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Here is the NY Times obituary of jazz pianist, George Shearing, and a recording of his most famous and enduring composition:
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Showing posts with label Jazz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jazz. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Thursday, August 19, 2010
R.I.P. - Herman Leonard: the Eyes of Bebop
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I pause this morning to note the death and to celebrate the life and work of Herman Leonard. Any person with anything more than a passing interest in jazz, particularly in the jazz artists of the bebop era, will be familiar with his transcendent photography. Herman Leonard received his undergraduate degree from my employer, Ohio University. I consider him to be among this institution's most illustrious alumni. The Kennedy Museum here featured a retrospective exhibition of his work only months ago, and is also, I believe, the proud holder of a permanent collection.
The New York Times obituary to which you are linked above will provide a glimpse of his great photography, much of which is instantly recognizable. I urge you to check it out.
Thank you, Mr. Leonard. May you rest in the peace of high accomplishment.
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Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Rants: Bad News
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Over at Vox Nova, regular contributor Sam Rocha has posted a piece registering his disgust at the news. His post begins with the sentence, I’m sick of the “news.” And he concludes his reflections with, Sure, there are better and worse “news” outlets and we shouldn’t opt to live under a rock, but, in the end, the effect is the same for me today: nausea. How about you?
Well, since Sam asked, I made the following comments (very slightly amended here) in response:
What does it signify that reportage concerning events in “the news” is immediately susceptible to such a variety of slants, spins, analyses, and interpretations, both at the source (the media) and by its consumers (you and me)?
Is this because “the news” contains no Truth upon which you and I can agree? Or is it because you and I make use of the information conveyed to us through the media as raw materials, in order to construct the subjective pseudo-truths which serve to scratch our personal (and/or tribal) itches?
As a for instance, is President Obama taking heat over his response to the BP oil spill from many people because he is pro-choice, rather than because of his response to the BP oil spill itself?
As another, is organized labor in this country being systematically demonized and dismantled (despite its long history of struggle and sacrifice and its huge historical effect in raising everyone’s standard of living) because it has become somehow “unAmerican”; or is it primarily envy causing the rancor?
In short, do we now use news items primarily as brickbats to throw at the head of “the Other” rather than as reports on happenings in the world that may demand our attention as problem-solvers and agents of goodwill toward our fellow man?
Do we use “the news” primarily “against,” rather than “for?”
Do we seek out voices whose constant refrains are “con-,” rather than “pro-?”
All that negativity! No wonder we feel lousy!
____________________
NB: Click here to hear Sam jam!
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Over at Vox Nova, regular contributor Sam Rocha has posted a piece registering his disgust at the news. His post begins with the sentence, I’m sick of the “news.” And he concludes his reflections with, Sure, there are better and worse “news” outlets and we shouldn’t opt to live under a rock, but, in the end, the effect is the same for me today: nausea. How about you?
Well, since Sam asked, I made the following comments (very slightly amended here) in response:
What does it signify that reportage concerning events in “the news” is immediately susceptible to such a variety of slants, spins, analyses, and interpretations, both at the source (the media) and by its consumers (you and me)?
Is this because “the news” contains no Truth upon which you and I can agree? Or is it because you and I make use of the information conveyed to us through the media as raw materials, in order to construct the subjective pseudo-truths which serve to scratch our personal (and/or tribal) itches?
As a for instance, is President Obama taking heat over his response to the BP oil spill from many people because he is pro-choice, rather than because of his response to the BP oil spill itself?
As another, is organized labor in this country being systematically demonized and dismantled (despite its long history of struggle and sacrifice and its huge historical effect in raising everyone’s standard of living) because it has become somehow “unAmerican”; or is it primarily envy causing the rancor?
In short, do we now use news items primarily as brickbats to throw at the head of “the Other” rather than as reports on happenings in the world that may demand our attention as problem-solvers and agents of goodwill toward our fellow man?
Do we use “the news” primarily “against,” rather than “for?”
Do we seek out voices whose constant refrains are “con-,” rather than “pro-?”
All that negativity! No wonder we feel lousy!
____________________
NB: Click here to hear Sam jam!
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Sunday, February 28, 2010
Readings: Monk on Sight, Song, and Cetaceans
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From a tape transcription of Thelonious Monk theorizing on the subject of aquatic mammals:
“They say if you can ever make a tape of a porpoise and play it back, down slow enough, it’s the same as the human voice. They are so close to the human species. Because they have the same box here [pointing to his throat].” After explaining that they communicate at very high frequencies, Monk performs a pretty convincing imitation of a porpoise cry. He then launches into a lecture about how man might benefit from harnessing the porpoise’s ability to sense everything around them: “You know, it’s an amazing thing to study the porpoises. With the study of the porpoise, they going to find out possibilities of completely obliterating a blind man’s stick. Walk down the fucking street blind as a bat, and naked. They’ll put a little sonar thing in his ear or something that is able to tell when you’re getting up to anything, the kind of object, the texture of the object, whether it’s a building or a person…it could tell that it’s either a hard surface or cloth. Because they’ve checked out porpoises and they can’t figure out, they hadn’t been able to figure out why a porpoise can swim in dark, murky waters, so you can’t see nothing at all, and they won’t hit a motherfucking thing.”
