The kid's first 78 & my first bandmate

I was singing "Doggy in the Window" to Donovan earlier this week and thought he needed to hear the original Patti Page version. When I found my 78 of it, there was a huge chunk busted out of it, which didn't leave enough of the song for him to hear. So one day after daycare, I took him to Squirrel Hill for his first trip to Jerry's Records. Jerry's son Willie actually runs part of the store with nothing but 78s in it, and that was our destination.

Donovan was in my arms going up the steps and around the corner past the huge speaker that was booming old r&b ("That's loud!"). I'm glad he was because if there's any place where you don't want to unleash a bouncy three-year old, it's a 78 shop.

We found the heavy crate full of Patti Page records and I started thumbing through them. He was standing next to me by now and he seemed excited because he kept asking, "Where's 'Doggy in the Window'? Where's 'Doggy in the Window'?" Knowing how popular the song was, I was confidant there was at least one copy. And knowing that Donovan wouldn't stay still for long, I grabbed the first one I saw, even though it had a flimsy sleeve. Besides it was in great shape and only $2.

Donovan will often get very excited about something until he actually gets it, at which point his loses interest. Not so with "Doggy in the Window." When we put it on that night, he wasn't freaked out by the Victrola volume and he clearly got a kick out of the song. Thankfully, he doesn't want to hear it five times a day, but he has asked for it since then.

Speaking of kids and records and (from the last post) talk of neighbors and their records, I heard back from my long lost friend Eric last week. When we were in kindergarten - and probably long before that because memories get fuzzy at that age - we were both into music, listening to it constantly and making up skits that he would tape on a big honkin' reel to reel player in his room. We were going to have a "band," even though neither of us played anything. But he moved to Columbus in first grade, which kind of ended that. Each time he visited Pittsburgh, though, he'd spend the night at my place and we'd put on a concert in my basement with the help of my brother Tom. The concert consisted of us lip-synching to records and playing guitars that Tom fashioned out of bamboo poles and cardboard.

Eric - if you're reading this, my sister reminded me that there's a Facebook group called "I played in a band with Mike Shanley," which you have every right to join since you were the first.

Just because he played with Bird doesn't make him hip

I was obsessed with records before I could read the writing on their labels. The colors, designs and shapes of the words used to guide me. When I would go visit families around the neighborhood, I probably asked them what records they owned, hoping most likely that they'd whip out some Herb Alpert or Fifth Dimension.

It was during one of these visits to an older gentleman across the street from our house that I first heard the phrase "Sing Along with Mitch." I didn't know at the time that those words were synonymous with "Squaresville." The rhythmic sound of them was pretty cool. Luckily, Mitch and the Gang were never thrown on the phonograph or the hi-fi and my ears were spared the chestnuts like "Ida, Sweet as Apple Cider" or "Michael Row the Boat Ashore."

These memories came back to me this week because Mitch Miller passed away at the ripe old age of 99. I admire him for his longevity, but that's about it. When it came to the music industry, he was The Man, not like "my main man," but like "I'm sick of being hassled by the man." From forcing Frank Sinatra to record "Mama Will Bark" - a novelty song [that I have somewhere on 78] complete with dog barks and a deadpan duet partner named Dagmar - to refusing to sign any rock and roll acts to Columbia to those blankety-blank Mitch and the Gang albums, Miller personifies unhip.

However, he did a few things that made some good: He insisted that Rosemary Clooney record "Come On-A My House," a snappy little number with the fiestiest harpsichord solo ever; he got Frankie Laine to sing "Mule Train," which should be internalized by any kid who likes to sing loud; and he got Tony Bennett to sing "Because of You." It's funny that all of these songs wound up on an compilation album called Remember How Great, Volume 2 which I can practically guarantee you can find at any thrift store or used record store.

Finally, Mitch played oboe on a couple of Charlie Parker's Bird with Strings sessions. I have to wonder what he thought of Bird's soloing style. I also have to wonder what the energy in the studio was like that day, considering the hippest cat and the squarest man were in such close proximity.

The week in music - in person and (soon to be) in print

Playing right now: Ornette Coleman - The Great London Concert. (Specifically, "Falling Stars," which features both Ornette's trumpet and violin work. He's no Billy Bang, but the fiddle wasn't as bad as I expected.)

It's been a week of writing. I even called off a day from work to make sure I'd get things done. The biggest thing was a piece on Allan Sherman, whose Warner Bros albums are all being reissued in September. Blurt is running a short piece in their fall issue, and I interviewed Allan's son Robert, as well as Dr. Demento, who wrote the liner notes for all the albums. (Weird Al's people gave me a generic "Sorry, no can do.") Both of the interviewees were great. Robert spoke at length about his dad and how his gift for parodies developed. We talked for about an hour. Dr. Demento was also a great interview, very friendly and able to give me some great quotes. The struggle was getting all the info and a couple good quotes into a 300-word piece. (Something longer will appear on the Blurt website.)

I also had to review the new Blonde Redhead and Azure Ray albums by yesterday. And if all that wasn't enough, I had to review four albums for JazzTimes by Wednesday. One of those reviews covered three different albums by one artist, and one was a two-disc set.

Between all that, the Aram Shelton Quartet finally made it to town. (Note: I say that because I thought they were coming a week earlier, and when I discovered there was another week of anticipation, I wanted to see them more.) They came to the Thunderbird, and first let me say that it was odd how much several of them reminded me of people I know or have seen around town.

Three out of the four of them have played in the revolving leadership band Fast Citizens - alto saxophonist Shelton, tenor saxophonist Keefe Jackson and bassist Anton Hatwich. Drummer Marc Riordan is the newcomer of the band. This quartet recently released a CD on Shelton's own label (These Times, on Single Speed, www.singlespeedmusic.org) from which their set drew pretty heavily.

Shelton is an interesting alto player, influenced a good deal by Ornette Coleman, by his own admission, but the music doesn't end up sounding like Coleman Quartet Worshippers No. 232. In the song "These Times" he started his solo in the lower register of his alto and hung around there for a remarkable amount of time before getting into the more significant trademark alto area. During the same tune, Jackson took a tenor solo that reminded me of John Tchicai, in the way that he played freely - or maybe arhythmically is a better word - over the rhythm section and still managed to interact with them. There were elements of modern post-bop in the music, as well as some more droning moments. Shelton doubled on clarinet, which he really gave a unique voice, thanks to his exploratory nature. Jackson switched to bass clarinet on a couple tunes too. [Note - I took fairly copious notes that night, but I can't find them and don't want to delay this review so this is all I'll write on the topic.]

I tried to get more people to come out to the show and had a few lined up to meet me there, but they all had to cancel out or email me later explaining what was up. Jackson said he might be coming back in October with another outfit, the Chicago Luzerne Exchange, so maybe if that happens I can get some hipsters out to see it.

Last night, Gooski's had show featuring a band from Omaha called Landing on the Moon. I caught about half their set and found them pretty amazing. Very loud five piece with 2 guitars, keys, bass and drums, with the lead guitar player handling a lot of the singing. The drummer did a lot of harmonies too, even while he was tearing out some unorthodox accents.

I was actually there to check out a new local band called Neighbors, on the advice of a friend who I bumped into last weekend. He's tight with the singer of the band, Mike, who I also kind of know. I'm glad I took his advice to check them out. (The recommendation was that they were close to the "noisy pop" description that applied to the Love Letters.) They kind of had me hooked on the first chord, some kind of 7th chord, which made it sound like a Bacharach tune. Overall they had a sort of Jam sound going for them. A band called Satin Gum played third but I split before they went on, only because I was tired.

Speaking of tired I have nodded off about three times since I started this entry. Time to go.

William Hooker beats the heat

"So it this music blues or jazz?"

A 50-something fella asked me that last Monday at the Thunderbird, pointing at the albums that William Hooker was setting up on his merchandise table. The real answer to that question is, "Neither." So I was naturally hesitant to say "jazz" since "It's free improv," is the more sensible answer. Plus I was worried that Hooker might actually hear this exchange and go off on how his music isn't jazz.

I forget exactly what I said, but this guy said he asked because he thought it might be blues and that Hooker might be John Lee Hooker's son. Hmm, I wondered. Is that because his name is Hooker and he's black? Are you that naive? A few minutes later, I was sitting out on the stoop waiting for a phone call and the guy came out again and repeated what he told me inside. This time I used the phrase "free improv" and he said, "What's that?" I should've said "Noise," but I didn't want to have the guy decide to leave and I still didn't feel like being blunt.

When I went back in, Matta Gawa, the opening band, was tearing it up. I mean tearing. Drummer Sam Lohman was crashing and exploding all over his kit. Next to him Ed Ricart was triggering some bass-like loops and tearing it up over top of them. It got to a point where the effects were getting as much attention and tweaking as his fretboard, but his playing still had a strong basis in melody, as fragmented and wild as it might have been. In other words, he was not just noodling and skronking for his own personal satisfaction. One tune - all were improvisations - had the same feel as one of the ballads on the Sonny Sharrock Ask the Ages album: it combined delicate melodic work with a smouldering undercurrent.

