Another Post about the NPs???

OK, so I didn't get around to writing the AC Newman concert review until last week. And as I was sending it, I thought, hey, maybe I should hold onto this and do a double-review that includes the New Pornographers show at the CMU carnival. I emailed Fred at Blurt and he said, sure.
I managed to make it through the whole piece without waxing effusive about "The Bleeding Heart Show" (see entry from 4/14/08 for details). But a wise journalism teacher taught me that you can't put everything in an article, so it made sense to skip over my fave song. And that's what blogs are for anyway: the stuff that wound up on the cutting room floor.
First of all, I really felt like the NPs show was their best out of the three I have seen in Pittsburgh. And Neko Case wasn't even with them. (Caveat: If the NPs to you means "Neko Case's other project," you're hurting Carl Newman's feelings. He writes the stuff, y'know.) Second of all, they did "The Bleeding Heart Show" towards the end of the set. I was busy wagging my head as it reached that magical moment and when I looked up as they hit that great crescendo, what did I see?? The heavens opening up over CMU? Birds sitting in the trees adding to the harmonies? No, I see keyboardist Blaine Thurier standing there drinking a can of something, not playing or anything. IN THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ARGUABLY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SONG OF THE DECADE! How can he stand idly by during a moment of bliss?!
Well, maybe he's heard it more often that most people.
And actually, it was funnier than it was shocking.
Considering my obsession with that song.

Bud Shank Remembered - the context

After posting my memories of Bud Shank, I figured it might be a good idea to add a little context to explain what he was all about. Everything written about him within the past decade or so seems to focus on one thing: that he was part of the West Coast supposed cool jazz scene, but that there was a lot more to him than laid back versions of what was happening back east.
And I'm here to agree with that. For one thing, the Bud Shank of '80s and later had a much more rugged sound than the young, punk-rock-looking Shank of the '50s. By then, he was kind of at the corner of Art Pepper and Jackie McLean. The national obit for him in last week's paper drew a comparison to McLean, which I hadn't thought of until them. But it makes perfect sense. His tone wasn't as tart as Jackie's but there definitely had an edge. I have an album that he did with Shorty Rogers (trumpet) back in the early '80s and the version of Billy Strayhorn's "Bloodcount" will rip at you, it's so intense.
The 1950s Shank is definitely more in that Art Pepper style: dry, no nonsense tone with good melodic ideas in his solos. It's not as adventurous as, say, the early Gerry Mulligan Quartet stuff - which is pretty much the standard for top shelf West Coast cool, if we're going with labels - but it's by no means dull.
Shank did veer off into questionable waters, though. I once owned a copy of Magical Mystery, in which he covers the songs from Magical Mystery Tour with echoey flute and bass clarinet runs between some of the songs. Although he pulls off a solo of almost Dolphy-esque proportions in "Blue Jay Way," the whole thing is pretty ridiculous. "I Am the Walrus" doesn't really translate well into instrumental territory. I've never heard Spoonful of Jazz but the entry on allmusic.com slams it pretty hard, saying it's only for Shank completists. It's pretty easy to come by at used stores, but I'll hold off until I see it at an estate sale for buck.
When he played with tenor saxophonist Bob Cooper, Shank really performed a setback for mellow jazz - or an advance depending on how you look at it - by picking up the flute, and Cooper played oboe. Maybe these albums have some charm to them, but it sounds pretty sanitized to me. And although Bud knew his way around the flute, the one LA4 album I heard was pretty dull. And coming from a group that included Ray Brown and Laurindo Almeida, that's saying something.
Thankfully, Bud devoted his playing entirely to the alto in his later years, which was smart on many levels.
Last weekend, I went to the weekly flea market in Elyria and came across a couple of Shank's commercial '60s albums. The Windmills of Your Mind, conducted by Michel Legrand, and Girl in Love, conducted by Oliver Nelson were in a pile along with some CTI albums. I was torn because I felt like I needed to buy them in memory of Bud, but the slickness turned me off.
Turns out both looked pretty unplayable, so the decision was made for me.

*******************************
The new City Paper with my cover story on Sean Jones, hit the street yesterday. Today it might be up on their website, http://www.steelcitymedia.com/. Check and see.

And another thing I've been meaning to say: the first hard copy of Blurt showed up in the mail a couple weeks ago. It looks really good. Lotta writing, good layout. You should buy it for a couple reasons: you'll be helping to support a good music magazine, at a time when so many are falling by the wayside. It'll help stimulate the economy, and every little bit helps. (Hey, if 72 people read this and go out and buy a copy..........start of a revolution.) Plus, many years from now, if your copy is still in good shape, it could bring you big bucks in resale value.

