A DEEP OLIVE BRANCH TO CHRISTIERN

[patricia]

Hey Clint!!! You're lookin' good, for a guy in his very, very late forties. I had a nice glass of wine which came in, not a screw-top bottle or a box, but a bottle with a cork and raised my glass to the South-west, in your honour.

[clinthopson]

Hey Clint!!!  You're lookin' good, for a guy in his very, very late forties.  I had a nice glass of wine which came in, not a screw-top bottle or a box, but a bottle with a cork and raised my glass to the South-west, in your honour.

Thank you you lovely patricia, you. I'm raising my fourth cup of strong, black coffee towards the Frozen North.

FYI, word on the street is that soon there won't be no more corks but only screwtops. Something about cork shortage, which I probably helped create.

Edited January 8, 2004 by clinthopson

[patricia]

Hey Clint!!!  You're lookin' good, for a guy in his very, very late forties.  I had a nice glass of wine which came in, not a screw-top bottle or a box, but a bottle with a cork and raised my glass to the South-west, in your honour.

Thank you you lovely patricia, you. I'm raising my fourth cup of strong, black coffee towards the Frozen North.

FYI, word on the street is that soon there won't be no more corks but only screwtops. Something about cork shortage, which I probably helped create.

Sacriledge!!! As far as I'm concerned, the infidels who are advancing that atrocity are the children of parents who never,ever married.

It took me forever to be able to extract the cork, without rendering it into several chunks which plunged back into the bottle. If this obscenity becomes reality, my hard-won skill will be as useful as being an expert butter-churner.

Damn!!

A cup of coffee, thick and strong enough to walk a good-sized mouse across, is raised to the South-western coast.

[clinthopson]

Hey Clint!!!  You're lookin' good, for a guy in his very, very late forties.  I had a nice glass of wine which came in, not a screw-top bottle or a box, but a bottle with a cork and raised my glass to the South-west, in your honour.

Thank you you lovely patricia, you. I'm raising my fourth cup of strong, black coffee towards the Frozen North.

FYI, word on the street is that soon there won't be no more corks but only screwtops. Something about cork shortage, which I probably helped create.

Sacriledge!!! As far as I'm concerned, the infidels who are advancing that atrocity are the children of parents who never,ever married.

It took me forever to be able to extract the cork, without rendering it into several chunks which plunged back into the bottle. If this obscenity becomes reality, my hard-won skill will be as useful as being an expert butter-churner.

Damn!!

A cup of coffee, thick and strong enough to walk a good-sized mouse across, is raised to the South-western coast.

Of course my s.b.coffee has a drop of Tullamore Dew in it to ward off evil spirits.

Irrelevant sidebar: my son in NYC sent me a 5 cd set of early Charles Brown for my b'dy.

He may not be jazz but he is the epitome of smooth.

[patricia]

Hey Clint!!!  You're lookin' good, for a guy in his very, very late forties.  I had a nice glass of wine which came in, not a screw-top bottle or a box, but a bottle with a cork and raised my glass to the South-west, in your honour.

Thank you you lovely patricia, you. I'm raising my fourth cup of strong, black coffee towards the Frozen North.

FYI, word on the street is that soon there won't be no more corks but only screwtops. Something about cork shortage, which I probably helped create.

Sacriledge!!! As far as I'm concerned, the infidels who are advancing that atrocity are the children of parents who never,ever married.

It took me forever to be able to extract the cork, without rendering it into several chunks which plunged back into the bottle. If this obscenity becomes reality, my hard-won skill will be as useful as being an expert butter-churner.

Damn!!

A cup of coffee, thick and strong enough to walk a good-sized mouse across, is raised to the South-western coast.

Of course my s.b.coffee has a drop of Tullamore Dew in it to ward off evil spirits.

Irrelevant sidebar: my son in NYC sent me a 5 cd set of early Charles Brown for my b'dy.

He may not be jazz but he is the epitome of smooth.

That's great!!!

Just when we think our kids don't know how to make us smile, they do something like that.

My youngest, although she scoffs, for the most part, at my passion for jazz on vinyl, nonetheless gave me a gift certificate for my favourite vintage vinyl emporium. Can't wait to go and add to my growing collection. They have a fabulous selection and I have my eye on some Herman, Jimmy Smith and Oscar Peterson, as well as some other gems. The gift certificate may be only the beginning in financing that risky trip downtown.

Edited January 8, 2004 by patricia

[clinthopson]

It was gettin' a bit too cluttered with all those "s.

My ears aren't good enough to tell the sound difference beteen the two, except for the pops and clicks, so I've opted to go the cd route. I've burnt about 250 of my vinyl lps to cds and still have about 1,000 to go.

Now I'm downloading my cds onto my cute new ipod so I can take my music with me on our peregrenations.

For me the best thing about the lps was the great covers, especially the Blue Notes and Contemporarys.

But I sure like being able to load up a slug of cd's and not have to jump up every 26 minutes to flip the disc.

After all, I'm quite old and decrepit.

[patricia]

It was gettin' a bit too cluttered with all those "s.

My ears aren't good enough to tell the sound difference beteen the two, except for the pops and clicks, so I've opted to go the cd route.  I've burnt about 250 of my vinyl lps to cds and still have about 1,000 to go.

Now I'm downloading my cds onto my cute new ipod so I can take my music with me on our peregrenations.

For me the best thing about the lps was the great covers, especially the Blue Notes and Contemporarys. 

But I sure like being able to load up a slug of cd's and not have to jump up every 26 minutes to flip the disc.

After all, I'm quite old and decrepit.

Oh yeah, the covers. That is a big part of vinyl's appeal to me. I probably can't tell the difference, for the most part, in the sound.