“They say if you can ever make a tape of a porpoise and play it back, down slow enough, it’s the same as the human voice. They are so close to the human species. Because they have the same box here [pointing to his throat].” After explaining that they communicate at very high frequencies, Monk performs a pretty convincing imitation of a porpoise cry. He then launches into a lecture about how man might benefit from harnessing the porpoise’s ability to sense everything around them: “You know, it’s an amazing thing to study the porpoises. With the study of the porpoise, they going to find out possibilities of completely obliterating a blind man’s stick. Walk down the fucking street blind as a bat, and naked. They’ll put a little sonar thing in his ear or something that is able to tell when you’re getting up to anything, the kind of object, the texture of the object, whether it’s a building or a person…it could tell that it’s either a hard surface or cloth. Because they’ve checked out porpoises and they can’t figure out, they hadn’t been able to figure out why a porpoise can swim in dark, murky waters, so you can’t see nothing at all, and they won’t hit a motherfucking thing.”
~ Robin D. G. Kelley, Thelonious Monk: the Life and Times of an American Original
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Monk plays for the porpoises: Blue Monk, Oslo 1966: Charley Rouse, tenor; Larry Gales, bass; Ben Riley, drums.
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Monk plays for the porpoises: Blue Monk, Oslo 1966: Charley Rouse, tenor; Larry Gales, bass; Ben Riley, drums.
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Note: If you ever doubted that the piano is actually a percussion instrument, this performance will disabuse you of that doubt.
Note on the illustration: Torn many years ago from an issue of Oui magazine, the picture is of scientist John C. Lilly and friend. Lilly's well-publicized research into the intelligence of aquatic mammals was most likely the inspiration of Monk's rap as quoted above.
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Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Riffs: Totally Jazzed
Check out this New Yorker Magazine article about a jazz aficionado whose unique powers of memory place him somewhere on the boundary between obsession and genius: a musical ascetic; a saintly, flesh-and-blood, encyclopedia of jazz.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Riffs: Tempus, Fug It!
In the wake of my earlier reflections on the passing of the two great jazzmen, Frank Morgan and Oscar Peterson, I have been spending more time in the enjoyment of my collection of recorded jazz. This collection consists of about a hundred vinyl albums, several dozen commercial cassettes, maybe a hundred CDs, and a couple hundred mixes that I put together on 90-minute cassettes, back in the day before computers began to come equipped with CD burners. This old computer doesn’t have one, but even if it did it wouldn’t help me with combining tracks from vinyl, tape, and CD in a program on a single medium; only my ever-so-pre-9/11 stereo is up to that task. (MS, I’m not investing in the gadgets that will do it. I’m good with what I’ve got.)
I’m listening to a newly-acquired retrospective CD covering the career of Oscar Peterson as I type. But mostly I’ve been listening to my long-neglected collection of vinyl albums. This current kick of mine can be referred to as: Jazz at 4 AM.
One thought that has hit home as I’ve made my way through my collection is that in several instances I’ve been listening to albums that I last put on the turntable twenty years or more ago. At that rate, I realized, it wouldn’t be difficult to find an actuarial table somewhere to predict that I am now listening to most of these records for the last time. Ever.
Sic transit gloria mundi…
Of the albums I’ve listened to during this binge, let me mention a couple in a little detail:
The first is a CD that I gave a listen to because one of the primary artists on it, George Shearing, was mentioned in On the Road: the Original Scroll, which I am still reading. In addition to Shearing, the album also features a female vocalist about whom not enough is heard, imo—Dakota Staton. The title of the album is In the Night: the George Shearing Quintet with Dakota Staton. In addition to the title tune, a few of the outstanding tracks include: Confessin’ the Blues; The Thrill is Gone; and The Late, Late Show. Highly recommended. Goes well with Jack Daniels.
But the brightest gem that has turned up during this jazz kick has to be a double vinyl album featuring sax man, Oliver Nelson. Released in 1978 on the Impulse! label, as Volume II of The Dedication Series and titled Three Dimensions (MCA Impulse 2-4148), my copy has a notch cut in the cover, indicating that I pulled it out of a discount bin, probably at the Tower Records on either upper or lower Broadway, in Manhattan. (I also have volume VIII in the series, waiting on deck).
