Larry Kart

I mean that the impulse to side-slip is taking the form of sharpening or flattening the note at hand (and/or altering its timbre) such that the desire to move to an alternate harmonic plane is implied rather than (or more than) -- as I think it is with Henderson and those he influenced so heavily -- actually moving to a note that is from that alternate harmonic plane. (Or do I not know what I'm talking about here?) As for "from the gut," I mean that Jenkins strikes me as a fairly raw, instinctive player (a la Ernie Henry, perhaps, or C. Sharpe?), while I think of Henderson as an unusually "heady" one -- someone with a method who worked out a lot of stuff beforehand. Nothing wrong with that, other things being equal, but fairly often they're not.

"Poetry finalists are Louise Glück for Averno, H.L. Hix for Chromatic, Ben Lerner for Angle of Yaw, Nathaniel Mackey for Splay Anthem and James McMichael for Capacity." Don't know Hix, Lerner, and Mackey, so I'd guess they'd be the unusual, refreshing ones? Gluck gives me a pain; McMichael I admire/respect a lot. I have a copy of "Capacity" but haven't yet been able to/been in the mood to really get it, if I ever will. I know what you mean about Jenkins' "shrinky-dink messing" around with his intonation/embouchre. That's one of the things I was thinking of by "odd knots and whorls." It's like maybe he has in mind the kind of side-slipping that Joe Henderson would get into several years further on, but Jenkins is moving toward that more from inside the note (and, I would guess, from the gut), which makes a big difference. Sad what Gitler's 1981 postscript suggests: "Jenkins has completely disappeared from view. When I'd run into him in the Sixties he'd sometimes be working as a messenger.... He was a shy person, with eyes that spoke more than his tongue." Ira was/is a soulful guy.

Late -- The Prestige 1981 LP reissue I have is in mono and has the whole date, so I'm cool. Also, Jenkins' line "Pondering" is a nice example of how, as you say, things seem "crafted" here at times beyond what was the norm on a Prestige blowing date. Jim -- Fine way to put it. In that vein, perhaps, every time I hear Jackie cutting his own path through that dark lovely dangerous forest, it kind of chokes me up. On the one hand, it was a tremendously urgent task (for him, his musical colleagues, and for us and for the world as a whole, if the world as a whole knew or cared); on the other hand, who outside those initial smallish circles knew or cared? Strange how this is analogous in a way and up to a point to someone like Willem De Kooning, who wrestled and labored for decades without anyone but himself and a few colleagues and (if you wish) a few "fans" being the wiser, and then it somehow explodes into a marketplace, where the work is now worth what about what it costs to build a nuclear weapon.

Am working my way through a recently purchased (used) copy of the 1981 LP reissue of this material (sadly, it's the only version I know of that includes the 10:30 version of "Bird Feathers" that originally appeared on a separate New Jazz anthology album of that name -- the OJC CD of "Alto Madness" lacks that track). In any case, this was a somewhat rough but very intense day (May 3, 1957) in the studio. Jackie is in top form for that time, in part I think because Jenkins has some Jackie in his own playing, filtered though his own sensibility, and when Jenkins comes up with something that Jackie might have thought of but didn't, Jackie finds this challenging/stimulating. It's not exactly a cutting contest -- in part because that's not quite the way these guys were wired, in part because Jackie is just a stronger, more together player than Jenkins -- but it is pretty intense. Nice rhythm section too -- Wade Legge, Doug Watkins, Art Taylor (who on this day was as plugged in to Jackie as he ever was on record IIRC). Jenkins, as Ira Gitler says in his nice notes, is more fluid and overtly Bird-like (sometimes quite formulaically so) than Jackie, but he has (perhaps half stumbles into) some odd/interesting knots and whorls that are different from what other stylistically related players were coming up with at the time (maybe some hints of Frank Strozier, who Jenkins must have run across back in Chicago). Also, it seems as though Jenkins' relative melodic flightiness on some of the longer tracks inspires some of the most structurally iron-clad playing from Jackie that I'm aware of before, say, "New Soil." The title track is quite an odyssey -- 38 blues choruses of alternating solo work (including eight chorus of "fours" and two of "twos") from two guys who are not always easy to distinguish unless you're paying close attention, which is worth doing IMO. All in all, some fine music plus a strong sense of these men living and playing in that place in time.

As I recall, most Xanadu albums (even those recorded by Paul Goodman) were compromised soundwise to some extent because this was the era of "the dreaded direct bass" (pickup) -- as Delfayo Marsalis used to say on the back of albums he produced for one or another of his brothers.

On that new Jazz Icons "Count Basie -- Live on '62" DVD, Cohn is featured in lovely form on "You Are Too Beautiful." Stays pretty close to the melody, but his tone is a story in itself -- like a mountain stream.

