RIP Oscar Peterson

Oscar Peterson has passed. My Verve LP "Very Tall" stands out (and up) as one of the most listenable LPs I own. Milt Jackson's accompaniment to Peterson's elegant, staccato ballads really grow on the listener. Peterson was tall indeed. He was one of the world's most influential pianists.

Paco

Some of my favorite guitarists are John McLaughlin, Gabor Szabo, Django Rheinhardt, and Paco de Lucia. Paco holds particular sway over my interests because somehow, even more than Django, his playing strikes such a chord (I know) with my aesthetic sensibilities. Paco's playing represents the best combination of intellect and emotion.

Paco's blinding speed on the classical guitar is unparalleled and he is a master of rasgueados and picados.

The pictorial history of jazz is nearly as interesting as the music itself. Photographers such as William Gottlieb captured enduring, iconic images. One of my favorite jazz photos is the series he shot of Monk in front of Minton’s Playhouse with his band. Photographers such as Gjon Mili, William Claxton, Dennis Stock, Frank Wolff, Herman Leonard, Carole Reiff, Val Wilmer, and Jim Marshall document/ed the phenomenon of jazz music with images like none other.


Gordon Parks in the photo above captured this once-in-a-lifetime visual metaphor that shows the Duke swimming in the lens of Billy Strayhorn's shades.

I think you need to listen to more Albert Ayler.

RIP Joe Zawinul

"'He lives on,' Erich Zawinul was quoted as saying. Zawinul played with Maynard Ferguson and Dinah Washington before joining alto saxophonist great Cannonball Adderley in 1961 for nine years, according to a biography on his Web site. With Adderley, Zawinul wrote several important songs, among them the slow and funky hit 'Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.' Zawinul then moved on to a brief collaboration with Miles Davis, at the time Davis was moving into the electric arena."
―AP News

RIP Max Roach

Max Roach's snare drum was just the right punctuation for greats like Thelonious Monk and Dizzy Gillespie. No percussionist could sing through their drums quite like Max Roach. Roach, along with Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell, and Charlie Mingus played on Jazz At Massey Hall, a live recording from 1953 which is considered the greatest live jazz recording ever.

He has always been one of my favorite drummers as well as Elvin Jones. Roach was instrumental to the formation of bebop. He was the dean of jazz drummers.

Roach also provided the beats for the groundbreaking Birth of the Cool sessions.

Un Poco Loco

If there ever was a soundtrack to the creative impulse it is Un Poco Loco by Bud Powell. Moreso than any Monk tune I can think of Un Poco Loco is a question that Powell is asking of the audience. He is on the precipice of something and looking down and then back at those who aren't quite as far out on the ledge. In fact, my Blue Note pressing of The Amazing Bud Powell Vol. 1 (a stellar lineup that includes Fats Navarro, Sonny Rollins, Roy Haynes, and Max Roach) includes three takes of Un Poco Loco as if this track could never really be finished. It is eternally open, as if Powell has recorded evidence of the process of composition itself. The chorus almost sounds to me like the hum and buzz of a city street or thoroughfare possibly New York and the refrain seems like punctuation that defines some normal state of affairs, i.e., business as usual, but each solo is more than just a counterpoint to that. It's almost as if Powell has slipped between the cracks and has penned a plaintive S.O.S. He sets up each solo with a fairly pedestrian run up and down the ivories and then proceeds to dissect that normalcy into oblivion. It is a lesson in abstraction that is nearly insane in its mathematical precision.

This tune is an island and Powell's right hand is the only cat on it. His left hand is relentless as it sets up the rhythm that serves as the backbone of the composition. Max Roach's manic cowbell is the perfect counterpoint to Powell's blues experiment and the entire assemblage has a life of its own that is hypnotizing. Powell's solo trails off as Roach takes over and then the final chorus reminds us how far from the everyday Powell's solo really was.


Bud Powell had a well known rivalry with none other than Charlie Parker. His sometimes public anger at Parker's talent probably fueled his creative verve. Powell was so driven to succeed that his creative frustrations landed him in the psych ward where he endured electroconvulsive therapy, which ultimately did nothing to free him from the wrath of his creative demons. Powell was a master composer who was integral to the development of what would eventually be called bebop. His tune, Bouncing with Bud, is a standard and beyond that Un Poco Loco, Dance of the Infidels, and Tempus Fugit serve as a reminder of his genius. Unlike many jazz artists of the time, Powell was not known to have been addicted to drugs and he shied away from hard alcohol because it had a bizzarre effect on him. So on many levels the man was a true natural. Perhaps the only other pianist who could match his virtuosity on the ivory ledge was Art Tatum.