The tracks on sides A and B of the double album were recorded on February 23, 1961, in New Jersey, and engineered by Rudy Van Gelder. The band on these sides is: Oliver Nelson, tenor and alto sax; Eric Dolphy, alto sax and flute; Freddie Hubbard, trumpet; George Barrow, baritone sax; Bill Evans, piano; Paul Chambers, bass; and Roy Haynes, drums. It would be difficult to come up with a better band than that. I have been sent into special paroxysms by Dolphy’s flute and Evan’s keyboard work on these sides.
The band on sides C and D is: Oliver Nelson, soprano sax; Steve Kuhn, piano; Ron Carter, bass; and Grady Tate, drums. (Why is the drummer always listed last, Ringo?) These tracks were laid down at Capitol Studios in New York City in 1966, engineered by Bob Simpson. Again outstanding. Nelson wrote all the tunes on sides A, B, and C. Side D features Thelonius Monk’s classic, Straight, No Chaser, and the tune The Shadow of Your Smile (J. Mandel & P. F. Webster) from the movie The Sandpiper.
If you’re not an audiophile collecting old vinyl, I’m sure that this music is available on CD somewhere. Find it. Buy it. Dig it. Tempus fugit. Or as Norman Mailer might have put it: Tempus, fug it!
I’m listening to a newly-acquired retrospective CD covering the career of Oscar Peterson as I type. But mostly I’ve been listening to my long-neglected collection of vinyl albums. This current kick of mine can be referred to as: Jazz at 4 AM.
One thought that has hit home as I’ve made my way through my collection is that in several instances I’ve been listening to albums that I last put on the turntable twenty years or more ago. At that rate, I realized, it wouldn’t be difficult to find an actuarial table somewhere to predict that I am now listening to most of these records for the last time. Ever.
Sic transit gloria mundi…
Of the albums I’ve listened to during this binge, let me mention a couple in a little detail:
The first is a CD that I gave a listen to because one of the primary artists on it, George Shearing, was mentioned in On the Road: the Original Scroll, which I am still reading. In addition to Shearing, the album also features a female vocalist about whom not enough is heard, imo—Dakota Staton. The title of the album is In the Night: the George Shearing Quintet with Dakota Staton. In addition to the title tune, a few of the outstanding tracks include: Confessin’ the Blues; The Thrill is Gone; and The Late, Late Show. Highly recommended. Goes well with Jack Daniels.
But the brightest gem that has turned up during this jazz kick has to be a double vinyl album featuring sax man, Oliver Nelson. Released in 1978 on the Impulse! label, as Volume II of The Dedication Series and titled Three Dimensions (MCA Impulse 2-4148), my copy has a notch cut in the cover, indicating that I pulled it out of a discount bin, probably at the Tower Records on either upper or lower Broadway, in Manhattan. (I also have volume VIII in the series, waiting on deck).
The tracks on sides A and B of the double album were recorded on February 23, 1961, in New Jersey, and engineered by Rudy Van Gelder. The band on these sides is: Oliver Nelson, tenor and alto sax; Eric Dolphy, alto sax and flute; Freddie Hubbard, trumpet; George Barrow, baritone sax; Bill Evans, piano; Paul Chambers, bass; and Roy Haynes, drums. It would be difficult to come up with a better band than that. I have been sent into special paroxysms by Dolphy’s flute and Evan’s keyboard work on these sides.
The band on sides C and D is: Oliver Nelson, soprano sax; Steve Kuhn, piano; Ron Carter, bass; and Grady Tate, drums. (Why is the drummer always listed last, Ringo?) These tracks were laid down at Capitol Studios in New York City in 1966, engineered by Bob Simpson. Again outstanding. Nelson wrote all the tunes on sides A, B, and C. Side D features Thelonius Monk’s classic, Straight, No Chaser, and the tune The Shadow of Your Smile (J. Mandel & P. F. Webster) from the movie The Sandpiper.
If you’re not an audiophile collecting old vinyl, I’m sure that this music is available on CD somewhere. Find it. Buy it. Dig it. Tempus fugit. Or as Norman Mailer might have put it: Tempus, fug it!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Reflections: Some Random, Unfocussed Thoughts
Three weeks into it now, the pain of which I wrote below has finally begun to dissipate. For the past couple of days I've been able to walk pretty much anywhere I needed to go, with only a bearable level of discomfort resulting from the effort. I've been able to sleep on my back, as well as on my right side, which has been a great boon to the level and duration of the rest I've been able to get at night. So things are looking up.