I had hoped that William Hooker might be playing with Sabir Mateen since their interaction on the drummer's latest album was so great. But that kind of double-bill (at least it is for us Pittsburghers) was not going to happen for a $12 cover. Not only did Hooker not bring Mateen, he didn't bring anyone with him. He played solo.

Some people walked out before his 40-minute set was completed (the heat of the room didn't make it any easier) but I found the whole thing pretty captivating. Plus Hooker has such a command of his kit. His presence made me stop and play close attention, waiting to see where he would take things. He rolled on his cymbals for a good five minutes at the beginning before he finally moved to his drums. When he did, he pulled some great low pitches out of his floor tom. The way he played made the whole thing feel like a musical statement too, not just some tinkering on the trap kit.

Hooker was set up slightly towards stage left so the main focus was the screen behind him. It projected a computer program throughout the whole set, beginning with rather typical "objects on a desert landscape" kind of scene. As it continued, though, this got a little more detailed and beyond the ordinary, much like the set. It was hard to tell if he was playing "along with" the images or the synchronization was just coincidental.

The whole thing last the perfect length for me - about 40 minutes, and including some brief bits of spoken word text at certain points. They all seemed to riff on the first installment: "Feel the heat of the third rail. Don't touch!" Some of it was clearly too much for folks in the audience, including the gent I might at the beginning of the night. To his credit, he checked out most of Matta Gawa and sat through a bit of Hooker's set, but didn't make it to the end. I stayed for the duration, but once I said my goodbyes, I too tried to cool off and get away from the hot room.

I thought Aram Shelton was coming this Monday, but it turns it, his show is a week later. That's not necessarily bad news, but I was hoping to see him sooner. Boooooooooooooooo!

Rebecca Pronsky reflections

Playing right now: Lou Reed & John Cale - Songs for Drella
(It was the next disc in the CD player after one that I have to review.)

I never got a chance to write anything about going to see Rebecca Pronsky, who played at Howler's about nine days ago (not this past Thursday, but the previous one). She's a singer and guitarist from New York who knows Greg Hoy, a Pittsburgh ex-pat who lived in NYC until very recently when he moved to Boulder for work. Rebecca is one of the few musicians I've met from New York who was actually born there. She was raised in Brooklyn which was a place to fear during her youth - as she tells it - which is ironic considering it's the hipster mecca of the world now.

But that which doesn't kill you makes your act stronger, and Ms. Pronsky is as funny a storyteller as she is a great songwriter and singer. I have a soft spot for people who are good with the between-song shtick, and she had it down, telling stories about a song winding up in a Polish soap opera, what her mother had to say about that, etc.

Even though her "band" consisted of her and guitarist Rich Bennett, the two of them filled the room up with their sound. Rich is a master of high lonely twangs on the guitar, placing slides or lead melodies in just the right place. Coupled with Rebecca's strong voice and steady acoustic guitar, they put on a really good set.

Locals Emily Rodgers and Pete Bush & the Hoi Polloi played before and after Pronsky, respectively. I caught a few of Emily's songs which were fairly epic in length but pretty spellbinding too. Bush's trio was pretty intense and included my old pal Jesse Prentiss on upright bass. I only heard them with half an ear but plan on checking them out at length sometime soon.

Just saw that Rebecca used a quote from my City Paper preview on her list of press pull quotes. Hubba hubba!

Johnny Mathis and his impact on the world. And me

"Strange isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

Clarence the Angel says that to George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life and I believe it's in one of my favorite moments in the film: There's a closeup of George (Jimmy Stewart) and his face isn't centered in the shot. There's a look of horror on his face because he's finally realizing that he is seeing Bedford Falls as it would've been without him.

I've been thinking about Clarence's comment today in reference to both Gene Ludwig (see previous entry) and about Johnny Mathis, who I saw last week at Heinz Hall. Where would the world be if Mathis had decided that being a singer with a fleeting thing and that he would be much better off participating in the Olympics? No one would've heard that vibrato, "Misty" wouldn't've been as big a hit, numerous couples might not have fallen in love........ I'm overthinking the idea but it is kind of mind boggling if you think about it.

Last week, I went to Heinz Hall with my fellow Love Letters bandmate Erin and our friend Sandi to see Mr. M do his stuff. And let me tell you, he had me by the second syllable. He opened with "When I Fall in Love" which included the opening verse, which is when I knew he still had it. That vibrato, that impeccable phrasing and execution were all still there.

He didn't talk too much between songs and when he did, it seemed like his speaking voice betrayed his 74 years, and didn't sound quite as rich. So he might've been saving its strength for the music. The set really didn't disappoint. A Henry Mancini-Johnny Mercer medley including "Charade," "The Days of Wine and Roses" and - of course - "Moon River." He pulled out "Wild Is the Wind," "Misty" (in the middle of the set, surprisingly, not as an encore) and "Gina" which I swear would've made anyone with that name swoon.

I take it back -there was one disappointment. I really wanted to hear "When Sunny Gets Blue," which has an amazingly beautiful set of chord changes. It is a deep cut, sort of, so I can understand why it was skipped. Sandi also made a point after the show that I didn't think about: he didn't do "Wonderful Wonderful." Oh well. I was okay without that one

Some casual readers might be surprised that I'm so into Johnny Mathis, since my tastes usually fall on the other end of the musical spectrum. But Mathis is one of the last of those consummate entertainers from a bygone era. Besides Tony Bennett (who, I'm sorry to say, is starting to lose his voice) there aren't any of these crooners left - except maybe Canonsburg's own Bobby Vinton. But I would bet that Vinton's set plays into a lounge act that caters to an audience in Branson - i.e. predictable, scripted etc. Johnny didn't do that. He really seemed to be into each individual song. Plus when he brought out his guitar player for a spotlight moment, he talked him up and didn't realize until a song later that he forgot to mention the guy's name, proving that this wasn't a show where every last step was choreographed.

The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra accompanied him and sounded great. But on the predictability scale, their opening set stuck with a lot of tried and true tunes that the audience would know like "The William Tell Overture" and "Hoedown" by Aaron Copland.

In closing, I for one am glad Johnny Mathis made the career choice that he did. Thank you, Mr. M. And Gene Ludwig, again I thank you too.

A Fug and an Organ Man

Playing right now: Lee Konitz New Quartet - Live at the Village Vanguard (Enja)

There's a lot to report from the last week, but right at the moment time doesn't allow, so I'll cut to the chase - two more deaths of unique individuals.

First on Tuesday came news that Tuli Kupferberg of the Fugs passed away a day earlier. He considered himself "the world's oldest rock star," since he was well into his 40s by the time he started the Fugs. He had already established himself as a poet and Lower East Side fixture by then, a role he continued probably until his last days. He had the demeanor of both a bohemian wild cat and a warm Jewish grandfather, of which he was probably both.

I met Tuli in 1989 at the CMJ Music Marathon. He was in the audience at a panel discussion where Kramer was one of the panelists. Shimmy-Disc was getting ready to put out Tuli's first album in decades. He offered me some simple but effective advice about continuing to publish a fanzine - which could probably be boiled down to "write what you feel - don't fight the feeling - keep doing it." He looked a little scruffy, but upstairs he had it all together.

I deeply regret not having seen Gene Ludwig play more often. He was truly a master of the B-3. He had a deep, deep sense of swing and knew how to make that 400-pound beast move as lightly as an alto. Maybe it's time to stock up on Gene Ludwig albums in the collection.

The Post-Gazette obit said that he flipped a coin to decide whether he was going to be a full-time musician or a civil engineer. Guess which one out. And think - as I always like to point out - where we'd be if he had gone with civil engineering. One person's decision can affect a lot more people than they realize, directly or indirectly.

Kahil El'Zabar & Hamiet Bluiett Lift the Bandstand

It was pretty cool to walk up the steps into the stage area of the Thunderbird Cafe and see it filled with people there to see the Kahil El'Zabar/Hamiet Bluiett Ritual Trio. There might only be about 20 tables total on both the floor and the upper level by the second bar. But typically, shows like this - avant garde/small scale/call it what you like jazz shows - in Pittsburgh don't typically attract that much of a crowd. I can recall a Steve Swell show a few years ago where I was the only person in the audience right as the set was about to start.

But anyway, it was a good start to the first of a four-part concert series. The Thoth Trio opened the show with a mood that made up for the long gaps between their shows. Ben Opie (tenor and alto saxophones), Paul Thompson (bass) and Dave Throckmorton (drums) each have numerous other projects going on, and Thoth as it is doesn't get to play a lot of gigs. The highlights included: "Ammonium" where a bluesy bass line gets caught up with a sax melody that's like a sideways drunk "Jitterbug Waltz"; Thelonious Monk's rarely heard "We See," which moved away from its Monkism but was a treat since you never heard a tenor player outside of Charlie Rouse or Frank Foster playing it; and a lengthy piece that I think was "Nocturnal" in which Opie ran shot up the register of his horn, running right off the rails of what his horn could blow, and Throckmorton shows how time can be so elastic, pulled back and held tight for dramatic impact and then released. I swear that guy could walk out of a room with playing the beat with his sticks, say hi to a few people he knew, get a drink of water, check his messages and walk back in the room without diverging from the tempo.

