Larry Kart

Clem -- Yes, I read and enjoyed (if that's the right word) "Sheeper" when it came out, still have it on the shelf. Didn't know Rosenthal though -- think he was a bit ahead of my time, either that or different circles. Another thing about Martin -- he really tried to ride the surf board of jazz's living history as far as it was in him to go, rarely if ever overrating anything merely because it was new (or claimed to be new) or disparaging anything because it was old and unfashionable. It's a simple principle, but for me if you don't get, say, Jelly Roll Morton, then I have big doubts about your ability to really get Monk, or Bird, or Ornette or whomever. Not that it's impossible to get the latter without getting the former, but the music is more or less of one piece, and I think that Martin felt that in his bones in a way that a lot of other good writers about jazz don't (or haven't), even if they pay lip service to the idea.

I know it's already been mentioned, but if you can find it, don't pass up "Very Saxy," with Coleman Hawkins, Buddy Tate, Lockjaw, and Arnett Cobb. The intensity level throughout is very high, especially from Cobb and Tate. Also, I love the zest with which the ensemble plays the tasty, functional charts. And George Duvivier is a rock.

Written in the early 1960s for the Evergreen Review, which is where I read them, Martin's popular culture pieces (or most of them) were collected in his "Hidden in Plain Sight" (Oxford U. Press, 1992), which can be found used through a good online search service, e.g. Bookfinder. I don't have a copy and should get one.

It's the George Russell material here that makes the album essential IMO. The same groove as Russell's "Jazz Workshop" album but a bit further down that road. Also, Bill Evans is in top notch first-period form on the whole album. Orin Keepnews, double faugh!

Hentoff and Williams were the co-editors of The Jazz Review. Martin had a big influence on a lot of people of my age group -- certainly on me -- for a lot of reasons. For one thing, there was the (mostly) earned, genuine, and forthright intellectual tone (which as Jim says could be a bit "stick up the butt" at times -- you wouldn't want to Martin to be the one to comment on, say, Arnett Cobb or Gene Ammons, but then again he might surprise you there; he had fine ears that were more unprejudiced than many, and he was eager to use them, though he had blind spots). For another, there was the role he played in getting what Ornette was up to right off the bat and writing well about him right then, when it really counted. From where I sat, this seemed to me like a critic's dream -- to be an honorable, useful, intelligent witness to/advocate of something that was new, great, and necessary -- and to some extent I found myself imitating or trying to imitate some of Martin's moves (or what I imagined them to be) when the AACM came along. (This was not entirely a good thing, because at times it led me to too aggressively sort out in print [a la Martin the imperious lawgiver] some things that I didn't yet understand.) By this time, I knew Martin a bit. He was, as some of the above suggests, a father figure par excellence, but there was a dark side to that, which I fortunately skirted for the most part. The son of a career military officer I believe, Martin damagingly bullied ( a la an intellectualized Great Santini) at least one of the bright young guys who worked under him when he was at the Smithsonian, and he tried to do that with a lot of people I think. I know that one of them, in the Smithsonian days, told Martin to fuck off in no uncertain terms and that Martin, as it supposedly goes with some bullies, backed down right way and stayed backed down. Martin was known for firing off angry postcards that told you where to get off if he thought you'd strayed from the path of righteousness. I've told this tale before, but my 1983 (more or less contra) Bill Evans piece led him to send a letter in which he "explained" that the reason I had these feelings about Evans' music was that I was "afraid of tenderness." This seemed a silly thing for him to say -- we didn't know each other THAT well -- but more bewildered/bemused than mad, I said in a longish reply that it seemed to me a mistake to equate lyricism and romantic moodiness, that I thought that lyricism in jazz (or in music in general) primarily had to do with the care and feeding of a relatively dominant melodic impulse, that I thought Evans (especially latter-day Evans) wasn't so much a true lyricist (at least in my sense of the term) but a harmonically based player whose melodies were essentially generated by highly patterned harmonic thinking -- and I offered Jimmy Raney as an example of a true jazz lyricist. To this came the postcard, which contained only these words: "Jimmy Raney is a bebopper!" (Apparently, Martin felt that "beboppers," by definition, weren't melodists.) Martin had a lot of other interests -- American comic strips (he was a scholar there), D.W. Griffith, television, etc. -- and he wrote about these things in much the same way, and as well as, he did about jazz. (His takes on what was good in contemporary TV were completely free from high-toned intellectual prejudice and really enlightening because as far as I know he was the only guy who was looking at TV in that way -- I remember some terrific stuff about "Gunsmoke"). Also, if he liked your stuff, he'd try to tell other people about it; he was very generous along those lines in my experience. At heart (whatever else was going on there), he was a man of deep enthusiams, many of them right on target IMO. Wish he were still around to talk to and argue with.