Bitches Brew

One of the most famous, if not notorious, jazz releases, Bitches Brew still captivates and resonates despite the muddy moments that serve as the mortar between the solid bricks of brilliance. Recorded in 1969 immediately following the Woodstock Music Festival, Bitches Brew was, at the time, a line that many jazz fans refused to cross. In the years between then and now so many brilliant free compositions have been recorded that by comparison the case could be somehow made that Brew is nearly a hippy anachronism. But there's still nothing like throwing it on the turntable when one hasn't heard it in a few years. It doesn't erupt like some recordings, but builds in intensity like a spell taking effect. The whole album has a liquid consistency that ebbs and flows--the impulse to fast forward at times to another Miles solo should be resisted. Trust me. Repeated listenings are rewarded when the album is listened to as intended. That's its charm and Brew isn't really appreciated unless the listener fully submits to its onslaught. It's maximalism at its finest. Davis, as you must remember, had by the year 1969 already invented two other styles--cool and modal jazz. It would be ridiculous to fault him for the nebulous qualities of this seminal classic. All the sidemen on these classic sides would go on to cement their reputations after this shining moment. Wayne Shorter and Joe Zawinul would later form Weather Report, Chick Corea would later form Return to Forever with a lineup that would later include drummer Lenny White and guitarist John McLaughlin and Billy Cobham would later form Mahavishnu Orchestra. All told Bitches Brew still stands the test of time. It's still a monster, even if it's not quite as scary as it once seemed. Listen to it in one sitting and tell me it doesn't rock.

Nu Yorica!

Soul Jazz Records London released an album ten or so years ago called Nu Yorica! that still percolates like a Cuban street festival and a Seventies movie soundtrack (in a good way) on a perfect summer night. Pick it up or order it if you can find it. It's funky goodness that doesn't let up. Mostly synth and vibe grooves with sax and an incredible conga section. Every so often an electric guitar or two take things in an entirely different direction with some light, nearly psychedelic flavors. Along with Sao Paulo Underground, these are some of my favorite grooves lately.

The Girl from Impanema

I've never been a cheerleader for the idea of unity or simplicity in art. Most of the art I appreciate is inchoate, incomplete, complex, and unfinished. Sometimes, simplicity in music, however, gives a song an ethereal and haunting quality that is unforgettable. Written in 1962, with music by Antonio Carlos Jobim and Portuguese lyrics by Vinicius de Moraes, The Girl from Impanema has the haunting and lyrical quality that is the hallmark of the enduring jazz standard. When this song was performed by Astrud Gilberto, along with João Gilberto and Stan Getz, in 1963 on the Gilberto/Getz album of that name it became an international phenomenon that has been rerecorded and covered by countless artists since. I was talking to my friend Steve Halle last night about the Sao Paulo Underground album Sauna, Um, Dois, Tres and how Brazil has made such an impact on the jazz music scene over the years most notably in the hands of artists like Dizzy Gillespie and Getz. Gillespie's brand of bossa nova and samba always felt more genuine to this listener than Getz's version, although this classic cut is unforgettable. Legend has that the seemingly sanguine and docile Getz was furious at the idea that Gilberto brought his lady into the studio to sing this cut and threw a huge tantrum. Getz notoriously had a temper that didn't fit his saccharine appearance, but when he heard Astrud Gilberto lay down a few takes he was bewitched by her voice and slowly began to realize that he and his buddy Gilberto had a huge coup on their hands. They were right. Like all great jazz songs there's even an interesting backstory. The songwriters had a specific beauty named Heloísa Eneida Menezes Paes Pinto in mind when they wrote this love bomb. As a 15-year-old girl Pinto would saunter pass the cafe where the songwriters would have their morning coffee. At nearly six feet tall, with long dark hair and green eyes, she obviously made some sort of impression on them. This video is pretty silly. It makes me think of White Christmas or something, but the melody is indelible.

