Larry Kart

I wrote a pretty good long review of Woolf's "Hypocritic Days" (Black Sparrow) and the Dalkey Archive reissue of "Wall To Wall" back in 1993 for the Chicago Tribune (I was book editor then and could get away with some things). Does anyone remember Woolf's "Spring of the Lamb" or that incredible story about the bird, "HAD"? Nate -- I forgot about Blaser. Also, we just lost Lamantia. Clem -- J. Williams was there and real and somebody but not quite a major leaguer, no? Is the perhaps comparable Fielding Dawson still among the living? About Sorrentino, it's not wholly a matter of birthdates but of ... well, Waller and Basie were both born in 1904, but Waller was Waller well before Basie was Basie, and who Basie became was shaped by his awareness of what the young but already mature Waller had done.

I think he was in Texas because a writers' colony there was putting him up, probably with physical assistance that he needed by this time. BTW, a friend and I were wondering if Creeley was the last major figure of his particular group/generation of poets. The only name I could come up with who might belong, is arguably major and is still around is Barbara Guest (Sorrentino is a half-generation further on, I think). "Life and Death" is a remarkable book. I remember shortly after it came out when a friend of mine -- an acquaintance of Creeley's and a brilliant novelist who would die in 2000 in his early 50s and must have known then that he hadn't much time -- told me that I ought to read it, in effect saying that he thought it was battle-tested.

I'll never forget the shock of listening to "Boston Blow Up" when it first came out, particularly Serge's incredible, Chaliapin-like "Body and Soul." But then that whole album had an alternate universe feel to it -- the Boston scene of that time was strange! Dick Twardzik didn't come from nowhere. About that "Body and Soul" BTW, do others feel that Serge's final agonized figures before the cadenza were a fairly set routine, perhaps the fruit of what happened on previous takes? It seems likely (paradoxical though that would be in emotional terms), given the way Pomeroy and Boots Musulli echo Serge immediately. Yes, they could just have been quick-witted there, but the alternative IMO is more probable. If so, perhaps the contrast between Serge's operatic emotionalism and the likelihood of pre-planning is a vital further part of the performance's gothic mood.

Mike: I agree up to a point about "Hang Gliding"and "El Viento" and other pre-"Concert in the Garden" Schneider pieces -- it's on the "Concert in a Garden" album that I hear the melodic element in her work getting much more watery. I hear lots of "inner parts" in Schnieder's writing too; what I hear much less of there are what might be called "outer parts" -- those inner parts (again I'm thinking mostly of the most recent album) sound to me like a lot of essentially coloristic dial-twisting within a fairly same-y series of Flamenco-ish gestures, i.e. I don't hear one segment's inner parts leading to/building to another segment's inner parts, and again I don't hear real outer parts; the "climaxes," such as they are, are essentially signaled by shifts in dynamics, and for me that makes them not very convincing. Now I'll admit that to my ear just about any Flamenco-ish coloration is so strong in itself and so unamenable to long-range harmonic development (because it's so inherently vampish) that it tends to say nothing but "Flamenco!" Does Brookmeyer write in "block style" on "Celebration" or "Tick-Tock" or "Ceremony"? Does Jim McNeely on "Absolution," "Lickety Split" or "Rough Night"? It's with works like that in mind that I find myself thinking that Schneider's writing is a bit lacking in melodic spine and harmonic grit.

P.S. Let me modify that a bit. Of course, there's coherence of mood in the pieces on "Concert in the Garden"; what I don't heard is much coherence of working/moving parts, a feeling that formally/structurally we're really going somewhere. The weather is nice, but it pretty much stays the same.

It's generally agreed that Gil Evans (one of Schneider's models/mentors) was not a great melodist; thus most of Evans' most successful works are settings of compositions by others. Having now heard all of Schneider's recordings, it seems to me that her writing, like Evans', lacks a strong melodic profile and that the perhaps corresponding weight she places on essentially coloristic gestures is on the rise. I'm not saying that the textures of her work aren't novel and subtle; it's that I find it hard to hear much formal "build" or coherence in pieces that tend to last ten minutes or more and that are essentially without (but tell me I'm wrong here, if I am) significant melodic profile or development. In this regard, I think a comparison to one of Schneider's other model/mentors, Bob Brookmeyer, is revealing -- the latterday Brookmeyer the composer having a gift for thematic mutation that almost makes him the jazz equivalent of Sibelius.

"Well, are there some evidence in alternate takes to prove this - same solos, phrases or something?" No evidence of that sort, at least none that I have. I'm just going on subjective impressions, plus comparison with other fluent altoists of the time, e.g. Charlie Holmes with Luis Russell on "Doctor Blues," "Saratoga Shout," and lots of other Russell titles and Benny Carter with the Chocolate Dandies ("Six or Seven Times") and McKinney's Cotton Pickers ("I'd Love It") -- all from 1929-30. To me, both Holmes and Carter sound more spontaneous than Jefferson. On the other hand, if Jefferson's approach is more "studied" than than theirs, I think that was Jefferson's choice rather than an aesthetic flaw. BTW, if you want to hear what a really spontaneous, "hot" saxophone soloist sounded like at that time, check out Coleman Hawkins on Fletcher Henderson's "Chinatown, My Chinatown" (1930). My God! Also, don't miss J.C. Higginbotham on the Russell sides. What a band that was!

