Larry Kart

A practical comment from the perspective of a former journalist: I hated writing obits of jazz musicians for several reasons. First, if it was someone whose work I loved, then the act of writing the obit (which almost always was a tense, deadline affair) would pretty much prevent me from feeling what I would have felt if, say, Basie or Hines or Monk had died and I hadn't had to write their obits. Second, while I always tried to put the career of the deceased musician in what seemed to me to be the proper perspective -- that is, say just what I would have said otherwise (in terms of information and estimate of musical worth by both myself and the jazz community at large, should there be a significant difference there) and not let the fact that the artist had just died turn the obit into an exercise in artistic inflation, breast-beating, etc. The problem there was that at my paper, and I'm sure at most papers, there was a general reluctance to give much space to obits of jazz musicians; the only excuse to do so, one understood, was that if the obit was going to say that so-and-so was the greatest. I balked at the pressure, but it certainly was there. In fact, I recall one case where it became almost comically explicit, though the writer of this obit was my predecessor in writing about jazz for the Chicago Tribune, Harriet Choice. The musician who had died was Cannonball Adderley, and the editor involved asked Harriet, as though it were a foregone conclusion given her request for space on page one, "He was the greatest living jazz musician, right?" Harriet coolly said, "No -- he wasn't." What struck me as funny there was that Harriet not only was not a person to be pushed around, but she also thought that she should have been running the whole damn paper -- and she might well have done a good job of it, too. Also, some writers on jazz for mainstream papers seem to me to pump up the volume when writing obits in such a way as to implicitly claim that their beat, and of course they themselves, are that much more important. That's ugly.

Interfacing the computer with the trombone sounds like it would be a good answer for Lewis. Glad to hear that he and Roscoe and were interacting so well in Ann Arbor. Good luck with the little one; she sounds like a handful.

Shelton's website (lots to hear there): http://www.aramshelton.com/about.html I see that he grew up in Gainesville, not Jacksonville.

Many thanks, Red. Seems we've been listening to the very same record, which is what I'd hoped to hear from someone but didn't expect I would. I also got it a bit more this time, after a gap of many months away from it, but it could also be that my sense that I got it better was connected to my growing "better" understanding of what were and where were the problems I'd encountered the first time through. I'm pussy-footing here because I'm still prepared for someone to explain convincingly what it is that I'm not getting here and also because, for me, thinking that I've understood something that I didn't understand before can be a satisfying but delusive state of mind. About laptops and instrumentalists, my in-person experience is limited, but I know at least one excellent player, reedman Aram Shelton (priginally from Jacksonsville, Fl., to Chicago in 2001, then to Mills College in or near Oakland a year or two ago, to work on electro-acoustic things), who does some things with instruments and laptops that sounded very convincing to me -- Aram on alto and laptop with bassist Jason Ajemian on one concert and with drummer Johnathan Crawford on another. The strategy was the same in both cases and orobably fairly common -- both parties play acoustically at first, the laptop takes in what is played, then the laptop operator begins to in real time to release modified (looped, etc.) versions of what has been played while the players respond in real time to that -- and on and on. To me, whatever else might be going on in the realm of technology and with the belief that new techniques will generate significantly new art, it all resolves on the level of ear and taste. That, for example, is why I'm bewildered by the fact that George Lewis has stored chirpy bird sounds on his laptop and thinks it's a good idea to release them from the cage. Link to Shelton/Crawford album, which may still be available: http://www.482music.com/albums/482-1022.html

