort I’ve seen, this one is beautifully balanced among the three players, who obviously like each other a great deal. And Sue knows her stuff without being stuffy!
(A note to the suspicious, something perhaps superfluous. Some of my readers will see a woman with a washboard and two whisks to keep time, a banjo player, a pianist . . . and they will think, “Oh, no . . . ” and skip these videos. I understand their terror — their primeval fears. But this trio makes such beautiful swinging deeply-felt music that nothing they do could scare off anyone. I promise. Or your money back.)
Sue began the program with a 1913 Irving Berlin tune, AT THE DEVIL’S BALL — which features both hilarious vaudeville lyrics and a tune that, once heard, is impossible to extract from your cortex. And Sue is having the time of her life. And ours:
Then, Eddie took on a wonderful song (I associate it with Louis and the Mills Brothers — can you blame me?) from 1927, THE SONG IS ENDED. It might seem an odd choice for the second song of a program, but it’s such a good song! And Eddie, dear Fast Eddie, sings it so beautifully:
Finally (for Berlin), Chris took a wonderful turn at ALWAYS — with hints of the Master, Dave McKenna:
Less well-known than Mr. Berlin was Walter Donaldson (but think of AT SUNDOWN, MY BUDDY, and fifty others). Sue called for Eddie to perform a hit from the early Twenties — nothing could be sweeter than Eddie singing CAROLINA IN THE MORNING. Hear the variations he brings to his timbre and delivery — and how Chris rocks:
Then a rollicking rarity (a bit of social commentary) that Sue explains, with the irreplaceable title YOU HAVE TO PUT A NIGHTIE ON APHRODITE TO KEEP THE MARRIED MEN HOME (or words to that effect). I think hearing that song was worth the airfare from New York. Hope you agree. Sue is a born entertainer who grabs any audience as soon as she opens her mouth to sing:
And what might be the best-loved song in America (easier to sing than STARDUST), MY BLUE HEAVEN — with the lovely verse, delightfully played by the quiet man Sue calls “Mr. Excitement”:
Onward to the deservedly famous — and short-lived — George Gershwin, with an old favorite, SOMEBODY LOVES ME, winningly sung by Sue. She isn’t Lily Pons or Sarah Vaughan when it comes to a four-octave range, but this is all to the good: her casual, understated delivery comes from the heart:
STRIKE UP THE BAND shows off Chris (and friends) without ever being militaristic:
Then, a high point for me — Eddie’s rendition of EMBRACEABLE YOU. Eddie gets terribly embarrassed when I praise him, so I’ll go easy in print here (but I might just say very quietly that I’ve called him “our Sinatra” and I mean it). Chris’s subtle traceries make me think of Tommy Flanagan:
Changing the mood, here’s Johnny Mercer’s cheerful life-affirmation, AC-CEN-CHU-ATE THE POSITIVE, always good advice:
From a title that’s nearly impossible to spell to one of the simplest — Chris leads the trio through a jaunty version of DREAM:
And as a special favor to me (I had said that I would like to hear Sue “unplugged”) she indulged me with an acoustic JEEPERS CREEPERS, happy as the day is long:
The trio’s version of RIVERBOAT SHUFFLE calls to mind the young man from Davenport, Hoagy Carmichael’s pal Bix — note the funny little personalizing Sue does with the bouncy lyrics (after Chris makes sure that the joint is entirely jumping):
LAZY RIVER (not UP A) shows off the easy grace of Mr. Erickson, Louis-inspired without a bit of gravel in his hopper:
And — instead of the more hackneyed Fourth of July closing — Sue chose one of the most tender songs in the last century, the Carmichael-Loesser TWO SLEEPY PEOPLE, where the melody, the lyrics, and the loving wit come together exquisitely for Sue, Eddie, and Chris:
My weekend at Dixieland Monterey was off to the most gratifying start: these three dear artists already had me floating with pleasure, and it wasn’t even lunchtime.
Two scenes from contemporary life in and around jazz, April 9 and 10, 2010:
Last night I made a pilgrimage to the Knickerbocker Bar and Grill on University Place in New York City to hear the remarkable banjoist / singer Cynthia Sayer and the noble pianist Mark Shane. The two large rooms that house the Knickerbocker were crowded, although I found a table near the piano.
Cynthia and Mark played beautifully — mostly up-tempo romps: LINGER AWHILE, WOLVERINE BLUES, YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE, CALIFORNIA HERE I COME, and a sweet stroll through APRIL SHOWERS and a funky boogie-inflected YELLOW DOG BLUES. Cynthia’s single notes hit like gunshots; she slid up and down the fingerboard in chordal glissandos; she kept the rhythm going. Mark, a peerless accompanist and soloist, evoked Wilson and Waller and Flanagan and Hines, all splendidly woven together into Shane.
The volume of conversation was so high that I had to strain to hear the music. At the end of the set, Cynthia said to me, “Gee, I had a hard time hearing myself!” and Mark noted, “The noise level in this room is worse for your ears than gunfire.” People walked so close to Cynthia while she was playing that she had to bend the neck of her banjo back to avoid getting knocked over. Someone accosted her while she was soloing to request a tune; she kept playing and spoke to the inquirer politely.