Remembering Bud Shank

Bud Shank's name entered my world at a very early age. My parents were Bud fans and had a few of his albums. In my post-toddler years, I probably remembered the alto sax player's name because it sounded onomatopoeic, in the same way as "oop bop sh'bam." In fact, it sounded quite a bit like the noises that our stereo would make as it was preparing to play a record. The gears would move and there would be a bunch of clicking sounds before - "sh-BANK" - the spindle dropped the record onto the turntable. (This sound is documented for all to hear at the beginning and end of my band Bone of Contention's second album/first CD Stay Calm, by the way.) So that noise was kind of like a re-spelling of Bud's name.

We had a copy of Bud's album I Hear Music, which had the same picture as the one seen here, of Bud laying on the Sunday comics with his alto.

Except the photo on I Hear Music was used vertically, kind of losing something in translation. The record was made of cheap plastic and there was a pretty serious crack through half of the vinyl. I always tried to line up the pieces in hopes of getting it to play, but the drop from the spindle always separated them, and thwarted me.

The only other Shank album I recall the folks having was his a later, more commercial album: California Dreaming, which I would later realize was funny because Bud's flute takes the solo in the original version by the Mamas and the Papas. I have no recollection of this album, but I'm sure I threw it on once or twice.

My next real Bud memory came about 20 years ago when my mum unearthed a bunch of 10"s that had been stashed in the basement for about the previous 15 years, probably to make sure us kids didn't trash them. Along with a copy of Chet Baker Sings there was a copy of Bud's 10" on Nocturne, The Compositions of Shorty Rogers. I tried finding the image to post here because it's priceless: Bud standing stoically with alto in hand, with a buzzcut that made him look like he could've been a member of a '90s band like Naked Raygun. Funny how your musical tastes can cross over into your parents' world, with a few added bonuses.

I bought a used copy of I Hear Music a few years ago. It's actually a cheapo compilation, but it's still damn good.

I was sad to hear that Bud passed away last week, due to a lung ailment. This is my personal reminiscence on him. I might add an entry assessing his career, but it has to start with the personal jazz.

When it rains, the assignments come in

All the interviews have been conducted and transcribed for my Sean Jones story. That's actually the hardest part - the transcribing, that is. Now comes the, uh, easy part: writing the article.
Then when I'm done with that, I have to do an interview for another music preview. And then I have to write 2 reviews for JazzTimes. Then I have to do an interview and write another article for the following week.
Why do I have a day job? Or rather, where did all this writing stuff come from? I wish I wasn't such a fragile person, who enjoyed sleep so much. I'd be set.

Checked out the Blue Note 7 last night at the Manchester Craftsmen's Guild. Great band. I thought about hanging around in hopes of meeting Ravi Coltrane afterwards, but there was already a handful of people by the stage door. I figured, if I did get to meet him what would I say? Then in the car, I answered the question: Blending Times is a really cool album. Maybe he would've appreciated that. Maybe he'd be relieved not to asked about his dad. Oh well, too late. Ravi, I do really like album, just so you know. He looked cool up there. Actually the whole band did, in that kind of classic, dead-serious/ready to play Blue Note kinda look. I dug that.

Of Pornographers and cheap reissues

Playing right now: My pal Erin on WYEP.
I'm listening online while blogging, and I was on Facebook while listening, moments ago. I'm so technologically savvy at long last [sarcasm]

I saw AC Newman at the Warhol on Saturday night. My full review of the evening will appear on the Blurt website, hopefully, by the end of the week. So I won't say too much here. Suffice to say, it was a good time. Carl had a six-piece band including a violinist and keyboard player who doubled on trumpet.

I used to be completely uninterested in those Charlie Parker budget-line live albums that seem to pop up all over the place. The sound quality is often dubious and since I'm no longer a scholar of the alto saxophone, I didn't think I needed another version of "Hot House." But everytime I go to Jerry's, that whole series of live Bird records on Everest are usually there in triplicate, all for about $4 or $5 each. So when I was on vacation in February I picked up a couple of them, and was glad I did. The sound is so-so but I'm used to lo-fi, so when Bird is having a good night, his playing makes up for the lack of technology.
Today I picked up an album called The Happy Bird on Charlie Parker Records. This one also looked like a knock-off cheapo. That is, until I saw who plays on it: Wardell Gray (an unsung tenor player with a very limited recorded output) and Richard Twardzik (who was the same to the piano, only his recordings are even smaller in number than Wardell's), besides Teddy Kotich and Roy Haynes. I haven't had time to play it yet, but maybe I will over breakfast tomorrow.
There was also a Mingus album on Everest, which looks like it was some of his Debut stuff. Normally the purist in me shies away from these reissues, thinking that I'll eventually get the original album. Whether on CD or an original pressing, I prefer to have the artwork and liner notes. But I've reached a point where there's a good chance that I won't hear it if I wait to get the original so I ought to buy something like this. I even bought 2 Prestige two-fers last year for that reason.

Now it's time to transcribe interviews for an article........