Kahil El'Zabar started the Ritual Trio's set with the same kind of intensity and focus. For 15 minutes, he sustained a tempo and groove on the kalimba, tapping his right foot (on which he wore bells) and vocalized along with serious spirit in his voice. The band didn't introduce themselves, they just took the stage, did some soundcheck tweaks and then El'Zabar got into it. Hidden behind shades (which came off after that tune), he had us in the palm of his hands.

Last year, when El'Zabar and Bluiett came to town, it was just the two of them, but this time Junius Paul was along on bass, which helped to open up the songs. While the kalimba set the groove and Bluiett sometimes vamped along with him, Paul often broke into solos or ideas that spun off the grooves. Many of the songs were fairly straight vamps, but that left a lot of room for funky stuff to be added, for some baritone wails to go in, and for any and all of the musicians to sing or moan along. One time when Bluiett was playing flute, El'Zabar's growls mixed with the woodwind and it sounded like Rahsaan Roland Kirk was blowing the instrument.

When El'Zabar moved to the trap kit, he sometimes made faces that were a lot like Throckmorton. (For those out-of-towners, Dave often makes faces like he has a lemon wedge between his cheek and gum - a real sour puss.) He bashed away at the crash cymbal so loudly, I had to cover my ear a couple times.

When I think of Hamiet Bluiett, I think of the baritone sax in all its commanding presence; the kind of instrument and person you don't mess with. And I've seen him close to half a dozen times in the last 25 years. So it was a dose of reality seeing this gentleman onstage who looked like someone's grandfather. Don't get me wrong, the man is still mighty on that horn - and he let fly one of the most spirited vocal yells of the night during one of the other songs. But the recent passing of Fred Anderson was another sad reminder of the humanity of these artists and I thought of that several times last night while looking at Mr. B. I hope he keeps going and I hope traveling by van to club dates isn't too much for him.

When we were leaving, we walked past the van where the trio was loading up, and Hamiet was talking, presumably about the set and the spirit that was on the stage. It was good to hear that and I thanked him for a great show. And then I thanked him for everything. If I had said more, it might sounded maudlin or awkward, so I stopped there. In talking about it with my friend Lena on the ride home, I realized what I really thinking: I sincerely hope that musicians like that - who can get completely whipped up in what they're doing and ride that wave of bliss - know that they're appreciated while they're here.

That show was a perfect example of lifting the bandstand - playing a groove for 10 to 15 minutes, having it stay alive during that time, having the drummer walk through the audience and get us to clap along (even those who don't usually feel like it) and have it feel like this is what we're here for - to enjoy this music. It was a great time.

Summer Jazz Mondays

Now I'm a bit of a Shanley-come-lately on this, but I went to Paul's CDs trying to buy tickets for the Kahil El-Zabar & Hamiet Bluiett show yesterday only to discover that the show is the first in a four-week series of shows at the Thunderbird Cafe. This first show happens on Monday, July 8. It's $15 in advance, $20 day of show. (And you can't get the tickets at Paul's. You have to go to www.thunderbirdcafe.net.) The Thoth Trio is supposed to open.

Next Monday, contrary to what I blogged about last week (which has since been corrected) William Hooker will be there, with Matta Gawa. $10-$12.

On July 26, I am really stoked because Aram Shelton is coming. I reviewed his album on January 2 this year. He's part of that extended family of Chicago jazz guys that includes Josh Berman and Jason Adasiewicz. David Bernabo and Daryl Fleming open the show.

On August 2, the Ernest Dawkins New Horizons Trio plays, with Lee Robinson & Ed Tarzia opening. $15-$20.

Should be a good time. If everyone who read this blog went to those shows, I'd........ be really happy.

Fred Anderson, thanks, wherever you are

It was just a few weeks ago that I mourned the loss of Bill Dixon and here I am again writing about the death of another jazz titan - tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson. And when I say "titan" I mean the definition of the term.

When I was reading the Post-Gazette this morning, something told me to take a lot at the obituaries. That's where I saw that Anderson had passed away. But my eyes must've glazed over the death date, because I had no idea that he died on June 24. I was under the impression it happened this week and it wasn't until I read the article I've linked here that I was found out.

When I reviewed Fred's trio album on Engine last year (see entry on July 26, 2009), there was a moment when I opined that he should live forever because he "has an unending font of ideas." Not only that, a lot of people depended on him, directly or indirectly. His Velvet Lounge served as a home to so many musicians, and there were probably a lot of nights when musicians made plans to record or work together, making plans that might not have otherwise come together. These unspoken catalysts should not be overlooked.

There were also nights when he tended bar at the Velvet and played a set. You're not going to find many musicians with that sort of work ethic. It makes you wonder a) what most of today's jazz musicians will be doing when they're 81 years old and b) whether anyone have that type of tenacity to keep an operation going, without being either a victim or a follower of the almighty dollar.

Don't know about Fred Anderson? Check out this fine piece that Kurt Gottschalk wrote for All About Jazz: http://www.allaboutjazz.com/php/article.php?id=36920

Then buy a handful of CDs by him.

Thanks, Fred. You were a walking inspiration.

CD Review: Giuseppi Logan Quintet

The Giuseppi Logan Quintet

(Tompkins Square)

Giuseppi Logan's tone on tenor and alto saxophone was pretty raw and thin back in the '60s, although he did manage to execute some good ideas on those horns. With Don Pullen, Eddie Gomez and Milford Graves backing him up, it was raggedy, but engaging free jazz set. (For more details, see my entry from August 19, 2008)

In recent years, Logan reemerged in New York City, where he was busking in Tompkins Square Park. Then last fall, the label named after that park took him into the studio with Dave Burrell (piano), Warren Smith (drums), Francois Grillot (bass) and Matt Lavelle (on the unusual doubling of trumpet and bass clarinet).

The first thing that hits you upon hearing opening track "Steppin'" is that Lavelle and Logan don't sound in tune with each other. This is not the same kind of "not in tune" criticism that was thrown at Ornette Coleman or Jackie McLean through the years. This is the sound of a saxophone mouthpiece being shoved too far onto the neck of the horn - or maybe not far enough - and no one testing it against the A on the piano. Based on a riff that recalls "Giant Steps," the song's arrangement sounds a little sloppy too, as if no one knew if the head was repeated twice or if it lead straight into the solos. There are several tracks, in fact, where the band seems to have an uncertain feeling where the music should head next, which is surprising for a band that includes Burrell and Smith.

Unlike Logan's ESP albums, this quintet tries to play straightahead jazz rather than blowing free, which is part of the problem. While free musicians can take liberties with regard to things like tempo and intonation, that kind of approach just sounds sloppy in this situation. The ballad "Around" has a pretty theme, but it's hard to get past the sharpness of Logan's tone. "Bop Dues" offers some hope, with a clever head that comes with a "mop-mop" tag at the end of each phrase. Logan only solos briefly, followed by Lavelle who's trumpet solo has a rough but impressive quality.

Ironically, Logan's take on "Blue Moon," where he plays piano, comes off as one of the stronger pieces on the album, because it proves that something delicate can surface amidst all the rawness of his horn playing. The other piano piece, an original called "Love Me Tonight," almost borders on exploitation. Here Logan sings, clearly frail of voice, betraying a set of bad dental work, if he has any at all. The folks at Tompkins Square might have thought this heartfelt message would close the album on a sweet note, but instead it comes off sounding kind of sad.

I'm glad Logan is alive and doing well and getting to play again. But if he's going to record, he needs to be put in a situation that will bring out the best in him. That didn't happen here.

Other stuff I wrote & "Mark your calendar" info

All the CD reviews here on the blog focus mainly on jazz, but that's because I've written about the rock and the roll for other places. Last week at Blurt, they ran my review of Goodbye Killer, the latest album by my beloved Pernice Brothers: http://www.blurt-online.com/news/view/3821/.

This week, I filed a review of the Germs' final performance, Live at the Starwood, December 3, 1980, which ought to be up any day now. They also have a few reviews in the can from me, the names of which I'll drop when they're up on the site.

There's a pretty interesting singer-songwriter named Rebecca Pronsky coming to Pittsburgh in a few weeks. I just wrote a preview for her July 8 show for City Paper. That'll be up on the site and in print by Wednesday. In the meantime, check her out at http://www.rebeccapronsky.com/. She has a really great voice that's a lot like Neko Case. Her 2007 album Departures and Arrivals is especially strong, though she also did an EP last year called The Best Game in Town.

Speaking of shows coming to Pittsburgh, free improv drummer William Hooker is coming here on July 12! [Date corrected since this entry was initially published.] That should be a pretty great show because his new album Yearn for Certainty is really strong. I just filed a review with JazzTimes. It has Sabir Mateen playing saxophones on it, and he really sounds great. (He's also on the latest from trombonist Steve Swell, which I also wrote about for JT. It's a great album and Mateen is really earth shattering there too.) Hopefully Sabir will be coming with Hooker.

Before that show happens, Kahil El'Zabar & Hamiett Blueitt are coming back to town on July 5 to the Thunderbird Cafe. Thoth Trio is opening, which is kind of a rare event in and of itself because those guys are all on different schedules and rarely get a chance to play together.

And the big show I already have tickets for................... drum roll, please....... on July 10.......is Johnny Mathis!