Regathering the Storm

At what point does admiration become obsession? Jazz artists used to be known for woodsheddin’. Woodsheddin’ meant disappearing in the woods for months at a time, sometimes to kick a habit, but most often because the creative impulse drove these artists into isolation in order for them to master their art. Sonny Rollins spent nearly a year playing sax beneath the Brooklyn Bridge alone because there was an idea stuck inside him. What came out was eventually released as his album “The Bridge.” Jazz trumpeter Wallace Roney, seen here playing Miles Davis’s trumpet has a tone so clear and cold I get lost in such a kaleidoscope of memories when I hear it. One imagines that Roney spent quite a few hours woodsheddin' to reach that level of brilliance. He’s more of an extrovert on his instrument than Davis was, but only slightly so. His tone is reminiscent of Davis but with a few shades of darkness less. His timing is flawless and he’s able to hit the upper registers on par with the likes of Freddie Hubbard. When I saw him I was transported completely. His solos took me back to a trip to Greece I made a few years ago … I listened to him crank out those solos while watching the sunset on the island of Santorini and nothing could’ve been more sweet. He’s derivative in a completely positive way—if such a thing is possible. I’m no reactionary, but Roney’s melodic game forces the listener to listen even more closely because it’s so very obvious that he’s carrying forth the torch for future generations. Get some respect. That’s why Miles gave him “the horn.” This clip with Tony Williams on drums could almost be viewed as an attempt by Williams to regather the storm that was Miles Davis, but it's so much more than that. The history of jazz is the history of America. Williams in this clip is simply opening the book to another mysterious chapter.

This list of top sax greats is nearly right. Ornette should definitely be in the top ten, however. Ornette’s brand of innovation only comes once or twice with every generation. Stan Getz shouldn’t be on this list even. I’m glad to see Jackie McLean and Gary Bartz included, they’re routinely left off of lists of this type. And Paul Desmond, whose sound was once described as the sound of a very dry martini, is far too high up the hierarchy here. Although he was known for his sweet delivery, he never had enough down-home funk for this listener. Desmond was once awarded a prize for quietness. That seems to me to be the opposite of what a jazz sax player should strive for. If I want lyricism I’d rather get it from Joe Henderson or Cannonball Adderley.

Blues, West End

"West End Blues" was, from what I remember, burned on a solid gold disc by NASA and sent out into space as a represention of the heights of human achievement. Louis Armstrong was the first jazz artist to push the jazz solo into the stratosphere. His solo near the end of "West End Blues" is pure gravy.

Cedar Walton Defends the Faith

This is a review I wrote of seeing Cedar Walton at a venue called Gilly's in Dayton, Ohio.


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Jazz was alive and well at Gilly’s last Sunday night. Legendary jazz pianist Cedar Walton made sure of that by playing two seamless sets that brought the spirit of jazz alive, with an intimate concert that left this listener with the feeling that hope hasn’t entirely left the Gem City. I walked into the club expecting nothing less than jazz nirvana, having attended concerts at this prime venue for jazz on many past occasions. Wallace Roney, Gary Bartz, the late, great, Kenny Kirkland, Joshua Redman, and many others have made me a Gilly’s believer. Club owner Gerry Gillotti has made Gilly’s a jazz oasis.
The question of where jazz is “going” has created much controversy recently. I do not mean the local WYSO controversy. One Gilly's patron described WYSO's new format, which omits jazz, Sunday night as nothing but “pure evil.” WYSO, as most of you already know, decided that jazz, America’s only indigenous musical art form, is no longer marketable. This is a genuine tragedy for the Dayton area. I, for one, stayed up late nights listening in over the years. In fact, WYSO introduced me to quite a few talents I had not known about until they came crashing through my stereo speakers from their sorely missed home on the airwaves of the now infamous Yellow Springs, radio station. I think about the would-be jazz listener out there who can no longer get the "message" of jazz on the radio. Sure, that listener might be able to download jazz or pay a visit to a local record shop and get the same effect. But gone are the days when the "story" of jazz is presented locally and free. The sensibilities of jazz kingpins like John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, and Miles Davis was benefited by WYSO's knowledgeable, volunteer DJs, who knowingly gave their valuable time to bring real-life liner notes alive via the airwaves. The sad, glaring fact is that American society seems to have lost touch with the pulse of its own living, breathing self, when it seems that the counterfeiters, namely practitioners of so-called "smooth" jazz, have taken over and the real stuff is now so hard to find.