Jim, thought you'd like this quote: "Ethel Waters once said, 'Mel Torme is the only white man who sings with the soul of a black man.'" Of course, Waters forgot to say which black man.

Jim -- If you haven't already, you really need to read Torme's autobiography, "It Wasn't All Velvet," which no doubt will confirm every thought you've ever had about him. In particular, there's a story about Mel and his longtime pal Buddy Rich that revolves around a valuable antique pistol that Mel owned (Mel was a gun collector), and that is so sad, bizarre, and sado-masochistically twisted (not hard to guess the roles each man played), that I could hardly believe what I was reading. What the hell -- the story IIRC goes like this. Buddy is visiting Mel's house when they're both mature (hah!) adults and is eying Mel's collection of antique pistols, which are on display in the den. Buddy either asks Mel which one is the most valuable or points to one that's caught his eye and is told that it's the most valuable gun that Mel owns -- a flintlock pirate pistol, or something like that. In any case, Buddy's response is to say "Give it to me" or words to that effect. And it immediately becomes clear that by this Buddy means, "Hand it over for good -- I want it." Mel protests that it's his favorite, the gem of his collection, but Buddy insists and Mel finally gives in -- either rationalizing it as a thing where Buddy really covets the pistol that much, or is testing Mel about how deep their friendship really is, or it's a thing where Buddy is just seeing how far he can push or bully Mel, or God knows what. So Buddy walks off with the pistol, and maybe sixth months later Mel sees it listed for sale in a gun collector's catalogue. Buddy has sold the damn thing (and for a good bit of money too) -- his only interest in it, apparently, was that it was Mel's precious thing, and Buddy wanted to see if he had the power to strip that thing away from him. Really twisted all the way around, or so it seemed to me.

Because Don Schlitten was a producer with a clear vision, at least when it came to music. Not quite - I've been told he wouldn't use RVG's studio because Rudy let him smoke marijuana. which is why most of his productions are engineered by Richard Alderson, who didn't mind. MG Did you mean "because Rudy wouldn't let him smoke marijuana" in the studio? Otherwise, I don't see how "Alderson...didn't mind" makes sense?

The trombonist in the final scene was Kai Winding.

At first, I was thinking you were being a smartass, because Nat was really getting, uh... "unhinged", and Sammy was portraying it pretty well, I thought. But then Mel Torme started singing, & Pops started looking like he wandered in from the set of "Imitation Of Life", and hey, it went off the hook with stunning rapidity. Much love to Pops, but I'll say it again, just because I feel it so hard - FUCK MEL TORME. I know what you mean about Sammy portraying it fairly well at first, but when the "unhinged" thing begins to go on and on, with those increasingly insane audience reaction shots, and then Sammy falls flat on the floor (!!) -- well, I could only think of solos I've listened to in real life where I wished that what happened there had in fact happened. Also, I don't know whether this is what the film intended, but as Sammy's playing begins to get "unhinged," are the audience reaction shots meant to convey some doubt as to whether he's going batshit or is instead playing something that's possibly great but really far out? That the latter dilemma was present on screen, even for a moment or two and/or only in my twisted mind, is a big part of what cracked me up.

That's one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

He was great in Robert Aldrich's "Attack!" as the tough sergeant who pulls his crushed arm from under the tread of German tank in order to seek out and kill his unit's cowardly commanding officer, Eddie Albert. No U.S. Army cooperation on that film.

Uncle Meat: http://www.progreviews.com/reviews/display.php?rev=fz-um

The Cortazar story, "The Pursuer," can be found in English here: http://www.amazon.com/Blow-Up-Other-Storie...r/dp/0394728815 It's excellent IMO, especially the Bird-like character's remarkable monologue about what ran through his mind between two stops on the Paris Metro. In a way, the story seems to exist so that monologue could exist; the whole business with the Leonard Feather-like narrator Bruno, while nicely handled for the most part, is also so slimy that its sliminess extends a bit beyond what one might wish. That is, the story arguably is as much or more about Bruno than it is about Johnny (the Bird-like character); that is that way makes one of Cortazar's main points. But the skill with which Cortazar creates a believable Johnny, and the effect of that believable Johnny on the reader, is such that you almost wish that Bruno and his nastiness could have been relegated to a relatively minor role rather than a near-central one.

Johnny Smith

To what book are you referring? The late Michael James is not a contributor to "The Essential Jazz Records, Vol. 2" (publ. 2000) If you mean "Modern Jazz: The Essential Records 1945-70" (publ. 1975 -- BTW a much better book IMO) here, for one, is James on the Massey Hall Concert": "...Mingus and Roach lay down a constantly inspiring beat and take gripping solos..." James also writes enthusiastically in that book of Roach's work on the album "Drums Unlimited."