Yes, that's right folks, I'm going to see Johnny freakin' Mathis. Two friends of mine from work (one is Erin from the Love Letters) and I all thought we ought to check it out. Since all three of us thought the same thing, it's a slamdunk. Expect a dispatch.

CD review: Chicago Underground Duo - Boca Negra

Chicago Underground Duo

Boca Negra

(Thrill Jockey)

Bill Dixon's death made me think about the Chicago Underground Duo, specifically their Boca Negra album that came out a few months ago. Dixon had collaborated with CUD member Rob Mazurek in his other project, the Exploding Star Orchestra, and his playing reminded me a bit of Dixon's anyway, so I thought it was time to pull that disc out again and write about it.

Glad I did because it sounds even stronger than it did a few months ago. Maybe I just needed time to get to know it a little bit better, and listen to it with a different set of ears or expectations. The Chicago Underground Duo, which is completed by drummer/percussionist Chad Taylor can't really be listened to the same way that you listen to jazz. They're a little more AMM than ECM. They create sound sculptures that should be explored more for their sonic architecture than for the way Mazurek blows and Taylor cooks. "Left Hand of Darkness" has some weird electronics, coupled with some pitch bending and tremolo, while the trumpet gets bathed in echo. Two songs later on "Quantum Eye," things get all wobbly and trippy, like the Duo is playing underwater.

What can be really disarming about Boca Negra is how several songs sound like the work of more than two musicians. "Confliction" has a bass riff (preprogrammed on keys or samplers, presumably) with drums following along with it, and the whole thing almost sounds like a Soft Machine piece. "Spy on the Floor" does sound like a riff to a spy movie theme, with a lot of bass and drums, pausing frequently for a vibes breakdown in the middle of it. In a cover of Ornette Coleman's "Broken Shadows" Taylor is actually dueting with himself, since his loose drumming backs up the vibes, which state the melody. His free drumming sounds like it could have been played first, as he sang the future vibes part in his head. Or maybe he played the vibes first, leaving enough room for free drumming. It sounds like overthinking, but actually these questions make the piece, and in turn the whole album, a little more compelling as they draw you in.

Some of the album gets pretty repetitive. The synthetic loop of "Hermeto" gets to be a bit much, but when Taylor and Mazurek groove on mbira and trumpet duet ("Laughing with the Sun") and distort both instruments, they added sound manipulation keeps the scene from getting drab.

Perfect Pitch?

Sunday night, Jennie asked me how good I was at hearing pitches and knowing what notes they were. She blew on an empty water bottle and I guessed that it might be an A. Donovan told her it was a B when she blew on it for him earlier in the day. Curious, I decided to go to the piano and play a B to see how close he was. Since he was still awake in his crib upstairs, I had to do it quietly.

He was right. It was B.

Last night I decided to test his ear when we were in the living room. I started off with something easy and played Middle C. "Hey, Donovan, what note is this?"

"C."

"How about this?"

"A."

"What's this one?"

"D."

He got all of them right. In case you think it was a lucky guess - I wondered the same thing - I banged an A# on the xylophone a few minutes later. He got that one too. When I played the piano, he was across the room, and when I played the xylophone, he had his back to me. There were no lucky guesses.

This morning I played my favorite key to see if the magic was still there in his head. "That's an F#."

It's cool enough that the two musical acts he mentions by name are Echo & the Bunnymen and Sun Ra, but perfect pitch? That's crazy. Well maybe not. He's been exploring that piano obsessively for about six months now.

Bill Dixon, RIP

...or should I call this entry, "Here's one of those entries where I get maudlin again."

(By the way, playing right now: Chicago Underground Duo - Boca Negra)

I just got an email that trumpeter Bill Dixon passed away on Wednesday at the age of 84. He had been battling an unidentified illness for the last two years. Which means he was probably not in the best of health when he recorded with the Exploding Star Orchestra for Thrill Jockey. Not that you could tell that by the quality of his playing.

Dixon had a pretty unique style of trumpet playing. For years I thought the master version of "With (Exit)" on Cecil Taylor's Conquistador was inferior to the alternate take because in the master, Bill sounded like he lost his embouchure and was blowing a lot of air and the notes were slipping away. Then a couple years ago, I heard a recent recording by him and discovered this is an intentional way he plays. It's his style.

If you're suffering from some disease, would you keep it a secret from the public? If you've built your career on defiance and the pursuit of original ideas, chances are you wouldn't want to sound like you're trying to get sympathy for your situation. You just keep plowing on. I mean, look at David S. Ware. He soldiered on while in need of a kidney transplant doing dialysis by himself. He's not in the best of health, but he's still here. Do we sit back and say, "Wow, that's really a shame," and leave it at that, or should we do something else? Buy albums? Pray?

Sorry, no answers tonight, just a bunch of rhetorical questions.

By the way, here's the official Bill Dixon obit, provided by his family: http://www.improvisedcommunications.com/blog/2010/06/17/dixon-obit

CD Review: Kenny Dorham - The Flamboyan, Queens, NY 1963

Kenny Dorham
The Flamboyan, Queens, NY 1963
(Upfront)

During the late '80/early '90s, we college radio geeks had different perspectives on what made a band successful in our eyes. A band that released an album on a label like Homestead, SST or, later Matador, was about to get blown out of the water and make a name for themselves, or so it seemed. The reality was that a band on any of those probably wasn't all that different from an underground band in Pittsburgh (heck, our own Weird Paul Petrosky fit both criteria) except that they had an album on those labels. And maybe a few more people around the country knew about them.

50 years later, nearly everyone who released an album on Blue Note Records is looked at as anything from unappreciated genius to god. For a musician to be on that label, it meant that you had it made. The reality is that these jazz musicians might really have been on the same boat as indie rockers were in the early days of the labels mentioned above. Time has a way of changing perspectives on things like this.

All this came to mind while listening to this release from Upfront Records of a radio broadcast of Kenny Dorham's quintet. Dorham, the trumpeter who had played with Charlie Parker and later held a spot in the original Jazz Messengers, was leading a group with tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson in 1963. The pairing was considered a hot commodity. Henderson was the new guy in town, about to be record with the trumpeter and eventually get signed to his own Blue Note contract. One year later, he'd appear on Lee Morgan's "The Sidewinder," which turned the imprint into a successful label.

So it's ironic to hear these two playing on a Monday night at a bar in Queens that must not have been very full, judging by radio MC Alan Grant's virtual pleas to listeners to stop by and check it out, which almost sound a little desperate. What's even more illuminating is that the band doesn't sound like their firing on all cylinders at the beginning of that night, although that could be the fault of the recording not bringing out everyone's true nature. Pianist Ronnie Matthews has some punchy comps during his own "Dorian" that borrow from McCoy Tyner's solo in "My Favorite Things." (That piece and this one feature bassist Steve Davis, it should be noted.) But Dorham's solo consists of long tones and quick phrases that don't always connect to a full idea. Henderson stokes the fires though those fast triplets that he'd unleash in "The Sidewinder" and in a few of his own pieces.

Henderson sounds ready to cook from the beginning, but Dorham takes a few tunes to sound close to the Kenny Dorham. It happens around "My Injun From Brazil," which thankfully was retitled "Una Mas" by the time it was recorded in the studio. By this part of the set, the quintet has gone through passable versions of "I Can't Get Started" and "Summertime," the latter getting a little more kick going for it. By the time the Dorham original is reached, the trumpeter is engaged in some spry staccato lines, with drummer J.C. Moses (a Pittsburgher, which is mentioned by Grant!) doing some good ride cymbal work behind him. Moses plays it pretty straight, not going in the direction he would with Eric Dolphy or the New York Contemporary Five with Archie Shepp, but he's still solid.

By the time they get to "Dynamo (Straight Ahead)" they start to chew up the song's "I Got Rhythm" chord changes. Good things might've been coming in the next set, but unfortunately that's the end of the show, and Grant signs off and the music fades after four minutes. Speaking of Grant, the DJ serves as a good host, without any of the condescending swarm of Symphony Sid or acting with the pretentious hipster aura of radio men that might follow him. When he talks to Dorham he doesn't sound stiff either, but respectful. It's another sad reminder of something that you can't get on commercial radio anymore: live people on the air after midnight broadcasting a live performance, which you could potentially attend if you were still making plans that late in the evening.

Aside from that bout of nostalgiz, The Flamboyan doesn't exactly rank as required listening or a holy grail of hard bop, but does have some fine moments from two strong players who were a bit under the radar in comparison to some of their peers.

Love Letters at Irma Freeman Center

On Friday, work was pretty busy and felt like a constant game of Beat the Clock. If that wasn't enough, I got there nice and early, only to realize - as I was walking across the parking lot - that I had forgotten to pack my change of clothes for the Love Letters show that night. And there was no way I was going to wear a work t-shirt during our set - as much as I love the company that employs me. So I drove home, expletives spewing out that car window, and got the clothes.

The Love Letters played at the Irma Freeman Center for Imagination, a really beautifully designed gallery in Garfield. As part of the First Fridays/Unblurred/gallery crawl that happens each month, our set was one of three performances that coincided with an opening of an exhibition of Evan Knauer's paintings. (Evan is the brother of LL's guitarist Buck and is a Pittsburgh music vet himself). I missed Erin Snyder's classical duo since I was still at work, and I arrived as the trio of Bob Wentzel (sax), Emmett Frisbee (bass) and Winston Goode (drums) were playing.