Cedar Walton delivered the real stuff and then some with classic cuts such as "Cedar's Blues," which started things off in a post-bop style that left no room for guessing whether or not the man on the stand was all business. Elements of Bud Powell's style mingled with Walton's own so fluidly that the end result was far from derivative. Walton is a man who has paid his dues and comes from the holy land to spread the word like wildfire to the people. I should mention that the crowd went grooving and uh-huhing right along with Walton as he built a jazz palace with the down-tempo and beautiful "Dear Ruth;" an amazing medley-tribute to Billy Strayhorn that included "Lush Life," "Daydream," and "Raincheck;" and that's just mentioning the standouts. I must admit that my enthusiasm for jazz still leaves me a novice when I compare it with the knowledge I overheard in some cross-table conversation that night.

Sunday night I also learned that Chucho Valdés is coming to town, which is important to anyone who'd like to support the jazz community. He'll appear at the Dayton Art Institute's Renaissance Auditorium on Sunday, April 21. Don't miss him. Chucho Valdés is le jazz hot, where Walton was cool as the Absolut and cranberry juice I was drinking. When Walton's second set kicked in, I must admit I was getting tired and thought to myself that it would be hard for him to sustain that energy level all night. I wasn't wrong. Walton didn't attempt to sustain an energy level because he had nothing to prove. This is the point and the lesson he taught. Real perfection is effortless.

The second set started with "Little Sunflower," segued into "A Child Is Born" and moved into a funky Monk medley that took everything in an entirely different direction. Walton was sculpting a masterpiece out of thin air and I don't think he cared how many people were sitting in.

Whatever bad vibes left over in Dayton, after the recent assault on this, the most original and unique of all musical forms, were driven to dust by Walton's powerful, subtle performance Sunday night. As I walked out to enter the regular world, an old veteran by the door seemed to nod to me conspiratorially, as if to acknowledge that we'd both just had a rare glimpse of something we would never see again.

I finally bought a turntable so I can listen to Evolution by Grachan Moncur III. Moncur and Jackie McLean chase each other on this album and listening to it confirms why McLean has always been one of my favorite sax players. He has a hard edge and honks and squeaks through solos with an off-kilter sense of rhythm that reminds me of the great eccentrics of jazz--namely Monk and Dolphy. Dolphy, Monk, McLean, Mingus, and possibly Tony Williams on drums would be a dream lineup.

Someone made the argument to me the other day that having an interest in, and knowledge of, jazz is similar to having a knowledge of baseball. The analogy works for me because great concerts, like great games, and dream lineups are what the fans talk about. I know the night that made a big impression on me was the night I saw Gary Bartz. At the time I hadn't heard of Bartz, but he blew the roof off the room that night and played a rendition of My Favorite Things on soprano sax that started as a whisper and ended up sounding like a volcano erupting--very Pharoah Sanders. Karma by Sanders is the one album I still haven't really learned to appreciate ... a friend of mine with impeccable musical taste used to listen to The Creator Has a Master Plan continuously, but I never really could perceive its virtues. It just seems like it has so many different sidemen all jamming. The result is a jazz puddle. Unlike Ornette's great Free Jazz that improves with repeated listenings, Karma sounds more mediocre with each listening. Maybe it's me.

Artifacts

The Art Farmer album titled "Early Art" that I own sat in my record collection for about two years before I actually played it. What ended up being one of my favorite albums sat there gathering dust. I had recently discovered Miles Davis and bought Sketches of Spain, Kind of Blue, Bitches Brew, ESP, On the Corner, Cookin', Workin', Miles in the Sky, Miles Ahead, and various other Davis vinyl all at once because I couldn't get enough of listening to Miles singing through that trademark horn. I did see Wallace Roney one night playing it, and that was in itself worth the price of the ticket. But I didn't appreciate Art Farmer until later mainly because Farmer sometimes sounds nearly sentimental when compared with Davis. Nobody, with the exception perhaps of Clifford Brown, plays ballads and sentimental songs so well. Farmer can play intricate solos effortlessly and his sound is so light and airy that it's easy to sit through one of his solos without really concentrating on it very much. When Miles is playing his sound is perfect in its simplicity, but Farmer is creating geometric shapes in the air that are surprisingly complex. Miles's sound is dark to Art Farmer's light, but both are unique in their own ways. Farmer never enjoyed the level of success that Miles did but he deserves it. This is some footage of Gerry Mulligan and Art playing some aerial scrabble.