Based on what Allen said above, I'd be eager to read what he had to say about Armstrong and minstrelsy -- because I'm sure that his take on the latter is as rich and complex as his view of the former, and because I'm unsure myself just how the two fit together. It's unclear to me just what Appel had in mind when he said: "And what do we make of Armstrong's persona of joy, ebullient and ingratiating? This minstrelsy aspect of Armstrong is crucial, although ignored or de-emphasized by friendly critics like Morgenstern." My guess is that whatever Appel is thinking of here, it wouldn't be akin to anything that Allen or most of the rest of us would agree with. Don't have Appel's "Jazz Modernism" around anymore, but I recall some really crude passages (intellectually crude, that is) equating Armstrong's playing and personality with literal sexual arousal or the like. That's why they called it "hot" jazz, right?

Eric: I'll be doing a signing/reading Jan. 6 at the Highland Park Library, in conjunction with two sets by a trio of young Chicago musicians I like -- cornetist John Berman, guitarist Matt Schneider, and bassist Joel Root. It will last from 7 until 8:30 p.m., it's free of course, and I'm planning that it will be light on the reading (maybe 10 minutes worth) and long on the music, while I listen and quietly sell and sign copies (should it come to that) in the back of the room. Highland Park is where I live, so it's a short trip for me; hope others can make it. The library is close to the center of town, at 494 Laurel Ave., corner of Laurel and St. Johns.

Missed it myself, but I'm told that on "Fresh Air" today Kevin Whitehead said that it was one of the two best jazz books of the year and read a juicy excerpt from the Oscar Peterson piece to Terry Gross, who reportedly approved. Also, I took a copy to our local Upscale Mail store yesterday to send to a friend. The clerk took the book and the addressed padded envelope I'd just bought there and held the former out at arm's length with a kind of speculative look on his face. I explained that I was the author; he said that he was interested in the subject and wanted to buy a copy. So today I took one over there. Probably should travel around with crate of them in the trunk of my car and a sign on the roof, like the guys who deliver for Pizza Hut or Dominos.

Chuck mentioned Ammons' "Preachin.'" I'd add his "Live in Chicago," with organist Eddie Buster and drummer Gerald Donovan. Jug was on fire that night. As Bob Porter says in the liner notes, sound quality is kind of blarey, but that doesn't really matter much. Also picked up, among several others, the Bobby Jaspar. An interesting date for a number of reasons -- raw early Elvin (1957) meets latter-day George Wallington is really strange (that two such gifted musicians seemingly not that far apart stylistically could in fact be so distant from each other timewise that they almost have to communicate by messenger); Jaspar going in and out of focus on tenor but in an often moving, groping manner; and Idrees Sulieman is plenty strange all by himself. Wonder what Alfred Lion would have made of such a collection of players, though he certainly wouldn't have assembled them. Lord, would a little Blue Note rehearsal, plus RVG (rather than Jack Higgins at Reeves Sound), have made a difference here! Elvin sounds like the hauled out the blankets they used to muffle Gene Krupa in the late '20s. Orin Keepnews, faugh! But it's still an interesting musical, human document.

Is this the same Horsecollar to whom either Jackie or Herbie refers to in A.B. Spellman's book as "a ruined musician who chewed Benzedrine all day" and who had a somewhat out philosophy re: music? The same.

Stan had one of the nuttiest ride cymbal beats I've ever heard; it sounded like the cymbal itself was about the size of a pie pan, maybe even smaller, and while the results arguably were a bit tic-tocky in terms of size and preciseness, the time feel was also unique and very hip -- remarkbly even and also laid-back in a way that had its own flavor.