Writing about music

I think I turned a corner today, as far as my writing voice is concerned. I made a pun in a CD review. That's unprecedented. And puns usually rub me the wrong way. Nothing makes me think of lazy journalism more than hearing or reading "The Beatles are about to go down that long and winding road," or "David Bowie, once again, is going through ch-ch-ch-changes."
OK, those aren't puns but they're not funny either. Or imaginative.
Anyhow, I'm not going to tell you what said pun is, but when the review appears, I will link it. It's going to be on the Blurt website. Speaking of which, the magazine is about to do its first print issue. Everyone needs to go out and buy one. Someday it'll be worth lots of money. And in the meantime, you'll be helping to keep the institution of rock journalism alive and well. You think I'm kidding. Find my entry from this time last year about the death of Harp.

The Best and the Worst

I might've said it before in this blog, but I can't remember, so I'll say it again. It is my opinion that Simon & Garfunkel's version of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" is one of the most perfect songs ever. Artie sounds more like an angel than he ever had or ever would. When he goes for that last "Bridge" and hits that high note......[one hand on the forehead, the other on the heart], it just gets me. He just makes the weight of the lyrics believable, what one person would pledge to another.
Except for that "sail on silver girl" line. But maybe Clive Davis made them put that in.
The song is so good, nobody else should ever sing it. Nobody. It wouldn't be as good. And I'm sure some awful versions have been attempted (high school choirs, anyone??)
Well, maybe Rufus Wainwright could do it justice.
And my son. He's too young now, but I'm sure that some day he could pack the same emotional wallop.

On the other end of the spectrum, I heard one of the latest in an ongoing serious of awful modern Adult Contemporary songs at work the other day. I forget the singer's name, which is probably a godsend, but the song is called "Live." As in "live your life." The song was awful because it's one of those "my life is really really dull and I have nothing to say about it, but I'm going to keep on living" songs. She wakes up in the morning and there's a pizza box on the floor. She has to go work, where her boss is a jerk. Geez, too bad she didn't have to go to school to learn the golden rule, or gaze at the moon in the month of June.
Maybe it's Jerry Seinfeld's fault - for being successful in a medium where nothing supposedly happens. All this banality is suddenly supposed to be interested. Well, it ain't. I want to find the chump who sang the song a few tracks prior to "Live" - the guy who sang "I wish the real world would get off my back" - and bump his head against this Jennifer's, and make them read a damn book and come up with something more imaginative to say than just how hard it is to do nothing in a boring world.

A talk with Bernard Stollman of ESP, Part 2

Back in September, I printed the first part of an interview with Bernard Stollman, the man behind ESP-Disk Records, the infamous underground label responsible for some of the first free jazz albums by the likes of saxophonist Albert Ayler, vocalist Patty Waters and pianist Paul Bley. The label also released the Fugs and Pearls Before Swine.
Despite having done a good deal of groundbreaking for independent labels everywhere and documenting some important music that has stood the test of time, Stollman isn't patting himself on the back. He was the "editor of some cosmic publication." He wasn't even a music fanatic before starting the label.

Read on:


How old were you when you started the label?

34, 35. I went to my mother and I said, “Mother, I realize it’s kind of early in my life but I now what I want to do.” Of course I was being facetious. “I’m going to start a record label and I’m going to document this music. If I don’t do it, it won’t be done. It’ll be lost.”
These people are at the peak of their maturity and somebody’s gotta do it. And I decided I’m going to be that person.
In my own mind, I thought of the music publishers in Vienna, in Munich and Hamburg, Germany and Austria, who captured the music of Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms, Wagner. Without those publishers to capture the music and put it in print, I think that they would’ve been lost too. They did what they had to do, these publishers. I saw a parallel with what I was doing. Someone had to do it.
I reinvented myself to do this. I took it on. Something I felt I could do. I didn’t have a wife or children. I didn’t have any responsibilities outside myself. I didn’t have any particular financial goals other than not starving. I didn’t have any grand tastes or appetites.

I thought I read that you had been a lawyer.

Well I had gone through law school during the Korean War. They called it the Korean police act. It was a war. A preemptive war. It was an American war. But that’s a whole other story.
I decided that if I go to law school, I could avoid the draft. So I went to law school and when I finished law school, the war was over. And I had a profession. There was one small problem. I was fairly convinced that I had very few attributes that would lend themselves to a career in law. I wasn’t a naturally argumentative individual. I wasn’t particularly clever [laughs]. I despised the idea of litigation. And most work that lawyers did I saw as essentially humdrum. I didn’t feel fired up or inspired to be Henry Clay or Abe Lincoln. [Laughs]
The closest I’ve come to any kind of a public vision is when I learned the international language [Esperanto], which was in 1960. It struck me as kind of a humanist thing, which the people who make up the movement are about. They’re not religious people. They’re humanist. Humanists as you know do not exercise religion.
I was a little battle weary from all those years of school. College again – sit in more seats, look at more teachers? So I chased girls.

What kind of music were you listening to?