Ok, separate topic--this page has some of the coolest jazz album covers I've seen. One of my favorites is Jazz Experiments of Charlie Mingus, although I don't know if it's on there. Vintage Vinyl in Evanston had a copy for $100. Mine is slightly damaged though, so I really doubt it's worth that much.

A Love Supreme

It's a relatively well-known tale that the medical examiner who first saw Charlie Parker's body after his death thought he was a 60-year-old man and not a man of 34 years of age. Bird was also known for often showing up to performances without a sax and borrowing someone else's at the last moment. On one particular occasion before a concert in Toronto, Bird and Diz frantically searched the city trying to find a saxophone. After scouring all the pawnshops open at the time, they were only able to find a plastic Grafton sax, which Parker proceeded to use at the concert that night. This concert is documented on the album "The Quintet, Live at Massey Hall". Bird, loaded and playing a plastic toy sax, was still pure magic. The album is now considered the greatest live jazz recording.

In the late 1950s, musicians would travel to Birdland in New York, spending their last dime, hitchhiking, hawking all their worldly possessions to catch a glimpse of Charlie Parker playing the solos that Louis Armstrong, the originator of the modern jazz solo, described as "Chinese music." Legend had it that Bird, Diz, Bud Powell, and Thelonious Monk, played fast and outside so that it would be impossible for white musicians to steal their licks.

Sometime later, a man named John Coltrane added his signature to the jazz pantheon. Later in life, Coltrane strived to accent the spiritual and avoided the pitfalls that claimed the lives of greats like Charlie Parker. There is even a Church of John Coltrane believe it or not. Coltrane took innovation to the edge, although some of his searching left the audience behind. This clip is really watchable. Here's some nice footage of drummer Elvin Jones, who was the driving force behind much of Coltrane's brilliance. You be the judge.

Hubbard

This is some fat Freddie Hubbard footage. I’m thinking this is very early 60s Jazz Messengers with Art Blakey, of course, on drums. Hubbard has always been one of my favorite trumpet players, behind Miles and Dizzy, and this first solo confirms that. He’s lightning fast but never sacrifices the groove for the sake of showing off. This song has some exemplary call-and-response that gives it the feel of an old spiritual. It’s too bad the clip is so short.

Pepesito Reyes

Pepesito Reyes spent the 1940s in New York City playing clubs like the Café Metropolis, where he made fast friends with admirers like Duke Ellington. Of all jazz musicians, Ellington was usually the object of admiration, not vice versa. Reyes also bewitched musicians such as Nat King Cole and Tito Puente, when they first heard his bold blend of majestic, yet spicy danzón, or Cuban dance music. Reyes is a true romantic in the best sense of the word and dances musically on this album, with the accompaniment of a cavalcade of extremely capable musicians. Anibal Ávila and Adonis Machado especially, add trumpet flare to the compositions, and act as the perfect foil for Reyes as he positively jumps through each song with an energy and verve that belies his 85 years.

Cole Porter’s Begin the Beguine starts this disk, and this moody number does indeed seem to “bring back a night of tropical splendor,” as Reyes’ lyrical piano practically sings the words to the classic, jazz standard. Beatriz Márquez fades into Como Arrullo de Palmas like the diva you’ve always dreamed of and the intensity builds, by turns soft and elegant and then more forceful and upbeat. Escucha mi Piano finds Reyes indulging in flourishes and wisecracks that never seem out of place, as he stakes his claim, alongside Rubén González, as grandmaster of Cuban piano.

I can now add Mami Me Gustó to the list of things that I like, as this cut is the standout of the album. Sitting back and closing your eyes to this song brings a Cuban street party to life on a perfect summer day. Anibal Ávila and Adonis Machado make this song a mysterious trumpet masterpiece. Each cut, in fact, is a tiny, nostalgic gem, as Reyes riffs and moves to a crescendo toward La Guantanamera.

This song is so familiar (think hard and it will come to you) that kids on the playground used to hum its melody replacing the lyrics with nonsense words, as I remember. Of course, the real test of any art form is the test of time, and this CD is a nostalgic trip back to some, but to jazz aficionados Reyes’ sound is as unmistakable as a habanero on the tongue.

Cannonball

Cannonball Adderley has always been one of my favorite sax players and this footage finds him beside the über-hip Yusef Lateef. Lateef’s Psychicemotus is one of my favorite jazz albums. My vinyl copy hasn’t seen the light of day in a few years.