About "boston" I'll try to check, but I seem to recall Benny Carter or Coleman Hawkins or Rex Stewart saying that that's what they called a solo chorus in the Twenties. About Horsecollar, I've now listened to what may be the only two tracks of him there are -- backing Billie Holiday on a June 1941 live recording at Mintons ("I Cried for You," "Fine and Mellow"). It's on "Harlem Odyssey" (Onyx), a 1978 grab bag of Newman material. Dan Morgenstern's notes say: "Floyd 'Horsecollar' Williams, who plays the alto obligatti behind Billie worked and recorded (though not in a solo role) with Hot Lips Page and can be found on a number of later r&b recordings. A drummer named Chick Foster whom I used to know made a demo with Horsecollar in the mid-'50s on which he played his ass off on some blues, and he is one of those semi-legends other musicians always speak of." Horsecollar is very much in the background on the two Holiday Mintons tracks and does show some kinship to Rudy Williams. There are hints of some underlying looseness -- in relation to the beat and also in terms of letting whole phrases slip and slide a bit -- that I can imagine might have been wild in later years when he was in full flight. On the other hand, unless you were listening for hints here, you might not hear much beyond some pleasant behind-Billie noodling, which is what the situation called for.

Never heard him -- don't known actually if he solos on any of the (probably few) record dates he made -- but if I had to take a guess I'd say somewhere close to Rudy Williams (of the Savoy Sultans) or Danny Quebec West.

Sorry, "plat" should be "play." Also, if I'm right about the vintage of "boston," Nichols' use of it here may be consciously, wryly archaic/ironic. As I recall, in the liner notes to his Blue Note 12 incher, he uses the early '40s term "vonce" (i.e. "musically advanced") in a similiarly sly fashion -- fondling a piece of slang that by that time no one used anymore. Nichols was a deep soul.

A "boston" is an old-timey word for "solo chorus" or "solo" -- Twenties Harlem useage, I think. Thus, to plat or take a 'boston"...

Yes, I recall that's what Dizzy said. Also, isn't Johnny Hartzfield a good name for tenor saxophonist of that vintage? I imagine a guy with a big, edgy sound and lot of semi-hairy, harmonic ideas -- like he was Mark Shim's grandad.

"Is this the Horse from 'Orse At Safari'?" Yes. Author of that Jazz Information column was one Donel O'Brien.

From the Chccago Report in the 1/26/40 issue of the magazine Jazz Information: "John Levy's band, at the Club 65, is a fair outfit. The pianist, Jimmy Wood, plays a lot of piano; Russ Gillam, trumpet, and John Hartzfield, tenor, play very well on occasion, and Hilliard Brown, Kolax's old drummer, is steady." In the 1970s, I heard Hilliard Brown (very tasty player), along with the mighty Truck Parham, in Art Hodes' rhythm section.

"You Ain't Nothing Daddy" is on a Chronological Classics Etta Jones compilation.

From an online D. Jordan discography: Horsecollar Williams / Floyd Horsecollar Williams (Chicago 102) Jesse Drakes (tp) Joe Evans, Floyd Horsecollar Williams (as) Johnny Hartzfield (ts) Duke Jordan (p) Gene Ramey (b) J.C. Heard (d) Etta Jones (vo -2) Chicago, IL, February, 1945 1. How You Like That 2. You Ain't Nothing Daddy P.S. In the prior post, "though" should be "thought."

On AAJ in 2003, our old friend Deep identified Hartzfield as a member of Floyd Horsecollar Williams's band: Jesse Drakes (tp) Joe Evans, Floyd Horsecollar Williams (as) Johnny Hartzfield (ts) Duke Jordan (p) Gene Ramey (b) J.C. Heard (d) Etta Jones He also seemed to suggest -- though with Deep it's hard to tell -- that he was familiar with Hartzfield's music to some extent and though well of it. Horsecollar Williams, BTW, was someone Nichols played with too.

You're making me want to buy that damn set. I was imprinted by that "Blue Lou" back then too but had forgotten about it until you mentioned it. I think that's the one (if not it's whatever track was on the other side of the original album) where Jacquet play an incredibly guttural background figure -- like the sound a P-47 Thunderbolt might make as it heels over to strafe some enemy armor.

Clem -- P.S. Do you know my favorite semi-forgotten novel of that era, Philip Whalen's "You Didn't Even Try"? It's like Jane Austen in the fourth dimension. Also very funny and wise too.

Clem -- I haven't kept up with Harry Matthews the way I probably should have (got more of his books than I've read), but back in the days of Locus Solus, "The Conversions" left me bent me way out of shape -- with laughter, astonishment, and delight. And it holds up too. Fleshmetal! Looks like we're about the same age and and have had some similar literary experiences.

That's one scary story, Allen -- given the power of a guy like that to semi-permanently mess up your reputation within your own community, so to speak -- but it doesn't surprise me. Based on his work itself (and the way it sometimes give off vibes of insecurity and petulance), and from some things I've heard about the way he's behaved towards other people in other situations, Giddins, while certainly not a fellow without value, is also not necessarily a person of good character.