Totally unplanned, unprogrammed. I had no particular focus. None. I loved classical music, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to a concert. I wouldn’t say I was totally indifferent, but close to indifferent. Music itself did not appeal to me.
The fact that I was in the army after law school and in Europe, I had an awful lot of free time and I could visit museums. And I visited many, many museums all over Europe And I picked up a lot of music concert halls in Paris – I had seven months in Paris – so I went to hear Yehudi Menuhin, caught the Red Beijing opera. I had some very, very diverse experiences there.

I thought you were going to say you grew up on bebop.

I would say my experience with music is not really indifferent, but I wasn’t really caught up in it. I didn’t play an instrument. As a young boy, I played the piano ‘till I was 13. I went through puberty and started high school and that was the end of it. Never touched the keyboard again. By the time I could play “Flight of the Bumblebee” and Chopin, I had had enough. That’s the sum total of my music career.
I wouldn’t describe myself as a consistent devotee of any single sector of music. I did go to concerts in the Village in those first years in the early ‘60s. It was when folk music was having it’s time. I heard many folk artists. And that was easy to assimilate. They’re really down home they play and instrument and they sing. Not very much to think about.
When it came to jazz, my exposure was very sporadic or not at all. I had heard the Adderley Brothers at the Half Spot. I thought it was very lovely. But I didn’t follow it.
I recall in 1960 there was an album I heard, the famous concert of Parker, Gillespie…

Jazz at Massey Hall.

Yeah, and I was blown away by it. I thought, oh this is gorgeous. But again, I had a wide range of interests, if you will. And I didn’t focus on it.
I remember one afternoon I was walking and on East 8th Street in the Village. There was a club rather set back from the street. It was a ground floor club. And some music came out. It was on a Sunday afternoon. And I thought, oh wow what is this. And suddenly Coltrane came through the door. To get some air, he was mopping his brow. He and Sonny rollins were playing. It was just beautiful.
So I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it. I just didn’t see it as the focus of my time and energy. I never pursued it. I spent a few nights on Mott street where Sam Rivers had his studio, Rivbea. But again I wasn’t devoted to it. I got exposed to it.
But eventually I did get captured, finally. I know exactly what it was. It was Albert.

Albert Ayler? Was he the one that made you think, I’m starting a record label?

That did it.

What about him?

It was …. I didn’t think at all about it. I just experienced it. It wasn’t like I stopped and concentrated on what he was doing. It was washing over me, through me. It was a totally heartfelt cry and it was continuous. It went on and on nonstop until it ended. This man was saying something to me. He was saying a great deal. And I couldn’t put it in words. But he poured his heart and soul into it, and there it was. That’s one way of putting it. It was life or death for him. It was something he had to do. Not even talk about it. That sense of urgency, perhaps in retrospect, that caught me. That’s something to say. When I talk about music or describe where I’m coming from or feel I am, when I’m listening to him today: He had something to say.

Did you have a lot of people coming to court you or solicit you?

To some extent. I’m not swamped by auditions. One might assume I would be. It’s not widespread. But I’m swamped by music nonetheless. Catalogs, products, artists. It’s awesome what’s available to me now. Individual artists or archives, the whole thing has taken off to another dimension.
I might have to change my concentration, my focus because what’s to be done about all this? Perhaps very little. Perhaps all I can do is what I could only do at the very beginning which was just [pause] oh…. I guess you could say just sample what was going on.
These people… they’ve been making music all day long their whole lives! What was I supposed to do about that? You can’t document thousands upon thousands of hours of performing. So I did what I think was probably the one thing I could do. Which was sample it and get those samples out so people could hear them. Help them build an audience for themselves. Which was the most I could do, which was not very much. I didn’t have a booking agency. I didn’t have a promotions department. What I did was quite limited, very rudimentary, very limited, very small. But I did seem to grow legs. Because once you put a record out, people handle it, they copy it, they broadcast it and the word gets out.
But to say I documented it? No! How can you document something that is the output of a creative human being? You can’t.

It’s kind of like a snapshot.

It’s all I could do. At best, and that’s all I could hope to do. I didn’t hope to create some kind of a vast documentary archive. What exactly is my life’s work – I’m not a historian. As such. No, I just wanted to inspire people.

Looking back at the catalog, is there anything you regret releasing?