Listened hard (as in "paid close attention") to this when it came out in IIRC late 2006, and to some extent it threw me, despite my familiarity and fondness for a great deal of the music these men have made over the years. Put the album aside, and tonight I listened hard to it again. My thoughts on it are a bit clearer, but a good deal of confusion and doubt remain. First, IMO Muhal and Roscoe have never been on quite the same page (or perhaps even similar pages) musically, but that can work out just fine as long as the distance between them is acknowledged and accepted by both in the act -- then what one has, in effect, is two powerful different discourses going on at once, contrapuntally (not contrapuntally in literal musical terms, but in dramatic terms). I also believe that Roscoe can hear and respond (both on saxophones and here on personal percussion instruments) to anything that Muhal is doing, should that be what Roscoe wants to do, while Muhal for any number of reasons does not (or tends not) to respond to Roscoe that way. But again that can be fine, and it is mostly fine here -- though what's going on here between them is significantly colored by the fact that Muhal is in very fine, aggressive, and aggressively independent form, and that his instrument benefits from perhaps the most startlingly realistic (even super-realistic, in terms of presence and spatial breadth/depth) recording of a piano I've ever heard. Roscoe (and G. Lewis) are very well-recorded too, but one has heard them recorded this well before -- Muhal never before, not in my experience. Now on to Lewis, which is where the problems begin for me. On trombone, this time, he sounds quite empty and/or detached to me -- detached from the others and also detached from his instrument; certainly he's in full virtuoso control of his horn, but much that he plays has an etude-like feel to me, alternately flibberty and blatant (a la Milt Bernhart), sometimes both at once. On the other hand (and this may be a clue), there's a lot of laptop work from Lewis here, and this (aside from the bird imitations, which I can't stand) is IMO mostly quite effective in itself, though I believe that in part by nature (of the instrument or the medium, call the laptop what you will) and in part by intent, most of Lewis's laptop contributions here are meant to play an orchestral/suffusing-background role. The possible clue (or what I wonder is), when Muhal and Roscoe play, one knows or senses the relationship between what one hears and what they're thinking and making their bodies do in real time, as is the case with every improvising instrumentalist. With Lewis's laptop (or anyone's laptop), that relationship is, I think, inevitably altered, maybe even no longer present. That is, the laptop (in part -- it also may do many other things) stores sounds, whatever their origins and how much in what ways they've been worked over, and then produces/releases them in real time at the command of the operator, though I would assume that the release of stored sounds also can be randomized and/or be subject to random, semi-random, or fully controlled further modifications before or while they emerge as sounds that we (and the instrumentalists involved) can hear. Now there's no particular reason why a skilled instrumentalist who's also heavily involved in the things a laptop can do couldn't retain his prior fruitful relationship to his instrument, or even develop a significantly new relationship to his instrument that also would be fruitful. But Lewis sounds to me like a trombonist whose bond to that instrument has been broken -- probably, if so, because it's the orchestral implications (especially the enveloping aspects) of the laptop that have captured his imagination. In any case, while I can to some extent screen out Lewis's contributions to this album when he's playing trombone (don't need to do that when he's on laptop), I'm left then, for the portions of the album where he is playing trombone, with a two- or three-part music where one of the parts isn't working. My opinion, obviously. What does anyone else think?

Because even though many Holiday admirers, myself included, prize many of her late recordings for their emotional depth and musical inventiveness/insight, I don't see how anyone could say that in 1956 Holiday's voice (as in her vocal equipment) was "near its best." Yes, the significant lessening of her vocal resources led her to come up with striking, moving solutions that she might not have come up with otherwise. But the lessening of those resources -- range, suppleness, ability to sustain notes, etc. -- is objective fact. Now if the guy had said that her singing was near its best in 1956, some would agree, others would not, and still others would say it's a matter of swings and roundabouts. But the guy said "her voice." Further, there are some late Holiday recordings where her lack of vocal resources is clearly so disturbing/distracting to her as an artist, that things almost break down completely.

Another voice heard from: http://www.chicagotribune.com/entertainmen...hi_tab01_layout Viz: "The technical brilliance, unprecedented speed and hard-driving swing of Peterson's best work inspired generations of artists. But it also drove them to despair, for they knew Peterson's feats could not be matched, much less topped." Yes, the mental wards are full of jazz pianists driven to despair in just that manner.

I will forever associate "Jingle Bell Rock" with a going-off-to-college female clerk in a Famous Footwear store who was bobbing her head to it while ringing up a pair of shoes for me about eight years ago. It was a kind of animated modern-American-shopping-mall genre painting of a relaxed, fun person (or so it seemed) making some relaxed fun for herself as best she could during a long winter work day, and for that reason I smile every time I hear that silly song.

That's from a Shecky Greene routine, apparently based on fact. As I recall, the actual wording was more abrupt: "Frank Sinatra saved my life. It was in a parking lot in Las Vegas, three guys were beating the crap out of me, and Frank said, 'That's enough.'" Coming from Shecky there was additional impact because he was a big, physical guy who obviously could take care of himself. The same night I heard him deliver that, he also went into some stuff about notorious mob-connected attorney Sidney Korshak that could have got him killed -- this in front of Sidney's niece, Margie Korshak, the publicist for the venue, her presence being the reason he went off in this vein. She was not all happy. Shecky liked to take risks.