Once I got there, all the stress of the day started to dissipate. I had been looking forward to this show more than I realized and a lot of people whom I was hoping to see were there: my sister, a long lost friend who recently stumbled across me, this friend's mom (who was more like a bonus guest) and another friend who had an art closing that same night and still managed to arrive and turn our set into a dance party.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The room where we played is a converted garage, which looks great but still might be a little boomy and echoey. We weren't worried, though and there was a p.a. for all four vocals so the voices could compete with the instruments. I couldn't hear the voices clearly, so I'm not sure if I was on key but it felt like it. We started with "The Last One," which is a pretty charged-up number when we're firing on all cylinders. And I think we were. It was a good indicator of what was to come.

One of the things that I want to do with the band is dig up songs by old local bands (i.e. my friends) that would otherwise be lost to the ether. This is sort of an extension of playing songs I wrote in previous bands, I suppose. We've done at least three Mofones songs, and one Bone of Contention song. (A new Love Letters song is a rewrite of one of my old songs, but that was conceived about four or five years ago, so maybe that doesn't count.)

So far, we've done a song by Catamount and one by the Smoking Pets (which was never released). A few months ago, Buck has brought up the idea of doing a song or two by his first band, Cousin It. They were a great band, existing right around the time that Bone of Contention first came together, and I always liked them. "Shower of Dreams" is/was a great psychedelic droning pop song with room for a lot of harmonies. Not only was I thrilled to do it, but Buck was going to sing lead. Something he's never done in 24 years of playing in bands.

The last practice before the show, I asked if he was going to introduce the song that night. "Uh, no." Fine with me, because even though a little context would've been nice, I wasn't about to tell him what to do. But sure enough, he gave a nice intro and some background that night. Playing it felt really good. Playing Aimee's new song felt good too, even though I messed it up and only by the grace of Erin our drummer did it hang together while the three of us got our balance.

Then there were the dancers who showed up about 1/3 or halfway through the set and brought more energy to the room. It was a good time. And it made going to work the next day kind of hard. Mostly because I felt a little sore.

We need to book another show.

What the thought of death brings out in me

It's been a strange week. And it's only Wednesday.

I was driving around yesterday when I heard on the radio that Hank Jones died. All I could do was take off my beret and salute him. It's sad - he's the last of three Jones men of jazz to go, with brothers Thad and Elvin before him. But then, Hank was 91 years old. And he played like he was 60. I saw him last year at the Detroit International Jazz Festival and although he did sort of look his age around the eyes, he was eternally young around the fingers. All I can say is I'm glad I caught him before he split.

Of course, the world lost Lena Horne last week too. There's no need for me to rehash what's been written about her over the past week, but suffice to say, she was always one of those artists that I just kind of took for granted. I never owned any of her albums until about eight years ago when I found two RCA records at a flea market. Whoa, goddam. That's what I felt after listening to her. She's freaking amazing, with a ton of fire power. No wonder Cecil Taylor loves her.

Plus I love the fact that she was on Sesame Street a few times and once, she helped Grover overcome his shyness and he told her she was a great kisser. Lucky monster.

Tonight I finally wrote a review for Blurt of Susan Cowsill's latest album, Lighthouse. Normally I wouldn't tell you anything about it here and urge you to read the online review. But for one thing, I haven't sent it to them yet. (I always sleep on it, unless I'm right on a deadline.) For another thing, there's one song that's been heavy on my mind lately that I feel the need to write about. "River of Love" was written by Susan's brother Barry who was in the Cowsills with her. The song has a lost-love theme where the singer hopes they'll be reunited again by the river of love. But considering the theme of loss that runs through this album, it's clear that the song is now more about Barry, who drowned in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and wasn't found for about four months. His own song is a tribute, a wish to him. That's heavy enough but Susan got her surviving brothers Bob, John and Paul, and sister-in-law Vicki Peterson Cowsill (yes, that Vicki Peterson, my fave Bangle), to join her on the chorus and lift the bandstand.

And boy, do they ever. The song makes me fucking cry every time I hear it. It's like "The Bleeding Heart Show" by the New Pornographers, except that this time the emotion is based on real events. And the music has all the trappings of a perfect pop song.

Death has been on my mind lately. I was worried that if death always comes in threes, who would be the next jazz person to leave? Please not Sonny Rollins. Not Cecil either. Then I remembered Ronnie James Dio was gone, making Hank #3. Small consolation, but I needed it.

Last night a longtime friend was telling me about going to Lillydale and trying to communicate with her dead grandparents. It sounds like she did, but it wasn't the conversation she had hoped to have. It was just kind of typical, average conversation. There were no over-arching pearls of wisdom, just some random everyday observations.

While it bothered her - and me, in a way - it did make me think that these methods of communication can probably happen but that we can't expect to get major insight from talking to the dead anymore than you could've gotten immediate changes in yourself from talking to John Coltrane when he was alive. He wasn't an actual God. He was a guy, albeit one that was extremely talented. And the dead... are the people who loved you and you love them. They're just in a different place now. That sounds sad, but the best was to keep from feeling sad is to go on living.

CD review: Rempis/Rosaly - Cyrillic

Rempis/Rosaly
Cyrillic
(482 Music)

Horn and drum duo sets can explore any number of different formats: balls to the wall honking, screeching and splattering; pointillist dots of sound that may or may not yield a complete statement; or a strong dialogue that gives the impression that at least one of the musicians is hearing a full band in their head and using that as a guide.

Saxophonist Dave Rempis and drummer Frank Rosaly draw on a little bit of each of these ideas, which keeps their duets flowing and makes sure that they won't lapse into anything too familiar. Of course, they aren't exactly strangers either. Rempis (who also plays in the Vandermark 5) has lead a quartet that includes Rosaly as one of its two drummers. The saxophonist changes horns on each track, playing alto, tenor and baritone. Different instruments bring out different ideas in his playing, although his baritone tracks seem to feature the most diversity, going from long, vibrato tones to the one track that seems to possess a stated, almost staightforward theme. Frank Rosaly, whose shows up on a myriad of Chicago sessions, begins the album in a most unorthodox manner - considering his background at least - and acts like the in-tune partner throughout, listening closely to Rempis's developments.

On that opener, "Antiphony," ("anti-phony" or "an-TIF-o-nee" - you be the judge), Rosaly's drumming begins by emulating what sounds like the classic "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" drum riff, and taking a detour into waltz time before finally playing a heavy backbeat towards the end. Over this relatively fluid action, Rempis emits short bursts of ideas that blend well.

The other alto showcase, the nearly 16-minute opus "How to Cross When Bridges Are Out," indicates the duo uses time wisely to build and rebuild on ideas. Rempis blows a mix of fast lines, crazy trills, and upper register panic, before his partner takes a solo marked by fast rolls, rim shots and crashes. There is a minute when things get too noodly, but they lock into a wail fest before attrition sets is.

On tenor, Rempis takes a stab at the "classic" free jazz attack on "Tainos" and lands a hit, running fast and wild, with Rosaly moving all over his drum kit to goad him to take it ever higher. "Don't Trade Here," features a lot of staccato tenor, as well as what sounds like a passing reference to Monk's "Evidence."

Only one track fails to break from the meandering. "Still Will" is full of baritone honks and splats and cymbal clicks that plumb the instruments' sonic possibilities, but it doesn't fare well in the momentum department. But otherwise, Cyrillic, which ends with the relatively melodic "In Plain Sight," delivers a focused set of duos.

Love Letters latest show

Just got back a little bit ago from a Love Letters gig. We played at Rock 'n Bowl, which takes place at Arsenal Lanes in Lawrenceville. People pay $8 to bowl all night and they get to have us serenade them from Lane 14, which gets covered up with a blanket so we have a nice non-slippery place to stand.

The last time we played there, I was in an awful mood. It was about a week after the big snowfall in Pittsburgh. Highland Park was still under siege, with a lot of snow still in the middle of the streets, making it hard for us to load out and get to the show. A layer of ice was forming as we unloaded equipment. I was all out of caffeine, so everything was bugging me. Then at the end of the night, after playing to uninterested bowlers and four friends, we were paid pretty handsomely. It was kind of a trick ending to a bad night.

Tonight was the opposite, at least in terms of the set up. We got there way early, had time to set up in a leisurely manner, and played everything we knew, in the form of one set list. And we sounded really together, the tightest I think we've been since we started. There weren't as many bowlers there but a few friends showed up too so it was pretty worthwhile.

By the way, in case you didn't know the new New Pornographers album came out yesterday. Guess who was the first person to by it at the local new record store! C'mon guess.............

Tonight in the jukebox

Playing right now: Hafez Modirzadeh - Dandelion (bought it at his show last week.)

Tonight's listening pleasure included: Liz Phair's Whip-Smart, which has held up remarkably well, especially the first half of it, which I like best; Big Brother & the Holding Company's version of "Ball and Chain," which beats the pants off the live version on Janis' greatest hits album if only because the searing guitar work holds up under repeated listens better than Janis' "I don't understand why half the world is cryin'...., man...." spoken interlude; and Sonic Youth's Confusion is Sex, which is not a consistant album, but when it's good it's really dangerous. It reminds me of being 16 and getting my head blown off. And knowing that I could clear a room by playing it.