That’s a very good question and I’ve thought about it, of course. And I answer you this way: There’s not a record that I would not reissue today of all the records I ever did. Now if there were one or two that I thought were not the strongest statement that the artist ever made, I will not admit it. [Laughs]
I’m opposed to an autopsy, if you will, or revisit my judgment from those times. That’s for other people to do. I haven’t deleted a single record in 40-some years. If a record doesn’t draw attention or if it’s not as strong as it could be, then it’s a victim of fate.
But I’m playing God enough as it is by singling people out and saying, Let you be heard. That’s a power trip in itself, which I have to watch out for. I have to appreciate it because I’m human. I’m not god. The work is godlike in that you single out some individual out of the crowd and say, “Here, you come along and we’ll record you.”
So I have to try to be humble about this and recognize that I am a channeler if you will. I’m not making the music, somebody else is.
If I were an editor and Hemingway came to me and I said to him, “You’re a brash young man. You’re obnoxious, a bully and loudmouth braggart, but your words are spectacular, so I’ll put you out.”That’s how I see myself - as the editor of some cosmic publication. That’s all I am. And that’s a worthwhile goal for me.
I never had aspirations to play music or even be a public figure. And I accept the public figure role. It doesn’t move me. I get no thrill out of being identified or recognized. I found out a long time ago that seeing my name in print or being talked about did nothing for me. [Laughs] I got no kick whatsoever out of it.
Did I get some pleasure out of seeing these artists rise and get some recognition? Yes, sure. But I don’t have an overblown ego. I hope not.
It’s been one helluva a trip and I don’t suggest it to anyone. You pay a price for it. I forewent marriage, family, all the things that nature and God if you will seem to assign to us. Life functions, I’ve betrayed them.I didn’t pursue them and it’s given me the freedom to pursue what I did. And I don’t think I particularly deserve praise for it. And I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else. Ever. It’s a high price to pay.

But you’ve influenced a lot people by what you’ve done.
Well, that’s a bargain I made with the devil. The only offspring I have is an idea. I helped to circulate ideas or awareness.

Pittsburgh still has good rock

Playing right now: Wynton Marsalis - He and She (Blue Note)
(That's right. I'm making a list of new releases that come to me so that when I'm trying to figure out what to listen, I'll put one of them on instead of reaching for... oh, you know something I've listened to a million times.This was at the top of the list. It's not too bad, so far.)

Last night I went to Howler's and saw three really amazing local bands. Even though I was beat by the time it was over (hell, I was nodding off in front of this computer right before I left), I felt really pumped by the music and excited that I was finally seeing new goings-on in the local scene.

I got there about halfway through Central Plains' set. It was pretty straight forward guitar-based stuff, with good drumming kicking it along. Plus, the last song of the set had a really great harmonized double-guitar riff. And one song had a really unexpected chord change in the chorus. I've been meaning to see those guys for a while because a friend from work is their bass player. Next time I'll catch a whole set.

The version of Lohio that played with my old band Mystery Date (aka the Mofones minus Sharon "Mama" Spell on that given night) was a work-in-progress trio, but the version I saw last night had a completely revamped lineup and a stronger attack. Great songs, good arrangements, cool keyboard fills, another song with unexpected chord shifts. Damn.

A few months ago I saw the Harlan Twins and got blown away, but I had to leave because I was pretty much falling asleep while on my feet. That night they sounded like a high energy indie rock band with a Rhodes. Last night, there was a little more of a boogie element going on, but it added to what was already pretty solid. James Hart has the hard rock intonation down during his guitar solos. Plus there was that pedal steel that he played. The other guitar player - whose name I didn't get - sang some great songs that were a nice break between James'. (He's another fellow team member, which is why I know his name.) A lot of their songs were epics, in terms of length and dynamics. I hope they record soon, or release something.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Did a phone interview with Rudresh Mahanthappa today for JazzTimes. The kid should have been down for his nap, but he was awake and ornery so I bought some time with an avacado and a sippy bottle of milk. He ate the former and spilled the latter all over the place.

Today I filed two reviews with Blurt and we're now allowed to add a hyperlink to our bylines so that readers can be connected to our personal blogs, providing the writer has one. So you know what that means: gotta get moving and write more often. Tomorrow I'm off with Donovan all day, and I hopefully will be talking to Rudresh Mahanthappa during the kid's naptime. But maybe, just maybe I can find time to post the rest of the Bernard Stollman interview that I transcribed right around the time that I made the most previous post.

Funny, I wander around Facebook when I'm online and check my email, which only takes a few minutes, at most. And then I lollygag, which is precious time I could spend on this blog.

But none of this has anything to do with music, and I boo-hoo about it all the time. Consider it a sign of better things to come.

By the way, SXSW is going on now. I, the music writer, am not going. My brother, the guy who started the first punk band in Pittsburgh but doesn't play music and now works in advertising, is there. Where's the justice?

Awwww, man!

The "How Many Good Albums..." post was written on Jan. 7 but I thought I lost it and it didn't get up, until a minute ago when I found it in the Edit file.

What's wrong with my format? I can't get anything up here. A year ago I promised Joy from Stony Brook People to link the band blog to me. AND MY FORMAT WON'T LET ME! I probably have to reformat everything to do it, but I don't have the functions. I'm probably using the wrong terminology too. And I'm not talking about music.....oy.

Percussive Clatter

Playing right now: Art Ensemble of Chicago - Reese and the Smooth Ones
I bought this yesterday at Paul's. I'm off all week because there are guys here working on our kitchen. So maybe this will get my ass in gear and I'll start posting more.

I made a whole pile of CDs that showed up in the mail. I'd like to say I will check some of them out, but that's, uh, kinda daunting.