Was taken to a Ballet Russes de Monte Carlo performance at about age 12 (my younger sister was a big ballet fan, took ballet herself and was pretty good), but it made no sense to me -- just seemed like a lot of arch, frilly posing. And the tights and the tutus! Not for me. Then at about age 18 I went to a modern dance performance by Sybil Shearer: http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn41...22/ai_n15943731 (my sister was among her young students for a while) and was astonished. In Shearer's solo work (she mainly worked solo, I think), every gesture "spoke," and in one ensemble piece you could also virtually see the lines of force that ran from each dancer, and his or her limbs, to the other dancers and their moving limbs. Wow. I began to get it. Then a few years later I saw the New York City Ballet do, among other things, Stravinsky's "Symphony in Three Movements." There's a moment IIRC when the whole company moves suddenly and aggressively toward the front of the stage in (probably) three horizontal lines, and it was very powerful and also damn scary -- as though they might just keep on going right into the audience, run you over, and beat you up. Yet it was still, as they, dance. That taught me that there's probably no vein of emotion that dance can't convey; it's not just about being pretty and how to jump. Have seen other good things over the years -- much less than I should have though. If I'd lived in Manhattan while Balanchine was still around, I would have tried to be at the NYCB as often as I could.

I remember catching the Buddy Rich Band at the dark (lots of black-light stuff going on -- other stuff going on in the dark too), cavernous Electric Playground in Chicago (a very Fillmore East-type place) in 1969, on the same bill as the Rotary Connection (with lead vocalist Minnie Ripperton) and other groups as well -- maybe Canned Heat. Went there with my Down Beat boss Dan Morgenstern -- the idea being that for Rich to appear at such a venue was newsworthy. Encountering Rich backstage with Dan was quite an experience; the man (i.e. Rich) was like an electric whippet, while Dan's normally mellow, laidback manner seemed if anything to become even more that way in response to how "up" Buddy was. It seemed an effective way to deal with Traps, the Drum Wonder.

Wasn't this board almost shut down for lack of funds? This might be not only the perfect stamp of definition on our "little" online community, but also a great opportunity to fundraise for the board and its proprietors. Yes, it was almost shut down, in part for lack of funds, but it was our sharp, sudden awareness of that problem and our collective desire to not let the shut-down happen if possible that led to the successful fundraising -- a habit that I'm sure will continue with a nudge here and there. Clearly enough of us can afford it and are willing to weigh in. I think though that fundraising for the board and a conference are or should be two separate things. For one thing, if I know my conferences, just about every dime raised or charged to set up and run such an event will of necessity be spent then and there.

Allen -- You know that I'm your friend, and you did mention this idea to me before you brought it up here and I certainly didn't say "nay" back then, but I'm inclined to think now, having taken in and thought about the various things that are being said, that 1) the "conference" idea is not so hot, and 2) those of us who feel that way here are not really a crew of deep-rooted negative thinkers. First, let's take a look at the two most obvious things that IMO link us together -- a love of jazz and a fondness for talking about it (and responding to other people talking about it) in a relaxed, unrestrained manner and (one likes to think) knowledgable manner in this particular setting. Obviously, that's not all we want to do, nor is it all we have in common, but leaving aside the question of expenses for the moment, any sort of get-together that cuts across what we already have going for us and how we seem to like to behave is probably going to have problems. For instance -- and while I'm speaking only for myself on this point, I can imagine others having related qualms -- when we talked on the phone a few weeks back, you casually mentioned that I might speak on some subject to the assembled multitude, should a multitude assemble. But I hate to speak in public, nor do I particularly like to participate in panel discussions, though for me that would be the lesser of two evils. Why do I feel that way? Well, aside from the fact that I'm obviously batshit, I think it's because it's been my experience that the more people I'm talking to (and the more of those people I don't already know), the stupider I get and/or feel -- and the more uncomfortable too, which may account for the being/feeling more stupid part. By contrast, and just to point (or gesture) in a different direction and make it clear that I'm not merely or wholly a hermit, I remember the time a few years ago that Organissimo played Martyrs in Chicago, and I and several other board members came by to hear them. First, the band was excellent; second, we all got a chance to meet and mingle in a basically pleasant place in what seemed to me to be a quite natural, no-pressure manner (though perhaps Jim, Joe, and Randy felt more pressure that night than I did). It was -- to circle back to my original stance -- as though Organissimo the band (having taken on flesh for those of us who'd only heard the band on record) and Organissimo the board (i.e. the warm communal/casual feeling of the board at its best) had for a time become one thing. That was really fine, and it would be great if that could happen again for the band and for many more of us than were able to gather at that club on that night -- and I'm not forgetting the Reptet and other bands that are connected to the board. But ... well, do you get my drift here? A conference, in my experience, is a typically (perhaps even inherently) uptight social construction -- travel, reservations, schedules, name tags, etc. What I'm trying to say, and I could be way wrong here, is that the conference idea doesn't fit my sense of the us-ness of us. What would fit better instead, I think, is some reasonable extension/expansion of a gig that the band might normally have -- to add another connected or compatible band and also add the possibility of some fairly free-form social gathering/gatherings that were connected to that musical event. I dunno, that's for sure. But what I am sure of is that we have to begin with who we are, what we do here that feels good to us, and build outward from that, if that's possible. Hey, if we all lived within, say, a 100 miles of northern New Jersey, and Organissimo had a two-night gig there, I'm sure a lot of us would make it with little or no problem and probably stay over to shmooze. Or am I really the professional negative thinker that above I professed not to be?