Between "Ball and Chain" and Sonic Youth, I had to check out the BB&tHC performance of that song from the Monterey Pop movie courtesy of youtube. Janis is stunning. Absolutely electrifying. After than I had to see Jimi Hendrix smash his guitar after "Wild Thing," also at Monterey. That's probably the most pornographic rock and roll performance ever. And I mean better than GWAR because Jimi was just doing what comes naturally. The best part is after he set the guitar on fire, it's still making noise. Even after he starts smashing it. Amazing.

CD Review: Mike Reed's People, Places & Things: Stories and Negotiations

Mike Reed's People, Places & Things

Stories and Negotiations

(482 Music)

Even when some of those Chicago guys pay homage to past masters, they still sound like they're on a modern track. The latest by drummer Mike Reed's People, Places & Things bares this out. A percolating group improv kicks off the opening minutes of the album, giving the faint impression that the octet will be blowing free for the entire program. But after a few minutes, they lock into some hard-swinging bop in the form of John Jenkins' "Song of a Star." This might be a lot more straight ahead than the previous minutes alluded to, but Reed's version of straight swings much like Sun Ra's Arkestra (more on them to come) did: the rhythm section moves with so much authority, with a propulsive beat and taut basslines, and takes it beyond any older period of the music and lands with a crash in the here and now.

Reed started PP&T to focus on "under-recorded, under-recognized aspects of the vibrant Chicago jazz scene circa 1954-60" and they've released two previous CDs. This one expands the concept because the core quartet of Reed, Jason Roebke (bass), Tim Haldemen (tenor sax) and Greg Ward (alto sax) are joined by three players from that era - one time Arkestra member Art Hoyle (trumpet, flugelhorn), bandleader Ira Sullivan (trumpet) and extensive sideman and leader Julian Priester (trombone) - plus one more Windy City modern cat, Jeb Bishop (trombone). Less a meeting of old blood and young blood, the 2008 concert recorded for this album presented a group where everyone was on the same page. In explaining the solo order, the liner notes say that the trombonists have a vastly different sound from one another and only attributes one specific solo to Bishop. The rest is just guesswork for the listener. It's frustrating to those of us who want to be sure, but it also shows how cohesively this band works together.

Reed picked four relative deep cuts for the set from the city's history: the aforementioned "Song of a Star" by an alto player known to this writer predominantly for an appearance on an early Hank Mobley album; Sun Ra's "El is a Sound of Joy" is built on a vicious groove pinned down by one of the tenors while the other horns blow in and around it. Wilbur Campbell's "Wilbur's Tune" is another strong piece in a hard bop-esque mold as is Priester's "Urnack" which he recorded with Sun Ra and here starts like "Song" with two minutes of free exchanges of ideas. Clifford Jordan's "Lost and Found" features Sullivan and Haldeman in an old style tenor duel, as well as a penetrating solo from Hoyle, who throws in a quote from "Little Rootie Tootie" as things almost unwind.

The drummer also penned one piece each for the veteran guests of the set. "Third Option," for Hoyle, has rich voicings that ought to impress fans of large ensembles as traditional as the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, which speaks to Reed's skills as a composer. "Door #1," dedicated to Priester, begins like a loose tone poem, before locking into a progression that could slip into "You Don't Know What Love Is," with an exquisite quality to match that standard. Sullivan's salute, "The And of 2," features not only his tenor but Ward's alto getting prodded along by shouts from the other horns during solos.

What feels especially exciting, musically, about this meeting of minds is that Stories and Negotiations looks at the past but it concerns itself with making today's music that's more than just a tribute.

Part two

There was an article in the Post-Gazette previewing the ElSaffar/Modirzadeh show, where ElSaffar mentioned that most of the suites that he and Modirzadeh composed are written out and don't rely as much on improvisation. So I went in to the Warhol show thinking about that and trying to separate the written from the spontaneous. A lot of it did seem mapped out and similar to what I remember specifically from the album. (I listened to a lot when reviewing it, but I don't know it inside out. Something like this takes a long time to wrap your head around.)

A remarkable thing about the opening notes of ElSaffar's "Copper Suite" is how you can really feel the vibrations between the notes that he and Modirzadeh play. It was almost like when you're tuning a guitar and playing two strings together: the farther you get from the correct pitch on one of the strings, the more the sound vibrates. First they played long pitches like that, then they started echoing each other. Alex Cline was rolling all over his drum kit and it was loud and relatively free, but it never got bombastic, never to that feverish point that a lot of free drummers hit. Mark Dresser was plucking his bass strings really harshly. It sounded like he was really clenching his fingers on them.

When Modirzadeh took what seemed like a solo, he stopped fingering the pads of his saxophone and just grabbed the bell of his tenor sax, letting his mouth bend the pitches of the notes. Earlier in the piece, he started playing the upper pads of the sax with both of his hands, whereas normally the right hand handles the lower pads. It's all part of reworking these instruments to incorporate scales and pitches that they weren't built to play.

Modirzadeh's "Radif-E-Kayhan" bears some Ornette Coleman influence, but to really imagine that comparison accurately you almost have to take Ornette's ideas and utilize a different set of scales and tones to play them. About five minutes into the piece, Dresser started playing a blues riff of sorts, to which Cline responded with some press rolls and fills to kept it from getting too complacent. ElSaffar wailed and peeped before it shifted back to a rubato tempo and then on to a 4/4 tempo. When ElSaffar started playing with a Harmon mute, the band took on the spectre of the Miles Davis' famed Plugged Nickel performances. This was equally as spacey. A passing phrase almost sounding like a disembodied quote from "Hot House" in there too.

All four of those guys were incredible. The two leaders of course made their instruments do things that no one has really done before, in terms of playing foreign musics on them. Dresser was great, holding down the helm or going off on his own tear. Cline did a lot but made it seem like a piece of cake. You could tell he was really listening to everyone by what and how he played.

Amir ElSaffar & Hafez Modirzadeh

On Saturday night the Andy Warhol Museum presented a performance by trumpeter Amir ElSaffar and tenor saxophonist Hafez Modirzadeh, two amazing musicians who just happen to be Iraqi-American and Iranian-American respectively. Plus their rhythm section consisted of bassist Mark Dresser and drummer Alex Cline. I recently wrote a review of their album Radif Suite (Pi Recordings) for JazzTimes so I extra stoked for this show.

Like the album, the performance consisted of the two suites, one each penned by one of the horn men. It's pretty fascinating music because it involves scales (that might not be the accurate terminology) and pitches that don't really exist in Western notation, along with harmonic combinations that us Western folks would find dissonant. At the same time, it means that this music is really new and exciting. It's stuff that might sound familar, but ultimately you've never heard it before.

More details forthcoming..........

Record Store Day, after the fact

Playing right now: Dave Holland Octet - Pathways

I missed Record Store again this year because I had to work on Saturday, per usual. At 6 p.m. I was ready to stop at Paul's CDs to see what they had, and also because I had a few discs waiting for me (ironically, it was the little shiny plastic things I was ready to purchase instead of the big black ones). But there weren't any parking spaces close to the store, and the family was in the car, and I was a little tired. So I went yesterday. What I needed wasn't contingent on getting there on record store day. Plus, with 45 minutes until closing, I knew that I had missed the boat on any of the big magic from that day.

I could have picked up the special Record Store Day edition of the Dave Holland Octet CD, for the price of two copies of the regular disc. Had it included another disc of music, I would've grabbed it without a second thought. But it had five concert posters in it, which are nice I'm sure, but didn't strike me as mandatory. If my tax refund had arrived before the weekend, there's a good chance I would've squandered $83 on the six-10"-records edition of the Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs. That's a lot of getting up to change the records between sides, but it's also a lot of beautiful 10" records.

The only real Record Store Day exclusive I purchased was a Moby Grape live 45. I'm pretty sure the version of "Rounder" is the same one that I have on the two-disc comp from the 1990s, but the version of "Sitting by the Window" is unavailable anywhere else. Yoink.

I finally picked up the latest Lou Barlow album, Goodnight Unknown, which is as awesome as I hoped it would be. Also got Grant Hart's most recent solo disc and a recent remastered version of Cecil Taylor's Conquistador, which I only had on tape.

Another crazy record from my past

Last night there was a record fair, of sorts, at Belvedere's in Lawrenceville. It reminded me of the record fairs that I attended in the '80s, except this one was held in a bar, and it was free to set up tables and hawk your wares. Plus, if you wanted to smoke or have a beer while wandering around the tables of vinyl, that was okay too.

I picked up a small handful of albums, but the one that got me really geeked was not the original RCA copy of Charlie Mingus' Tijuana Moods but the copy of Ted Heath's The Big Ones.