My Volcano Suns article is up on the Blurt website: www.blurt-online.com. Check out everything while you're there.

I just spent the last 15 minutes, which should've been spent getting read to face the day, writing about my attempts at compiling a Top 10 list. Then Blogger told me it couldn't upload because a couple edits were happening and please click Back and try again.
When I clicked Back the title of the entry was there, but the text was gone.
You people suck.

How many good albums were there?

Had I KNOWN that this was saved in the edit file, it would've run a month ago. (See two posts ago.) I still say you people suck. Not you, the one over there. Everyone else.


A few months ago, I attempted to come up with a Top 10 albums of the year list for Blurt. But I ended up copping out because I could only come up with five things that I really knew for the year and really liked. Oh, I searched around awhile, looking at the list of albums I reviewed during the past year, hunting down my list of albums I purchased for the year, to no avail. Last year I swore that I'd stay on top of all of it. My goal was to get my rock chops up to snuff so that somehow I'd be able to justify a trip to SXSW to hang with the Harp crew. Or was it IAJE I wanted to go to? ("International Association of Jazz Educators" that is.) Both of the above, really.
But as fate would have it, Harp had the plug pulled on it, and IAJE dissolved after this year's convention amidst controversy. Blurt will be a noticeably presence at SXSW but at this point their one wise-ass CD reviewer won't be there.

Which reminds me I ought to go check out their website. The holidays took me away from that.
But in case anyone wonders how my list for 2008 would've started, here is the unfinished collection:

TV on the Radio - Dear Science (Interscope)
Ida – Lovers Prayers (Polyvinyl)
The Hold Steady - Stay Positive (Vagrant)
Mates of State – Re-Arrange Us (Barsuk)
Fiery Furnaces – Remember (Thrill Jockey)

In other news, 2008 has already had its first rock death - Ron Asheton of the Stooges was found dead at his home. RIP, Ron.

Ron and Russell's high water mark

Playing right now: Sparks - Propaganda

This is the second night in a row I've sat at the computer with my big honkin' headphones on me head, with Propaganda shooting into the ears. What a masterpiece.
A couple weeks ago I had to review Sparks' latest album, Exotic Creatures of the Deep for Blurt. I really wanted to like it, but it was lacking a lot of the things that made Propaganda great. Not that I was using that criteria alone when reviewing the album. But the new disc made my pull out this 1974 classic. Listening to it again reminds me of what was so great about them. The lyrics on this album really shoot out fast and furious like bullets. If you miss them, the melodies still grab on to you and say, "Follow the lyric sheet the next time."
And when you do, it's easy to see that nobody was twisting classic lyrical scenarios like the Maels - military metaphors ("Reinforcements"), a song about those who didn't make it onto Noah's Ark ("Bon Voyage," which is funny just thinking about the subject and title), a kid conflicted between his overprotective parents and wanting to take candy and rides from strangers ("Thanks But No Thanks"). The latter song is also interesting in the fact that the real story is left a little vague: are his parents really overprotective, or is it that little Russell is too naive to realize that the people to whom he's apologizing are really child abusers? It's like a John Vanderslice song.
"Thanks..." also has a lyric that's both pithy and simplistic: "My parents think the world is cruel/ I think that they prefer it cruel." I love how vulnerable Russell sounds in this song too.

Usually, they go in threes

But let's see, last week we lost Yma Sumac, Jimmy Carl Black, Miriam Makeba and Mitch Mitchell. What a jam session that would be in the afterworld.

Yes, some respect for David Sanborn

Playing up until a few minutes ago: Disc 6 of The Complete Arista Recordings of Anthony Braxton
What can I say about it? Nothing right now. I have to review it, so you can read all about it later.

Instead, I'm going to weigh in on something that's been around the house for a while now. But since this fellow is on the cover of the new JazzTimes, I suppose I can opine and not seem too behind the times.



David Sanborn
Here and Gone
(Decca)