Finally bought this one and am enjoying it a lot. Some of the most utterly relaxed, slyly inventive Garland I know, and Specs Wright's brushwork (backing and in solo exchanges) is so fine -- sounds like a great tap dancer. In Doug Ramsey's liner notes to the 1977 Garland double LP "Rediscovered Masters" (Prestige) -- which includes three fine studio tracks with Doug Watkins and Wright (Jimmy Rowser is in for Watkins on "At the Prelude" -- Garland says, "Specs had the most phenomenal hands of any drummer I've ever seen."

I have it, with Concerto No. 1, on LP with Konstantly Kulka and Jerzy Maksymiuk, still available on CD: http://www.amazon.com/Karol-Szymanowski-Co...5238&sr=1-6 These seem like excellent perfomances to me, but I also have a Concerto No. 1 on LP with Wanda Wilkormiska and Witold Rowicki that's absolutely hair-raising. That recording is from one of my luckiest ever used-record store finds -- a five-LP Polskie Nagranskie all-Szymanowski box, three-and-a-half discs of orchestral works, all conducted by Rowicki, one-and-a-half discs of songs and String Quartet No. 1. Is there a newer coupling of the concertos than the Kulka that anyone wants to endorse? I see there's a Naxos that's gotten good reviews, and the conductor there (Wit) has done some fine work. Don't know of the fiddler, though.

I too, thought Chaloff was Jewish, so maybe both our memories are playing tricks on us. Probably Russian, not Russian-Jewish. Also, Margaret is the name of a saint -- not that all Margarets were or are now named after the saint, but back then I believe that many Margarets were. In any case, not too many Jewish girls named Margaret, at least not of Margaret Chaloff's vintage. Also, now that I think of it, not too many Jewish boys named Serge either.

William Stenhammar's concerto (coupled with the Berwald and one by Tor Aulin -- all played very well by Tobias Ringborg): http://www.amazon.com/Swedish-Romantic-Vio...0303&sr=1-1 The Piston concertos (both this and the disc above are inexpensive, on Naxos): http://www.amazon.com/Piston-Violin-Concer...0357&sr=1-1 The Frank Martin concerto (on a mid-priced two-disc set with a lot of other interesting Martin): http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_m/103-99...p;x=16&y=15 Don't see an in-print recording of the Othmar Schoeck concerto, which is special IIRC. Schoeck wrote it for the same female fiddler Stefi Geyer for whom Bartok wrote his long-unpublished first concerto. Both Bartok and and Schoeck were in love with Geyer, who apparently was quite the thing, but Schoeck was really ga-ga over her, as he seems to have been over many women in his time. Schoeck's numerous songs are special too.

If you like the Walton, you’ll probably like the Alan Rawsthorne concertos: http://www.amazon.com/Rawsthorne-Concertos...5304&sr=1-1 I’d also recommend Dutilleux’s concerto, L'arbre des songes: http://www.amazon.com/Henri-Dutilleux-Orch...5589&sr=1-3 Both of these recordings are good and inexpensive. Your no Schoenberg, no Shostakovich influence inhibits me some, but there’s the Stravinsky concerto, the Samuel Barber (some would say that it might as well have been written in the 19th Century, but I disagree), the Nielsen, Karl Amadeus Hartmann’s Concerto Funebre, and a lot of others that I’ll add as I think of them/look further. Also, and I hope EDC isn’t reading, I was more impressed by the John Adams concerto than I have been by any of his other works. Also, there's a remarkably ecstatic concerto by the late American composer Paul Cooper (b. 1926); it’s a CRI cutout at Berkshire: http://www.berkshirerecordoutlet.com/cgi-b...=AND&RPP=25