Check out Jefferson's solo on the Claude Hopkins Band's "Just As Long As the World Goes Round and Round" from 1935 (available on a HEP CD, "The Transcription Performances"). On the other hand, as lovely a player as Jefferson was, most of what I know of his solo work sounds like it was pretty much worked up in advance -- a common practice of course, especially in the '30s, but hardly what I'd expect from someone who is being mentioned as a precursor of Bird.

One interesting aspect of Hodeir's piece (and I remember thinking this when I first read it, back in 1956) is its hope/belief that the way of this band was the way jazz could/should go, as in in this passage -- "What do these two records ["Boplicity" and "Israel"] bring us? They seem to offer, not merely the promise, but the first fruits of a renewal that has a twofold significance, first for what the music represents in itself and second for the conclusions it permits us to draw about certain conceptions demonstrated in it." But that's not the way things turned out, by and large; while a fair amount of valuable music (from S. Rogers, Mulligan, D. Tatro, et al.) took shape in the direct wake of the "Birth of the Cool" recordings, none of it I think (with the possible exception of Tatro's work) was as potent as the best "Birth of the Cool" pieces (and Tatro's music, as fascinating as it was, seems in retrospect to be inherently isolated). Of course Hodeir (a composer-arranger as well as a critic) himself tried to create his own music in something of a post "Birth of the Cool" vein, but it too has a nair of isolation and IMO isn't that successful anyway. Also, Hodeir's later critical writing makes it clear that he has no use at all for Ornette, Coltrane, Ayler and any music of that sort -- which perhaps brings us back to the question Chuck raised way back toward the start of this thread, about the implicit clash between black and white sensibilities in this band. I think this passage from John Litweiler's "The Freedom Principle" gets to the heart of things: "A more literally detached emotionality arrived with the West Coast jazz inspired by both Tristano and Miles Davis's "Birth of the Cool" nonet, a muted, scaled-down big band. The relaxed, subdued atmosphere of West Coast jazz had a healthy acceptance of stylistic diversity and innovation, but it also accepted the emotional world of pop music at face value; even original themes are treated like more hip, more grown-up kinds of pop music. In bop's freest flights it could not escape reality, but these Cailfornians were not aware of the conflict of values that was the source of bop."

I heartily endorse the Wofford --a very heady, individual, player in fine form. I particularly appreciate his choice of Ray Bryant's "Tonk," an insidiously clever tune, and his reading of "Too Marvelous for Words" is almost Tatum-esque in its subtlety.

Allen -- Never cared much for John Lewis as a soloist, though I generally like his MJQ counterlines, which seem to set up Milt Jackson so nicely. All I was thinking of here was that Haig seemed so subtly responsive to Miles in the moment, while Lewis's comping on the other two dates seemed essentially planned out. As for Haig's memory of/mood during that first session, in the RVG reissue booklet there a shot of the band in the studio, with a standing Miles apparently demonstrating how a certain figure should go, and Haig at the piano looks as tickled with the proceedings as a man could be.

Terry Martin would have been my choice. His pieces about Pepper, especially "Toward a New White Jazz," written for Jazz Monthly in 1964, can be found in "The Art Pepper Companion," ed. Todd Selbert (Cooper Square Press).

Listening again to the Omega Tapes material, I was struck again by what a wonderful match Pepper and Carl Perkins were -- rarely have I ever heard comping that seemed be more naturally "inside" a horn player's thinking. (Damn -- what a loss Perkins was.) Also, there's a rather unusual number of four-bar exchanges between Pepper and Perkins, most at a very high level. In fact, Pepper maven Terry Martin once wrote that Art might have been one of jazz's two or three greatest four- and eight-bar exchange players; his ability to keep the flow of ideas going across the gap was thrilling. Likewise with his ability to feed off of Latin rhythms.