But it was apparent that almost no one was listening. Perhaps eight people applauded. Perhaps ninety-five percent of the diners didn’t keep quiet, didn’t know that there were live musicians (people!) creating music in front of them, or didn’t care.
I applaud the courage of Cynthia and Mark and their colleagues who keep creating in the face of indifference and noise. I couldn’t do it — when I’m teaching, I ask my students to stop talking and to pay attention. Jazz musicians, cast as “entertainers” at best or an odd version of a large iPod at worst, rarely say, “Would you all have the decency to keep it down a bit?” and I admire their heroism and restraint. I don’t expect a restaurant to become a concert hall, and I do think that people have a right to eat their dinner and talk to their friends. But I wonder who won or lost during that hour of combat between art versus loud self-absorbed talk at the Knickerbocker.
On a more personal note: a writer’s voice is much like his or her speaking voice — individualistic, perhaps idiosyncratic. I saw today’s batch of Google Alerts — one of them for Jo Jones — and began to read a memorial essay on Jake Hanna published on someone else’s blog (call it JAZZ IS FOREVER, not its name). I saw that someone I don’t know had “written” a piece on Jake Hanna, most of which was one I had written, word for word without credit.
I commented on this post politely, pointing out to the blog’s creator that it was not good manners to take someone else’s prose without crediting the writer. I appealed to his courtesy while being courteous; I signed my name, appended my blog information and email address. About eight hours later I returned to my computer and, out of curiosity, clicked on this site. Had the gentleman printed my comment? Had he ignored the whole thing? Had he credited me? None of the above: he had removed my words silently.
Did I win a victory for intellectual property, against online plagiarism, or did I lose the opportunity to have my thoughts on Jake Hanna spread to even more readers — without my name, which frankly means less than honoring Jake?
I know that it matters not if you win or lose; it’s how you play the game. But Cynthia, Mark, and I are trying to play by the rules. It’s not always easy. We keep trying.
The wonderful reed player Frank Roberscheuten, pianist Rossano Sportiello, and drummer Martin Breinschmid mad a CD — they call their trio THREE WISE MEN. And they are! Here’s what I had to say in Cadence (January-March 2008) about the disc:
Often, the most traditional Jazz trio format – a reed player, pianist, and drummer – leads well-intentioned players into tributes to Goodman. That is hardly a bad thing, and I’ve heard many stirring evocations, but there is more to say from the instrumentation and the format. This CD goes its own way in featuring a balanced international small group whose scope reaches from James P. Johnson and Bud Freeman to Horace Silver, Monk, and Miles, never compromising the material or forcing it into stylistic boxes. Roberschuten can purl through a lovely rubato verse and then shift into tempo to deliver swinging improvisations, concise yet musically expansive. He has learned a great deal from his instrumental ancestors but his approach is a creative synthesis. On tenor, he has a Getz-Cohn fluidity, which doesn’t stop him from doing a splendid version of Bud Freeman’s bubbles and flourishes on “The Eel.” His clarinet playing is nuanced, caressing, and free from cliché, whether he is playing a Thirties pop song or a Jim Hall waltz. And his charming alto sound blends Phil Woods and Hilton Jefferson to great effect. He loves to linger over the melody, as on “You’re Mine, You,” a rewarding song that hasn’t been overdone. And his original, “From the East,” suggests late-period Ellington and Strayhorn. Throughout, I was reminded of the marvelous cohesiveness of sound, rhythm, and conception that distinguished the early Fifties Vanguard sessions – in particular the trios of Ruby Braff or Paul Quinichette with Mel Powell and Bobby Donaldson. Pianist Sportiello remains a champion: hear his beautiful touch on “Detour Ahead,” and “You’re A Sweetheart,” his astonishing whirlwind on “Dearest,” and marvel at his pushing accompaniment throughout. He suggests Jimmy Rowles or Tommy Flanagan when he is being serene; Ralph Sutton, Donald Lambert, and Dave McKenna when he chooses to stomp. A loud, uneven, or passive-aggressive drummer can sink a trio, but there’s no danger here. Breinschmid has listened closely to Krupa, but isn’t hemmed in by that style: his work on “Dark Eyes” is both homage to the originals and his own improvement on them; his brushwork on “You’re A Sweetheart” is reminiscent of Jo Jones in his prime. I never yearned for the absent bass player or guitarist, and there’s no monotony on this disc. I would begin with “How Deep Is the Ocean?” which combines deep feeling and forward motion at the same time. (The session is beautifully recorded, too.) If Roberscheuten is an unfamiliar name, he has also been an integral part of the debut CD by “Three’s A Crowd,” which matches him with the fine singer Shaunette Hildabrand and pianist Bernd Lhozsky. And the witty, ambling liner notes by trombonist Dan Barrett are assurance of Jazz quality.
The good news is twofold. First, you can order the CD from firstname.lastname@example.org for $18, including shipping. And I recommend that you do so!
Even better: the trio recorded another excellent session last month, which they are calling GETTING TOGETHER. It should be available for purchase in a few weeks. I will point out, immodestly, that I wrote the notes for the CD — music that’s easy to praise.