This was an album that my family had on 8-track as a kid and it eventually met its demise after I played it one too many times. The album features the British Heath leading his big band through classic pop hits from the late '60s/early '70s like "Spinning Wheel," "Light My Fire" and "Good Morning Starshine," among others. Back when I heard it, I always had a naive trust in musicians. As far as I was concerned they knew what they were doing and there was no such thing as a really bad idea, musically speaking. Playing "Satisfaction" on a trombone with a plunger mute? Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrre, why not? Follow that chorus with a modulation and give the melody over to the oboe? Why not? Sometimes you come to your senses and think, what the Sam Hill is going on here? That happened Friday night when I got home and slapped this critter on the turntable. But not necessarily in a bad way.

The Big Ones contains a good number of arrangements from Squaresville like that. But it has a lot of great drum breaks that rescue such tunes like the stiffest reading of "Spinning Wheel" ever. As the record proceeds, through "Light My Fire" and its amusing acoustic guitar and bongos intro, through "Woman Woman" and "Nights in White Satin," Side One closes with "Get Back" which starts off a bit like a marching band and switches to a swinging 2/2 riff that opens up room for solos. Maybe this album will work, you think.
Side Two comes out fighting - which is surprising considering that it begins with "In the Year 2525." When I finally heard Zager and Evans' original version of the song, it was a huge letdown. Not only where the lyrics idiotic in a way that tries to convey a deep message about the Future and the Man without having any of the tools to pull of such a feat, but it had none of the firepower of this version. With each new verse, the band gets fuller and louder, like when the trombones who come in during the second phrase, evoking the feeling of the secret police that are marching down your street to stop any free thinking. (Hey - music evokes images. ) And not only does this song have multiple drum breaks, it has two drummers! In different channels! Two-bar break in the right channel. Two-bar break in the left channel. Add in some key changes, and a rubato guitar intro, and you've got a kick-ass big band. My only hope is that several high school marching bands got ahold of this chart during the '70s and wailed away on this.

Where do you go from there? Well, Ted and the gang proceeds to the 5th Dimension's "Don'cha Hear Me Calling To Ya" which turns out like Gerald Wilson's big band version of "Viva Torado" in the way that it riffs, shifts up a half-step and then comes back down. "Good Morning Starshine" has a Tonight Show-style arrangement, meaning a little square. But without those idiotic "gloop gloopy" lyrics and with the addition of some killer press rolls and drum fills during the fade-out, it succeeds. The album closes with a Tom Jones' "Love Me Tonight" that has the dynamics worthy of the singer himself. And a killer vibes solo. And some tympani breaks.

Finding The Big Ones was definitely one of those purchases that takes me back to my younger, carefree days. I have a feeling a lot of musical things on this album have shaped my listening a lot more than I realize. I'll enjoy all the goofiness as much as the well-executed moments. So while $8 was a little steep for such an album, it was worth it because I've already gotten at least $5 of pleasure out of it. Besides, it's in excellent shape.

Dig - it's Harry Babasin!

Sometimes I get the idea in my head that I need to find a certain record (it's usually a record; rarely a CD) for no other reason than I want to hear it, as soon as possible. Right around the time that Bud Shank died, I got curious about Harry Babasin, the bassist on several of the saxophonist's early 10"s. Part of the interest stemmed from his name. I don't know if BAB-a-sin is the correct pronunciation, but if it's said that way, it sounds like a set of scat syllables. And Eugene Chadbourne wrote a very detailed biography of Harry on allmusic.com that made him sound like more than just an obscure West Coast cat. Turns out he was a cellist in addition to a bassist.

The Babasin Bug died off not too long after that. In fact, I came across one of his albums at Jerry's last summer and ended up putting it back because I already had about three with me. And it didn't have the appealing, "original pressing" lure of some albums.

Well, there I was in Jerry's yesterday when I stumbled across a copy of the self-titled album by the Jazzpickers, a quintet spearheaded by Mr. HB. On EmArcy, with the infamous "drummer logo," it had all the trappings of the Find of the Day. I just got through the first side of it, and it's pretty swinging. It didn't occur to me right away, but there's no bass on the whole album. Crazy, man. At least for that time period.

I'm guessing the quintet pre-dated the Chico Hamilton group because the liner notes don't compare the guitar/cello/flute instrumentation to that group, and the sound is pretty similar: subdued but burning underneath. Plus, Buddy Collette is on this album, and he was in the original Hamilton group. There's no mention of Harry's stints with Bud Shank either.

Another point of interest, sort of, is the band itself. Boy, these cats are the squarest looking bunch of dudes ever. Well, Harry has the Dave Brubeck/egghead look going on. But vibist/drummer Bob Harrington looks like Jack Webb's homely brother, and guitarist Don Overberg should've learned to smile without letting his bad teeth show. Collette and drummer Bill Douglas look okay, but they have a lot to balance out.

It just goes to show you that you can never judge a jazz band by their looks. I guess back then not everyone could look as hip as the Jazz Messengers.

...and while we're speaking of the Verlaines

In the time that I didn't blog over the last month, I've had more and more cravings for albums that I listened to 20-some years ago. Maybe I've finally reached that age where all I'm really interested in are albums that I played a lot in my, uh, youth.

The Verlaines' Bird Dog was one such album. It fell into my hands in the summer of 1988. A fanzine that I published (very sporadically) called Discourse occasionally received albums from Homestead Records, which was releasing several bands from the Verlaines' New Zealand home at that time. Over the next year or so, the label would familiarize us all with the musical force that was New Zealand. This was really my first exposure to it. (They released an album by the Chills around that same time, but that didn't spark the interest right away.)

From the beginning of Bird Dog, guitarist/singer Graeme Downes indicates that he's not a standard writer by any means - this isn't punk rock, nor is some modern version of folk. He sings in an impassioned voice that often goes into high tenor territory, taking the drama up there with it. An easy comparison to a singer of that era would be Billy Bragg, but only in delivery. Downes sounds like he has a lot more training. (As a side note, he was working on a Masters on the music of Gustav Mahler, so he wasn't just some punk with a good set of pipes.)

"Makes No Difference" was an unusual opening piece since it moves along slowly, with a sad trumpet and harmonica break at the end of each chorus. But the melody and vaguely dark lyrics make it riveting. "Just Mum" has a bassoon, of all instruments, joining the trio in the coda. It starts off playing just two long tones and the simplicity and tension of the second note adds an ominous edge to the music. I'm not sure if "baroque pop" was a term that someone else applied to the Verlaines, or if I came up with that. Regardless, songs like this justify it.

Nothing in the first few songs prepare you for punch that comes with Side One's last track, "Slow Sad Love Song." After a low bass note and a few distant notes blown from an oboe, Downes begins a tense lyric about the aftermath of a relationship, which again comes in indirect but brilliant verses. When the tempo increases, it builds to a climax, in which he lays his heart and life on the line:

The only thing that you spared me to love was your breath
and now it's gone
So long, it's been good to know you
So long, it's been good to know you

and in what always seemed like a pretty deeply cutting line:

Sooooooooooooo long....... to know you

which he ends with a wail that takes the band into the biggest, most thunderous climax since "A Day in the Life." That song probably inspired this ending, but instead of trying to induce some sort of euphoria, the Verlaines create the sound that someone hears in their head after they've thrown themselves off a cliff. And it goes on for several seconds, making sure that you understand what the character is feeling. I was nursing a broken heart at the time, so that angst (oh yeah, I was 20) really resonated with me. All these years later, it still packs a wallop because it's done so well.

If you listen to the CD version of Bird Dog (that format was just entering the independent label field by then), the next song presents a more hopeful comedown. The jazzy, acoustic "Only Dream Left" almost implies that Downes didn't do himself in, but has moved on and has found someone to help him cope, albeit someone with a heavy weight on their shoulders if the title is any indication. But anyone who has the album edition would need to peel themselves up off the floor after that huge roar before they can breathe freely.

There are plenty of other reasons to recommend Bird Dog, but "Slow Sad Love Song" is reason enough to hunt it down. "Worth the price of admission," and all those other great musical cliches.

On being a writer

Playing right now: Satoko Fujii's Mado - Desert Ship

I was emailing with a fellow music writer a few days ago. This is a guy who's been writing about music for ages. As an example, I recently pulled out the Verlaines' Bird Dog (from 1988) and said writer's byline was among the clips in the press kit that included reviews of previous albums. (More to come on that album in an upcoming post.) Suffice to say this is someone that I sort of look up to, or even envy.

The reason we were writing was that I bemoaning the trouble of getting paid for some freelance gigs, and he agreed, even going on to say that he recently filled out an application at a Home Depot. Maybe he was joking around, but I kind of doubt it.

Wow, I thought. After 20-some years, it's come to this. A guy who's a vet in the industry, who could write rings around most young buck writers half his age (and he does) might have to take a job at a Home freakin' Depot. Nothing against that store. Hell, I was there today. But it's a sad state of affairs for music journalism that a guy of that high caliber can't make a living by writing about music anymore. Where does that leave a mid-level or sub-mid-level yutz like me? Maybe I have it okay with my retail job and my occasional freelance gigs.

CD review: Jon Lundbom & Big Five Chord - Accomplish Jazz

Jon Lundbom& Big Five Chord

Accomplish Jazz

(Hot Cup)

"Truncheon" starts off Accomplish Jazz with an opening line that sounds rather evocative of Eric Dolphy's "Out to Lunch." The similarity doesn't quite extend beyond that phrase, which ends with a long sustained note from the tenor and alto saxophones while guitarist/leader Lundbom does some pretty picking underneath them. But considering the name of the tune, which could be a mash-up of Dolphy's title and how the band takes this tune back to the trenches, it seems like less a coincidence than my bad habit of hearing similarities between different songs.