Could be, but would Getz's tenor book be anywhere as difficult to reconstitute as the bari book? Also, the story -- which certainly may be apocryphal -- fits Chaloff's personality much better than it does Getz's. (Stan certainly could be evil but not I think in that confrontational manner, at least not with a male figure of authority like Herman.) Finally, the story as told segues nicely into the familiar tale in which Woody pisses on the semi-zonked Serge's leg while both men are standing at a bar.

Haven't heard the others EDC recommends, but I have a three-LP Panocha set on Supraphon (earlier performances -- mid-1980s -- than are on the CD set, I believe), and it's some of the loveliest string quartet I've ever heard of anything. Especially striking IIRC is the sense of transparent "grain" in the textures/timbres; Dvorak string quartet performances that shove sleek vibrato down your throat are not desirable IMO.

From Steve Voce (poached from the Jazz West Coast list): Woody reportedly broke up the Second Herd when, fronting it on the bandstand one night, he turned around and found that half the horns had fallen asleep. Serge Chaloff used to sell drugs to the rest of the band from behind a blanket on the band bus. Eventually, because he was the source of the disruption, Woody fired Serge. But, since he was not a harsh man, Woody told Serge he could stay with the band until they reached Boston on their tour (this was Serge's home town). One night before that the band played at a place whose name I forget. It was something on the Charles, a local river. They played on a pier sticking out onto the river. At the intermission Serge asked Woody to come out on the balcony. 'Look down in the river.' Serge told Woody, 'and tell me what you see.' 'Nothing,' said Woody, 'except a lot of pieces of paper floating about.' 'That's the band's baritone book,' said Serge, who knew the book off by heart. 'Now you can't fire me.' He was right. Woody had to keep him another year before he could get rid of him. My story (by way of a white-haired fellow -- a friend of Joe Segal's -- who might have been dubbed the be-bop vampire): Pianist Eddie Higgins is a student at a college near Chicago (either Northwestern or Notre Dame, don't recall which); the Second Herd is playing the Panther Room at the Sherman Hotel. Higgins wants to do an interview with Serge for the school newspaper, reaches Serge on the phone and is told to come by Serge's room tomorrow at 3 p.m. Higgins arrives, knocks on the door, no answer. Knocks again, louder, finds that the door is slightly ajar and pushes it open, while at the same time he thinks he smells smoke. There on the floor he sees Serge sprawled flat, completely stoned, his back resting against a plush armchair. His right arm is flung limply behind him; his right hand holds a lighted cigarette that has burned a good-sized smoldering hole in the seat of the chair. "Mr. Chaloff," says Higgins, "the chair -- it's on fire!" Serge gazes over his shoulder, takes in the scene, turns back to Higgins and says, "I'm hip."

Yes, but from the cover photo it's clear that Manne has no clue. About Hawes and Mitchell, you can't be sure, though both are in (seemingly posed) positions that are potentially compatible with a decent swing if one did get to those places while actually swinging a club. Kessel is pretending to putt and looks awkward.

Huh? My CD copy presents The Fox as a Harold Land album. Sorry -- you're right. And I reviewed "The Fox" for Down Beat when it first came out; you'd think I would know better. On the other hand, Al Hirt on trumpet there certainly sounds unusual.

Sir Charles Thompson was an excellent golfer. I believe Ray Brown was too.

I've known some drummers who should have signaled for help with sticks. "Stranded in the snowy California woods for three days after losing their way while searching for a Christmas tree, a father and his three children fashioned a 'Help' sign out of twigs on a nearby unpaved road, according to the helicopter pilots who found them. "The four sought shelter from the snow in a culvert and removed their sodden socks in an effort to stay warm and dry while they waited for rescue, the pilots said.... "Frederick Dominguez and his children -- Christopher, 18; Lexi, 14; and Joshua, 12 -- were reported missing Monday night by Dominguez's former wife and the children's mother, Lisa Sams, according to police in Paradise, California, a town of 27,000 people about 90 miles north of Sacramento. "Police vehicles equipped with snow chains rumbled up mountain roads to help conduct the search, which also involved a snowmobile and dogs. More than 80 searchers scoured the woods Wednesday until the four were found about 1 p.m." Etc.