The strange thing about it, though, is that there is almost a let-down setting in. It's like the feeling one has after an adventure has run it's course, or something really fun has ended. When one is fighting a lot of pain, 24/7, one is never bored. One may be frustrated, and even a little bit frightened, but one is not depressed. In moments of crisis there is no room for depression. And, at least for me, self-pity does not have the clout necessary to wrest consciousness away from the struggle to endure, to keep going, to do the possible.
But I'm now left intellectually flat. Nothing much has greatly interested me since the pain abated.
I wanted to note the passing of two pretty good jazz musicians during this holiday season: first, the alto sax maestro, Frank Morgan--of all the Charlie Parker clones perhaps the most talented, next to Cannonball Adderley; then piano player, Oscar Peterson, a true giant of the keyboard.
I don't like to embed YouTube clips on this blog much, because it makes it take too long to refresh the screen on this old Dell wood-burner I use at home. But I'm sure that you can find clips on both of these men, and I urge you to take the time to do so.
When I first started listening to a lot of jazz in the mid-'80s, I thought that jazz musicians had to be black to be great. It wasn't until about ten years into it that I bought many albums by white musicians. I had some: Stan Getz, Bennie Goodman, and a couple of others--but not many. Then I started to explore a bit more. Among the white jazzmen I discovered was the pianist, Bill Evans. I knew that he was okay to admire, because Miles Davis used him on Kind of Blue--'nuff said. I also had an old vinyl album featuring baritone sax player, Gerry Mulligan. I met him through Miles Davis, also, on The Birth of the Cool. The vinyl album, on which Mulligan was the leader, included a bunch of cuts featuring Chet Baker on trumpet. I was hooked. I'm not too sure that it's cool to be a Chet Baker fan, but frig that: I'm a Chet Baker fan. This startling confession is something that I plan to write about sometime in the future, when I'm not so mentally blah.
Your assignment, kids, is to get on YouTube and find some Frank Morgan; some Oscar Peterson; some Bill Evans; and some Chet Baker. Check it out. Report back. God speed.
Final note: I'm also reading, due to a second-hand recommendation, a crime novel by Charles Willeford. I'd never heard of him, although I do occasionally dip into the genre. The novel I got from the library in order to check the guy out is Miami Blues. I've read about the first third, and I'm not that impressed. James M. Cain, he's not. Even Elmore Leonard, he's not. Jim Thompson? Maybe. Has anybody read this guy? What'd you think?
The strange thing about it, though, is that there is almost a let-down setting in. It's like the feeling one has after an adventure has run it's course, or something really fun has ended. When one is fighting a lot of pain, 24/7, one is never bored. One may be frustrated, and even a little bit frightened, but one is not depressed. In moments of crisis there is no room for depression. And, at least for me, self-pity does not have the clout necessary to wrest consciousness away from the struggle to endure, to keep going, to do the possible.
But I'm now left intellectually flat. Nothing much has greatly interested me since the pain abated.
I wanted to note the passing of two pretty good jazz musicians during this holiday season: first, the alto sax maestro, Frank Morgan--of all the Charlie Parker clones perhaps the most talented, next to Cannonball Adderley; then piano player, Oscar Peterson, a true giant of the keyboard.
I don't like to embed YouTube clips on this blog much, because it makes it take too long to refresh the screen on this old Dell wood-burner I use at home. But I'm sure that you can find clips on both of these men, and I urge you to take the time to do so.
When I first started listening to a lot of jazz in the mid-'80s, I thought that jazz musicians had to be black to be great. It wasn't until about ten years into it that I bought many albums by white musicians. I had some: Stan Getz, Bennie Goodman, and a couple of others--but not many. Then I started to explore a bit more. Among the white jazzmen I discovered was the pianist, Bill Evans. I knew that he was okay to admire, because Miles Davis used him on Kind of Blue--'nuff said. I also had an old vinyl album featuring baritone sax player, Gerry Mulligan. I met him through Miles Davis, also, on The Birth of the Cool. The vinyl album, on which Mulligan was the leader, included a bunch of cuts featuring Chet Baker on trumpet. I was hooked. I'm not too sure that it's cool to be a Chet Baker fan, but frig that: I'm a Chet Baker fan. This startling confession is something that I plan to write about sometime in the future, when I'm not so mentally blah.
Your assignment, kids, is to get on YouTube and find some Frank Morgan; some Oscar Peterson; some Bill Evans; and some Chet Baker. Check it out. Report back. God speed.
Final note: I'm also reading, due to a second-hand recommendation, a crime novel by Charles Willeford. I'd never heard of him, although I do occasionally dip into the genre. The novel I got from the library in order to check the guy out is Miami Blues. I've read about the first third, and I'm not that impressed. James M. Cain, he's not. Even Elmore Leonard, he's not. Jim Thompson? Maybe. Has anybody read this guy? What'd you think?
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