Besides, it's a great jumping off point no matter what the origin.

Lundbom is an intriguing composer and an even more idiosyncratic guitar player, writing songs that have wonderfully odd melodic quirks and playing solos with a tone that wouldn't be out of place in country music. Good country music. To further that point, Accomplish Jazz's one non-original track is a cover of the Louvin Brothers' "The Christian Life." That particular song choice could carry its own baggage with it (irony, understated religious beliefs) but the quintet plays it reverently, so nothing else matters.

Part of the power of this disc can be traced to the caliber of the band, which includes two members of Mostly Other People Do the Killing: alto saxophonist Jon Irabagon and bassist Moppa Elliott, who it turns out was born with the first name Matthew, according to the credits. (Just a little extra surprise for those of us who care about the backgrounds of musicians.) Bryan Murray, who co-leads another band with Lundbom, plays tenor saxophone. Danny Fischer, who apparently made a name for himself in native Melbourne, Australia before hitting New York, plays drums.

Irabagon balances his frenzied MOPDtK side and the more straight laced personality heard on his recent Concord debut. After Lundbom's solo on "Truncheon," the saxophonist enters playing fast lines over top of the rhythm section without letting his sometimes whiny vocalizing digress into shrieks. He realizes that would be too easy. Elliott shows amazing discipline during the 12-minute sort-of ballad "Phoenetics" by holding down the tempo with metronomic double-stops while Lundbom's metallic, dreamy noise drives Irabagon from pensiveness into pungent upper range honks. When Lundbom enters for his own solo, his clean tone makes him sound like a different guitarist, and his crisp execution is spellbinding.

Murray's solo on "The Christian Life" starts with a smooth, almost gospel swing that incorporates guttural singing/growling through the horn as he blows. "Tick-Dog" begins with four minutes of a choppy guitar/drums duet before moving into a loopy rhythm that is based on Cedar Walton's "Bolivia" but also seems to have either the spirit or flair of both Tim Berne and prog rock. Murray's solo works over the horn's whole range, stringing together small phrases that make a fascinating whole. He also inspires the rhythm section to turn up the heat as they in turn drive him.

"Baluba, Baluba" uses a solid funk backbeat and Lundbom avoids funky riffage in favor of another unique melody line, delivered with a bit of distortion. After Irabagon delivers another satisfying journey of a solo, the groove slows down and Lundbom and Murray call, respond, agree with, interrupt and eventually talk over one another. Like the opening track, this one doesn't go back to the theme, it simply stops when guitar and sax have said their piece. That type of arrangement makes the music stand out more because it confounds listeners expecting to hear the head again, and it leaves more of a lasting impression. The same can be said for this whole album.

Since it came out in December, it's still eligible to wind up on 2010 year end lists, where it clearly belongs.

http://www.hotcuprecords.com/

For some reason, Mr. Lundbom's review has drawn a lot of spammers on a daily basis, so the comment section has been disabled. 

Last Week - Part Four: Allison Miller & 2 Degrees of Separation

I'm sitting here trying to figure out an opening line for a review of John Lundbom & Big Five Chord's Accomplish Jazz CD and it's not coming. I'm making it harder than it needs to be.

So let me just wrap up the news that's by now almost two and maybe three weeks old about my week of music, which actually began on February 21. But actually this part of it started further back than that.........I think........ aw, screw it:

Allison Miller - a fine, fine drummer. She has a new album coming out this month and it just so happens she's playing Club Cafe the same day it drops. If that wasn't cool enough, Myra Melford is the pianist with her on that tour. Bassist Todd Sickafoose and violinist Jenny Scheinman are also along for the ride.

Before I talked to her two weeks ago, I had no idea about the show. I was calling to talk about her new album with those cats, Boom Tic Boom. The interview was for a JazzTimes article, which I filed last week, bringing all the deadline stuff to a close for the big week of music.

Allison and I have one degree of separation. One of her best friends used to live and play in a band with my ex-bandmate Megan Williams from Up the Sandbox. I was explaining this to UTS' singer Leslie Fleisher, and before I could get to her name, she said, "Are you talking about Allison Miller?" Turns out her girlfriend went to college with Allison. Maybe Allison should cover an Up the Sandbox song because of her connection to the band.

(Update, June 2014 - This entry has taken the cake for the number of spam posts, so I'm disabling the comments.)

Last week - Part Three: ESP and vinyl problems

Playing right now: Vijay Iyer - Historicity

So after buying the two CDs mentioned in the last entry (one of which is playing right now), I got to work transcribing some interviews for two pieces that I wrote last week. The first interview was with Nik Westman, the frontman of the band Nik & the Central Plains. That piece ran in Pittsburgh City Paper this week and can be viewed at http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A75980

Last Tuesday, I finally received a package from ESP Records. About two weeks earlier I received an email from them saying that they were having a special "Let's cut down on the inventory" sale, and select CDs were $6. I bought Frank Lowe's Black Beings and Don Cherry's Live at the Cafe Montmartre 1996 Volume 3. I also decided to splurge a little bit and bought the vinyl reissue of Albert Ayler's one-sided clear vinyl Bells. It's a limited edition of 1,000 and since Ayler's Spiritual Unity was out of stock, I opted for this one. I knew if I waited I wouldn't get it before it sold out and I'd rue the day.

Now, of course if you've ever read this blog, you know how I feel about vinyl. I love it. I'm not quite ready to buy a vinyl album if it's nearly twice as much as the CD version (Historicity, in this case), but I've been known to pay a few bucks more that the CD price to get an album. And I understand that since vinyl is pressed in limited quantities that the labels have to charge a little more. I'm fine with that. If my extra bucks can help a label continue, I will support them.

But if you're going to press vinyl, could you at least do a quality check to make sure it isn't pressed off center? I put Bells on and the tone arm was practically undulating. That's not really an issue with Albert Ayler since he plays with such wide vibrato that pitch is relative. But what about the Pearls Before Swine album that ESP just reissues? If I got that and "Surrealist Waltz" (the final song on the album) was all wobbly like that, you bet I'd be pissed.

This isn't the first time this happened to me. I returned a BYG/Actuel album because the off center pressing ruined any kind of enjoyment I could get out of the album. My copy of Ida's Lovers Prayers has a lot of serious droning going on throughout it, and three of the four sides have pressing issues. The first song on side 4 has a noise at the beginning that could be guitar amp noise, but it sounds more like a scratch in the pressing. (I still haven't used my digital download for compare and contrast.) This isn't some flimsy vinyl either. This is 180 gram stuff that makes us vinyl geeks drool.

I'm keeping the Albert Ayler record. For one thing, it's written as #18 out of a pressing of 1000. Besides, with a pressing that small, I feel pretty sure that the rest of the records are like that. But I hope the people releasing vinyl will realize that if this happens too often, the folks who love records won't trust them and then the vinyl action will really drop. Can you imagine how you'd feel if you purchased that latest four-record set of Monk at the It Club, only to find out the they're pressed off-center and that Charlie Rouse really sounds drunk?

Last Week Part Two - Vijay Iyer & Magnetic Fields

Playing right now: Milksop Holly - Milkweeds (Shimmy-Disc)
(One of Kramer's final releases, and a mighty fine one. Trippy, sleepy and dreamy like it was 1989, when in fact this came out in 1999.)

Don't let the title of this entry fool you. There are no collaborations - that I know of - going on between the popular pianist and Stephin Merritt, although that could be cool. I'm putting the two names together because last week I bought the latest releases by both artists on the same day during what turned out to be a Week of Music.

A few times a year, I hear something that makes me think, Okay, jazz is very much alive and this person/band is taking it into new uncharted waters. Last year it was Stephan Lehman, as well as Chris Potter, both on their new albums as leaders. But I also thought about that at Interval, the Monday Night Jazz Jam Session at Ava, here in Pittsburgh. The music was being pushed into the future, into the Now and we have maps telling us where we are now (meaning that it makes sense) but we know that the next step isn't figured out. Excessive metaphors there, but hopefully you get the idea.

Vijay Iyer's Historicity is like that. It has a bunch of his own tunes, an Andrew Hill piece and some other covers including MIA. They all work and they all smoke. Especially, no pun intended, Hill's "Smoke Stack," which originally was a tad lumbering because it had two basses. Iyer takes the melody and sprays it all over you.

Even though I peeled the shrink wrap off in the car immediately after buying it, and popped in the CD player right then and there, it took me a couple days to get through the album. Not because it's that heavy, but because I was, uh, busy. However, listening to it a bit at a time made sure that none of it blurs together either.

Magnetic Fields I didn't get to until today. Listening to it going to and waiting at Pennzoil for an oil change. Merritt is this generation's Cole Porter. All his songs are catchy and his lyrics are brilliantly witty. I need to listen to it again soon to figure out how much I like it.

Right now I have to hit the hay before I nod off and this fhhhhhhhhhhhhh [I actually did for a second and that was the result.]