I've developed a level of respect for David Sanborn ever since he hosted Night Music in the late '80s and early '90s. Many people have probably said as much, but there was one particular instance that made me rethink my original position on the frizzy-haired (now shorn off) alto man. Tim Berne was on the show once with his group and Sanborn sat in with them on Berne's "Hong Kong Sad Song." In the middle of the piece, it wasn't Berne but Sanborn who took the first alto solo. He cut loose with a shriek that rivaled the bandleader and drew on Dave's early years, hanging out with the pre-AACM guys in St. Louis.
Then, a few years later, Sanborn appeared on Berne's Diminutive Mysteries album, where they played the music of Julius Hemphill. Somewhere around that time, he also released Another Light which featured Charlie Haden in the band and covered the Velvets' "Jesus." Kind of made you think there was more to this guy than just smooth stuff. If Pat Metheny ever had a chance to really beat Kenny G to a pulp, Sanborn might've been the one holding that chump down.
Which brings us to Here and Gone, Sanborn's latest, which pays homage to Hank Crawford, who played alto with Ray Charles and released numerous r&b sides of his own. For starters, he doesn't try to take Crawford's style and transpose it into some limp, electric context. There aren't any moist keyboards here.
The first thing that struck me on the opening "St. Louis Blues" was how much Sanborn's tone sounds like John Zorn: they both have that pungent, reedy quality. (As Mort Sahl would say, is there anyone I haven't offended yet?) It's not exactly gutsy or down and dirty, but the arrangement puts Sanborn in the presence of a group that sounds like a good, modern day swing band.
Among the guests on the album, Eric Clapton plays and sings on "I'm Gonna Move to the Outskirts of Town," which he pulls off because he pulls back. He doesn't try to be Louie Jordan, or whoever else did the song, and he focuses on the old time lyrics without trying to make them cute. Joss Stone on the other hand really does the little-chick-trying-to-sound-big-and-sassy shtick and while she has the pipes, it still sounds a little forced.
Guitarist Derek Trucks appears on "Brother Ray" and his leads, the call and response of the horns and Sanborn's attack all sound pretty tight.
The only problem is the record is mixed in the frequency that makes my fillings hurt. Maybe it's Sanborn's tone, but that high end can really take some getting used to. But Zorn does the same for me too. (Has anyone ever observed how often he enters with that one really high shrill note, on all those Naked City tunes?)
Hmmm, that connection has me thinking that for Sanborn's next album, he ought to collaborate with ex-Naked City keyboardist Wayne Horvitz. With that guy's writing and Dave's tone, that could be an amazing album.

Coping devices

If I listened to Anthony Braxton's For Alto album every morning while getting ready for work, maybe I'd have a better outlook on things.

October update

Geez, I didn't mean to be away for so long. Since I last wrote, saxophonist Rudresh Mahanthappa came to Pittsburgh for the International Festival of Firsts and premiered a new piece that was spellbinding. I wrote a review for JazzTimes that should be up on their website by the time you read this. (Check out www.jazztimes.com) I picked up a copy of Rudresh's 2004 album Mother Tongue last week, and it has me thinking that this guy is really on the cutting edge of something big. He has amazing technique on his horn and his compositions are really astounding - going to places that haven't been gone before without any cliches or highminded ideas about "this is world music," or anything like that.

Yet again, musicians have left the earth. And while the three I'm thinking of didn't die right around the same time, the old "they always go in threes" adage seems to apply. Guitarist Hiram Bullock died in July as did tenor saxophonist Johnny Griffin - something I didn't hear about until last week! - and then arranger Neal Hefti died on October 11.

I grew up hearing Hefti's name because my folks were into big bands and they had a Count Basie album that he arranged. He also composed an obscure but really good ballad called "Falling in Love All Over Again" that Phil Woods did on an album called Woodlore. So the story goes, he was in Pittsburgh with some band and my mom called him at his hotel room to get a chart of that song for some even that she was staging. (I believe because she's not known to tell tall tales.)

But Hefti is probably best known to people my age due to a song for which he was supposedly credited with "word and music": the Batman theme. Like any simple song that became a hit, he said that it was really hard for him to write. It took a lot of time to come up with that 1-4-5 riff. Where would the music world be without it?

Johnny Griffin is one of the last tenor giants of the early 50s era. I know I say that everytime one of those guys dies, but damned if it isn't true. 80 years old, he was. Heart problems were listed as the cause.

Griffin came to Pittsburgh several times for the Pitt Jazz Seminar and was a really gracious guy. Who knows how many times he was asked what it was like playing with Thelonious Monk, but he still was willing to tell me stories about the pianist hiding the written music from Griffin, insisting he learn it by ear. Listening to Monk's Misterioso on Riverside, Griffin is amazing enough playing with the band, but then a few choruses into solos on a couple of tunes, you hear, "I got it, I got it," and the rest of the band drops out. Griffin just blows away without any need for a safety net.

Hiram Bullock's death really came out of left field. He was only 52 but he supposedly was suffering from a throat tumor. He did a lot of slick music, and for a time was best known as the original guitarist on David Letterman's NBC show. But he also played on many of Carla Bley's albums, so he had pretty diverse qualities.

A talk with Bernard Stollman of ESP

Alfred Lion, Neshui Ertegun, Orrin Keepnews - all started record labels that released records that shaped musical history. (Blue Note, Atlantic and Riverside were their labels, in case you didn't know.) Bernard Stollman deserves to be on that list too. Without him, the world might've never heard the Fugs, Patty Waters, the Godz, Pearls Before Swine or Burton Greene. Albert Ayler might've recorded a few early sessions in Europe, but it was his ESP album Spiritual Unity that really presented his approach to the saxophone.

At the time of their original releases, these albums might not have sold huge amounts, but like the old comment about the Velvet Underground (or was it the Stooges), everybody who bought them started a band.