That's not what Balliett said, and it's not really what Stuart Nicholson (author of the quoted passage to which you're referring) said either.

Can't find the specifc quote right now, but Balliett, an amatuer drummer at one time, has actually said that Roach doesn't swing. This is a point of view rediscovered or echoed by another semi-intelligent idiot, Stuart Nicholson, in "The Essential Jazz Records Vol, 2," p. 103. Writing of the album "The Magnificent Thad Jones," Nicholson says: "Perhaps it was the sudden and unexpected death of [Clifford] Brown on 28 June 1956, some two weeks before the first of these sessions, that explains Roach's singularly detached drumming. On 'Thedia, for example ... he is boorishly metronomic, plugging away with a basic ride pattern hear the cup his symbal throughout Jones's long solo. He maintains the same volume level throughout, taking no account of light and shade or rhythmic variety and failing to respond in any way to Jones's wholly original lines. This unyielding and unsupportive aspect of his ensemble playing is the one weak feature of this album and indeed is a criticism that can be levelled at Roach's drumming in general." Well, Max is in a very weird mood on "Thedia" (Nicholson's description of his playing there is accurate, and it's possible that Clifford Brown's recent death had a good deal to do with this, as Nicholson suggests). But this Roach performance is a quite untypical one (even in the context of this album), and to generalize from it as Nicholson does is absurd.

Matt Wilson. He's so square he's cubical. And the sound he gets out of his kit is dead.

Miami got FOUR offensive rebounds, and I think they were all long ones. Everything under the basket belonged to the Bulls. Also, it seemed like very few Miami shots were taken from anywhere near the paint.

Thanks. If he can get his hands on the set, my drummer friend will be very happy. BTW, without giving away too many secrets, if things go according to plan, he's the guy who eventually will be publishing Peter Pullman's long-awaited Powell biography. Nice that my friend is a fine player (has been for almost 50 years now -- we met when we were in high school) as well as a longtime editor at a major academic publishing house.

I have a 1991 Fresh Sound CD of the above material on "The Bud Powell Trio, Birdland '53, Vol. 1." It's superb Bud (however Vol. 2 shows a notable falloff on Bud's part IMO), and Roy Haynes take a long solo on "Salt Peanuts" that may be the most amazing thing he ever played -- at one point he seems to pause for a breath as though he himself were stunned by it all. In any case, a friend -- a drummer who's a Haynes freak -- is looking for this music, and I wonder if anyone can point him the right direction, if in fact there is one. I see that some of the 3/23/53 material (Boris Rose airchecks) is out on ESP 3022, but ESP lists "Salt Peanuts" at 2:56 versus Fresh Sound's 4:16, which suggests that some or all of Haynes's solo has been clipped out.

More on Vicari: From allaboutjazz.com: (Slightly edited by yours truly, for grammar/spelling ). Tenor Saxophonist Frank Vicari Dies Frank Vicari died in NYC, on Friday October 20 at 3:47 eastern time. Although only known through specialized circles of jazz aficionados, saxophone legend Frank Vicari has truly earned the title of master. He started on clarinet and was encouraged by his father to practice hard every day. When he was fourteen Frank added tenor sax to his repertoire and started hanging out in the Newark Jazz clubs with cats three times his age who gladly accepted the talented teenager into their group and showed him the ropes. By the time Frank was 15 he joined the local union in order to be able to do gigs but when he was eighteen drafted into the Air Force where he played in various service bands from 1951-55. After serving in the Air Force Frank played around New York City where he rapidly became known as a respected musician and played in various ghost bands until 1960 when he was recruited by Maynard Ferguson for the lead tenor chair and where he remained until 1965. This band is said to be the pinnacle of Maynard's big band career. After the Ferguson band was dismantled. Frank joined Buddy Rich but soon was convinced by Woody Herman to join him and his Thundering Herd in 1965. He remained as lead tenor player and eventual became the leader until 1970 when he moved to St. Thomas so he could play in small jazz ensembles seven nights a week and just blow and escape the hectic New York music business. Upon his return from St. Thomas, Frank toured and recorded with Dave Matthews, White Elephant, J. Giles, George Benson, Tony Bennett, Dionne Warwick, Billy Eckstine, Tom Waits, John Lennon, and on the Saturday Night Live Band. Frank was also nominated for his solo on “Mary Ann” while with Maynard Ferguson. He was a featured member of the Howard Williams big band, which appears at The Garage in Greenwich Village, New York, every Monday evening.

There are some things on "The Jaywalker" that would have given Sun Ra pause.