Listening this afternoon, I was struck anew by how fine almost all of Miles' solos are -- not only remarkably hip harmonically (some of those note choices maybe no one else alive then could have/would have made) but also in terms of long-lined melodic thinking. Also, in terms of how the band phrases, he is the leader -- assuming the recording balance is relatively close to what they was happening in the studio. Mulligan certainly deserves his props, "Godchild" in particular. And I have to listen again, real hard, to the scoring of the main motif of "Rocker" -- seems to me (though even on the RVG remaster it's hard to be sure) that what Konitz and Mulligan are doing around/behind Miles' lead is very far from simple. A partial listen to Mulligan's GRP remake album makes me wonder whether they had the original scores in every case; I not only hear changes in scoring, which is legit if they were made because Gerry heard things differently in 1992, but also what seem to be simplifications or just transcribers' guesses. Speaking of Gerry, he was not a very good player I think at the time of the original sessions; the only solo passage from him that seems effective to me is his brief bit on "Moon Dreams." By 1992, he deservedly takes a lion's share of the solo space, though that does alter the formal balance of most of the pieces. Wallace Roney -- I'd say "nice try." The difference in the rhythm section work from 1992 to 1950 -- well, Max deserves the highest praise. And from what I can tell, Al Haig on the first date had much more to offer this band than John Lewis did -- in '50 or '92. Haig is especially alert and creative behind Miles. Phil Woods in '92 -- I winced at the thought but have to admit that he's not as gross here as I feared he would be. On the other hand, he does contribute to the frequently unhomogeneous sound of the '92 ensemble, though multitrack recording plus Mulligan's desires may have played a role in this too.

I knew I could count on the collective and individual genius of Organissimo.

Yes, I'm kidding. Chummy McGregor wrote "Moon Dreams," Harry Morgan played him in the movie. Now that I'm thinking of it, in the Artie Shaw biopic I'm imagining, who should we cast as Dodo Marmarosa? I think the scene where Dodo pushes a grand piano off a balcony to see what kind of sound it makes when it lands would be a natural. But, please, not Sean Penn.

Jim -- You are aware that, per "The Glenn Miller Story," "Moon Dreams" was written by Harry Morgan (he played Chummy McGregor). I know what you mean about ambitous there, but Gil's "Moon Dreams," as far out and as pregant with meaning as it is at times, is still an etherealized dance band chart, while "Israel" (as Lenny Bruce might have put it) is an oil painting. BTW, if you can, check out Meredith D'Ambrosio's recording of "Moon Dreams." She captures more of Gil's chart than you'd think would be possible.

"Israel" probably is the most ambitious and successfully ambitous (everything works like gangbusters) piece on the album, but its muscularity, emotional weight, and reliance on line more than color makes it a bit oblique to most of the other pieces. In sensibility, it's not really a cool piece at all. Interesting, too, that Carisi's mid-1950s RCA recasting of "Israel" for a different instrumentation is at least as good -- a further sign that it was a much less color-dependent work than the other "Birth of the Cool" pieces.

Schildkraut for sure ... and coming up on the far turn, believe it or not, Richie Kamuca.

"It's not so much about playing the head and then going of into a series of solos as it is about constantly playing/paraphrasing the melody in different ways, and the improvisational element comes not just from the lead voice, but from the trio as a whole." That's exactly what I hear, Jimm and it is kind of rare and/or not not easy to bring off. Two younger pianists who seem to have zeroed in on that aspect of Jamal, I think, are Bruce Barth and Fred Hersch -- especially the former's "Don't Blame Me" (Double Time), with Ed Howard and Billy Drummond, and the latter's "Dancing in the Dark" (Chesky), with Drew Gress and Tom Rainey.

My first impression of the album way back when (c. 1955, for me, I think), and one of the most startling moments in my life as a listener, was the opening phrase of Gil Evans' arrangement of "Boplicity," in particular the magical rhythmic taffy pull that places the utterly unexpected kind of weight it does on each of the first four notes. I suppose you could say it was '30s Lester Young thinking made orchestral, but that it was orchestral somehow made it different --- so beautiful and (in my experience over the years) never less than strange; I felt that first time as though I were stepping into an alternate universe and still feel that way now. Maybe, the "coolest" piece on the album, along with "Moon Dreams," it exemplifies one of the key aspects of the cool sensibility at its most seductive and (it could be argued) dangerous -- the belief that just the right degree and sort of detachment from the world could bring peace, relief, and enlightenment. (Interesting, BTW, to compare the way the original band plays that passage on "Boplicity" to the way Mulligan's crew plays it on that GRP album of the "Birth of the Cool" charts -- as I recall, that eerie step-slide glide feel is missing on the GRP performance, though perhaps, as with much else on the GRP album that feels different from the original, this was a matter of choice.)

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Me either. Yes, there has been some odd changes in the weather around here recently but nothing that we members and Jim (if necessary) can't handle in the normal course of things. (In fact, I think it's been handled quite well just that way.) Any "remedy" beyond that seems likely to make things worse.

The intensity of swing Rushing creates on his recording of "Russian Lullaby" is thrilling. (I know he's got help there, but he's the main force.)

The musical analysis in Porter's excellent Coltrane biography is particularly strong because it's not merely a verbal/notated account of what most anyone with ears can already hear (Hans Keller: "What usually goes by the name of analysis is nothing of the sort. Most critics have never grasped the essential difference between analysis and description"). Rather, Porter identifies and zeroes in on the essential musical issues at stake. For a good example, check out his discussion on p. 228 of Coltrane's motivic thinking.