I still haven’t bought a turntable [since moving to Chicago five years ago], so my vinyl collection is sitting in limbo. I know Impulse and Blue Note have reissued most of the classics on vinyl, but it’s a better feeling when a day spent going through the record bins results in finding an original pressing of something you’ve been searching for. This group alternated players during the same time period, so I think the other incarnation of Cannonball’s lineup included Victor Feldman (p, vib), Wes Montgomery (g), and Ray Brown (b) instead of those in the video.

There’s a lyrical quality to Cannonball’s solos that simultaneously hold the aloof phrasing of cool jazz but also an element of a sort-of musical sarcasm. Cannonball, in his solos, seems evasive. Its apparent that he has a musical depth that saves songs such as this from what might have seemed like a forgettable pop tune if it were played by lesser hands.

Miles was it.

Was Bud Powell the best bop pianist? Yes.

Let's Get Lost

Of course, I wasn’t around when most of the great jazz was being played. Not to say that there isn’t a lot of great jazz being played right now, but jazz today exists on the foundation built by the giants. Chet Baker wasn’t a giant, but he was a solid trumpet player with a mystique about him that lives on to this day. From the clean-cut, good boy looks of his younger days, to the gnarled and haggard visage that stares out from the last few photos of him after the trouble that had been chasing finally caught him, Baker was one of those who defined West coast cool jazz with his laconic singing style and minimal playing.

Coltrane footage is probably old news to jazz fans, but I can never get enough of watching Coltrane tell his story. Dolphy on this clip complements Coltrane's stuff perfectly. Too bad when I saw McCoy Tyner at Gilly's in Dayton, Ohio, he'd seemed to have lost his touch. The ballads he played that night were nice but not what I came to see.

Point of Departure

Andrew Hill recently passed away. His album Point of Departure is worth a listen if you haven't heard that one. I originally bought it because I wanted to hear even more of Eric Dolphy, but I ended up appreciating Hill's sparse style. He is rather influenced by Monk to an obvious degree but his compositions usually seem less grouchy or funky than Monk's stuff. Hill's perspective is more cerebral and spacey, from what I remember, and my only criticism of what I ever heard by him was that some of what he wrote seemed nearly *too* formless. I was left hoping that his songs would start to groove a little more, even if only for a few bars. Dolphy on Point of Departure is his usual absolutely original self.

Speaking of Eric Dolphy, I did listen to my Eric Dolphy at the Five Spot again the other day. Dolphy paired with Mal Waldron I think is a better combination for whatever reason. I think Mal Waldron's meditative and somewhat repetitive musings are a needed counterpoint to Dolphy's wild pyrotechnics. And on the Five Spot recording you also get Eddie Blackwell and Richard Davis providing rhythm and you can't get better than that. I've always loved Blackwell playing alongside Ornette Coleman--they both had kind of an undercurrent of humor to what they did. Elvin Jones and Jimmy Garrison leap to mind as another great rhythm duo that provided a foundation for another legendary improviser. Coltrane was on a spiritual journey that was deadly serious, though.

The Duke

Steve Halle’s comment to my Mingus post made me break out the Mingus box set, Thirteen Pictures, which I haven’t listened to in a while, to hear one song, Duke Ellington’s "Wig Wise." Ellington, Mingus, and Max Roach on drums make one of the best lineups for a trio ever. Ellington on "Wig Wise" plays as if he were Mario Andretti alone at the test track casually taking a new prototype Ferrari for a leisurely 200 mph first spin. There’s nothing to prove when the world has already been conquered. He only turns up the heat once in the entire song, as his first solo reaches a mild crescendo of self-assuredness and then Ellington slyly pulls back and retreats again into subtlety and wisdom. Mingus cleverly squeezes solos neatly inside his backbeat bass rhythms almost nearly at the same time that Duke is taking his own lush solos, and both must’ve been smiling at this interchange—a game of chess between mafia don and his number one hired gun. Three+ minutes of jazz perfection.