After reading my post about Giuseppi Logan last week, Bernard Stollman got in touch with me. What follows in the first installment of our conversation, about Mr. Logan and the label itself. As I transcribe the talk, I'll post more of his insight into the origins of the label.

How did you find out about Giuseppi Logan?

Bernard : He was brought to me by Milford Graves, the percussionist. I hadn’t heard him before, but Milford recommended that I record him. I trusted Milford’s judgment, tastes and recommendations. So that’s what I did. It happened throughout the history of the label: musicians have been brought to me and I frequently, perhaps almost invariably, listened to their recommendations. This label has been shaped in large measure by the ideas and thoughts and tastes, if you will, by its artists.

Did Milford take you to a show to see Giuseppi or did he just say you should record him?

I hadn’t heard him play. I didn’t really no what he sounded like. Milford felt really strong about him. As I’ve done many times with the label, I would take the risk, if you will, and provided the opportunity if one of my colleagues felt very strongly about it.
The session took place at Richard Alderson’s studio. I remember standing at one end of the room. At the other end of the room was, single file, where the artists were going to perform. They were walking into the recording studio. They didn’t come towards me. They were at a distance. And at one point Giuseppi passed and from that distance, about 20 feet away ,he said clearly, “If you rob me, I’ll kill you.” And that was the beginning. Kind of an inauspicious beginning to a relationship. It got better from there.

So he didn’t know you were the man from ESP?

Oh yes, he did.

So he meant, “If you rip me off, I’ll kill you”?

Yes. Exactly. Coming up very defensively. He knew nothing about me really that I could imagine. It was just this stance, posture. We weren’t personally acquainted. Milford was mortified. He was very embarrassed.
So we went into record. I had no idea who they were going to be, except for Milford, or what they were going to do. There were no exchanges. They went in and did their music. I sat in the control room with Richard Alderson listened to the sessions go down.
I’ve stated before, we stood there and at some point we got very spellbound. Engaged - that’s the word for it. What they did was so engaging. Everybody thought it was totally improvised, like a group of, oh I don’t know, people in a souk in Morocco or something. Playing just to express themselves. And we were actually spellbound. [Alderson] was a producer too.
So were standing there listening to the session and it’s going forward, and all of a sudden, “thwuck,” the tape had run out on the deck in the middle of the performance. I thought, Oh my God, this gorgeous thing is going on and it’s blown because we weren’t paying attention.
So Richard got on the intercom and said, “Giuseppi, we’ve run out of tape. What do you want to do?” Logan says, “Run it back, so I can hear to right before it cut off and we’ll take up where we left off.”
That’s exactly what he did. He ran the tape back and played two bars so he could tell where they were, and they kept right on playing. He hit the record switch and there was no loss whatsoever. If you listen to the record, for the life of you, you couldn’t tell that it was suspended and redone.

Do you remember which track?

I’m not really sure. But it was certainly really….[laughs] all of his songs were really engaging in that sense. I couldn’t tell which one it was.
What amazed me, what absolutely amazed me was the realization that what I had heard was not essentially chaotic pandemonium, or just a freewheeling exercise. Everyone one of those musicians knew exactly what he was doing, from a fraction of a second to a minute. And there were doing it without the slightest hesitation, winding out the songs, letting the music unwind. That was very sobering to me. It dawned on me at that point that I hadn’t a clue what was going on. It was not chaotic. This is a dialogue. It was grounded, they knew exactly what they wanted to say. And that was just……. you have to experience something like that to appreciate just how extraordinary a phenomenon it is. I owe that to Giuseppi. That was quite a lesson to me. We were fooled.

At the Town Hall concert, he played at that and we put that out as a second album. Many years later, at least 10 years ago, we were listening to a tape of the {Albert Ayler] Bells concert from that same Town Hall show, and lo and behold there was seven minutes of music at the begin of that tape. And it was the remainder of Giuseppi’s performance that somehow had gotten separated. So we’re going to reissue that record with the additional seven minutes.

When will that come out?

We’ll get it out probably in February. There are so many things waiting to be done.

During that session or any point before that, did you think, I’m really onto something. Art is being created here.

The whole experience of doing ESP was a serious shock. A very, very pleasant shock. I never ceased to be astonished by what happened.
Paul Bley’s first album with Dewey Johnson, which we’re going to reissue now, is an extraordinarily beautiful album. And it’s not at all like his Closer album. Very very free album. I want to put it out again.
[Laughs] I mean every single one, they all surprised me. They all took my quite unaware. There’s no way I could’ve prepared me for what they did. I didn’t know what to expect and I wasn’t disappointed.
The New York art Quartet - I went to the studio around 5 o’clock in the afternoon. Roswell Rudd and John Tchicai were there and they had this little kid with them. I thought what’s he doing here? Of course, I didn’t ask. And they introduced me and it was Leroi Jones, Amiri Baraka. He wasn’t a little boy, he was just a rather short individual, but a very serious one. That too. I had no idea what to expect and I wasn’t disappointed.
So this has been the course of my career in music.