This morning I also felt like throwing on the ESP Milford Graves disc, You Never Heard Such Sounds In Your Life. ESP, the record label, has a stellar catalogue, and the story of ESP records is nearly as interesting as the list of artists they recorded. From 1964 to 1975 ESP issued many remarkable dates with jazz and folk artists, starting in '64 with the Albert Ayler side, Spiritual Unity. ESP avowed that they would record iconoclasts and let the artists decide what constituted a final take--ideas that seem even more avant-garde in light of today's music scene, where corporate interests have eclipsed what remained of artistic integrity. You Never Heard Such Sounds In Your Life, with Milford Graves and Sunny Morgan, is a certified gem because its multi-layered, waves of percussion are so rewarding after repeat listenings. It's one of the most unique discs I own because it's completely free of any influence other than the sounds that may be produced by percussive effects. Within the span of any given two minutes on this recording there are numerous percussive infinitesimals, which lead the listener down multiple sonic pathways--some are blind alleys, but the sum total of the effort is huge. ESP's catalog is amazing.

Rahsaan Roland Kirk

Roland Kirk was an eccentric, even by jazz standards, who was capable of playing several instruments simultaneously. By using circular breathing he could sustain a single note indefinitely, and he had the finesse and technical ability to play simple melodies and complex multi-harmonic solos effortlessly. With the rough edges of a street musician, he was typecast early on as a player who relied on gimmicks to gain an audience. It took some time for critics to realize he was the real thing, although the musicians he played with had known it all along. The man was ran·dom.

Miles Smiles

Ok, so this is what they're doing inside the YMCA. Sun Ra provides us with perhaps the most bizarre keyboard solo ever caught on tape. Half Parliament and half Duke Ellington, Sun Ra was wholly unique. His musicianship was incomparable and this video isn't the best representation of his capabilities, but I thought you may enjoy it.



Miles playing So What. Nothing needs to be said about this. It speaks for itself. From the very first note, Miles takes you back to school. He defined cool.

Mingus Ah Um

When I think of the greatest jazz albums of all time I always have to think of Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. Mingus is my favorite bassist of all time--at least today. Ron Carter and Ray Brown are up there too. Black Saint and the Sinner Lady is a feast unlike any other jazz album. The moods swing from euphoria to despair and all points in between with bluesy beats, flamenco guitar, and heaps of soul. The album doesn't let up and the listener is transported to another place entirely. It's relentless, brilliant, and after repeated listenings just gets better with age.

Eric Dolphy's album Out To Lunch is still one of the most exciting jazz albums ever recorded. I'm starting this new blog to celebrate what might be the very first warm day of the season here in Chicago. Out To Lunch is an all-out sonic assault, and on every cut Dolphy's caterwaul, at times, sounds nearly like a wounded animal. On Out To Lunch, Dolphy has taken the listener into the stratosphere and far from the comfortable and familiar territory explored by legends like Bix Beiderbecke and Frankie Trumbauer on classics like "Singin' the Blues." Out To Lunch shows the huge chasm between straight ahead jazz and outside jazz more than other classic avant albums like Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come, because Dolphy retains what he learned from playing with Charles Mingus, (i.e., free improvisation still needs some shred of a traditional rhythm section to serve as a homebase for all those intergalactic flights). Without this foundation, the players in any free jazz session are left without any real leader and the listener is left in the lurch, too. Think of some of the least successful moments on Free Jazz, the landmark album by the Ornette Coleman quartet. Although Dolphy shines throughout each cut on this particular jazz classic, there is something about his solos on Out To Lunch that seems to resonate on a much deeper level. If anyone is even reading what I'm writing here, I'll ask a few questions next. Jazz music provides the listener with reward, but it takes some effort. As America's only indigenous art form, jazz truly does necessitate appreciation and not passive enjoyment. Why is that such a turn off for many listeners? Players like Dolphy were especially misunderstood because their art took them places and they followed. Some might say they left the audience behind, but more importantly there are times when listening to the experimentation of greats like Dolphy, Ornette Coleman, or John Coltrane gives the listener something more complex and enjoyable than whatever listening to classic tracks like Beiderbecke's "Singin the Blues" might provide. Of course, this is just the tip of the syncopated iceberg and there are straight ahead players and free jazz players too numerous to name. Anyone interested in jazz should definitely listen to those mentioned, along with Sun Ra, Archie Shepp, Anthony Braxton, Cecil Taylor, and Marion Brown. But however your taste runs, if you're not listening to jazz, you really are Out To Lunch. Do some jazz homework. Download "Singin' the Blues," "Hat and Beard," off Out To Lunch, "West End Blues" by Louis Armstrong, and "Lonely Woman," by Ornette Coleman to see how far jazz has come. Who knows where jazz will be in the next twenty years? Wherever it lands it'll be unique, exciting, and completely American.

Thurston's free jazz top ten is worth a read, too. Check it out.