There is more room for the cover art on an LP and the liner notes seem to be, though maybe it's just me, more extensive. I've often thought that it is a shame that many people don't even take the little booklet out of their CD's and read it. Considering the work that goes into creating the cover notes, that's a shame. On an LP, they're right there on the cover. I don't think that the notes on the covers of LP's are necessarily better, but taking the booklet out of a CD seems to be too much of an effort for some people. Too bad for them.

Edited January 9, 2004 by patricia

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

(HEAT SEEKING MUFF) Missile,

That piano on your date is definitely a Yamaha C7 Conservatory Grand.

I know, I have one in the South wing of my mansion where my wet bar is located. They're great for Frank Liszt but they suck for Joey Brahms. They're too Goddamn bright.

One of the differences between our SGUD and yours, beside the tempo, will be the piano sound. Nola has Erroll Garner's piano and it's warm has a motherfucker.

I love the piano sound at Nola.

No big deal but when you record again find you a warm Steinway.

BTW: My Yamaha C7 is only one of four pianos I have in my estate.

DEEP

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

John Guerin "MOVED TO VERMONT" yesterday.

PNEUMONIA

DEEP

[patricia]

John Guerin "MOVED TO VERMONT" yesterday.

PNEUMONIA

DEEP

I'm sorry to hear that. Joni Mitchell will have to close a chapter of her life, sadly.

It's hard to believe that people still die of pneumonia these days.

I'll step away from my "only nicknamed artists" just this once and talk about

JOHN GUERIN, a drummer of some note.

I knew of him, because of his work on this side of the line, with The Guess Who? and, of course his association, musically and personally, with our Joni Mitchell.

But, he was much more than that. He recorded behind many many artists, of varying genres, from Frank Sinatra and Thelonious Monk, through Zappa and The Byrds.

He is one of the most recorded drummers of all time.

He was the drummer on the soundtrack on Clint Eastwood's "Bird". Joni Mitchell's "The Hissing Of Summer Lawns", is John's composition and is beautiful. He also did work on other recording projects, such as those of O.C. Smith, Keith Carradine's "I'm Easy" and Terry Garthwaite.

He was awarded the NARAS M.V.P. for four years and also wrote a drum book, "Jazz+Rock=John Guerin"

In recent years he has played behind Oscar Peterson, Jon Faddis, Jimmy Heath, k.d. lang, Ray Charles and Sonny Rollins, as well as producing a series of Jazz CD's for Japan.

His current work included being a Clinician for the D.W. Drum Company as well as appearing with the trios of Roger Kellaway and Mike Melvoin.

RIP JOHN GUERIN. Too Soon. Too Soon.

Edited January 9, 2004 by patricia

[SGUD missile]

(HEAT SEEKING MUFF) Missile,

That piano on your date is definitely a Yamaha C7 Conservatory Grand.

I know, I have one in the South wing of my mansion where my wet bar is located. They're great for Frank Liszt but they suck for Joey Brahms. They're too Goddamn bright.

One of the differences between our SGUD and yours, beside the tempo, will be the piano sound. Nola has Erroll Garner's piano and it's warm has a motherfucker.

I love the piano sound at Nola.

No big deal but when you record again find you a warm Steinway.

BTW: My Yamaha C7 is only one of four pianos I have in my estate.

DEEP

Good ears DEEP ..Yamaha C7 it was ..

and while I too prefer the sound of a good Steinway ( much warmer ) , my studio

of chioce was mre influenced by the great block rate I got and the fact that my mixer

preferred that room..

I got three e-mails so far today about Johnny Guerin ..

I'm attembpting to find out more details about what happened ..

and ,seeing as how you are loath to leave the sanctum of this thread,

I shall post an RIP note for John on the main board ..

If you have a mansion that'll hold FOUR FUCKING GRAND PIANOS,

what the hell did you need an "angel" for to record Son of BBB ??

( sitting here in front of my cheezoid Yamaha GX 76 thats plugged into the

computer ..)

[patricia]

Getting back to my parade of nicknamed artists, and staying with a drummer, in honour of John Guerin's passing, I'd like to mention the great "Big Sid Catlett".

Catlett was described as a soft-hearted giant, hence his nickname, who was a splendid, sartorial peacock. He often dressed in green chalk-striped suits, worn with a flowered tie and brightened up the bandstand.

Big Sid first came to New York to join Elmer Snowden's band and Rex Stewart said of him, "He was a musician's drummer. He would ask you, 'What kind of rhythm should I play for you?' That was as soon as you came in the band and, after you told him, you'd get the same thing every night."

Catlett combined expert drumming with verbal asides, cavernous rimshots to accompany "business" and, listen to this -- a giant powder puff for his armpits!!

His unique talent and marvelous personality kept him working with the elite of the 1930's bands of Fletcher Henderson and Benny Goodman. He couldn't help, flamboyant as he was, being the center of attention.

Max Kaminsky said of Catlett, "Though he was such a powerful fellow he could play very lightly and delicately, without sounding weak and his generosity matched his size. He'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it."

There are not many people about whom that can truly be said.

Interestingly, the bebop revolution in the 1940's which pretty well killed Dave Tough, were no big deal to Catlett, who simply crossed 52nd Street and sat in with Gillespie and with Parker and kept on keepin' on.

According to Billy Taylor, "Sid was the first guy I was aware of who was a complete drummer. He could play any style. I remember when Buddy Rich was with Tommy Dorsey he used to cut all the drummers, but not Sid. It used to annoy Buddy so much. He'd play all over his head and then Sid would gently play his simple melodic lines on drums - and make his point."

Sid played constantly, like a demon, throughout the forties. Apparently, he seldom even went to bed. He was with Louis Armstrong's All Stars for two years, from 1947-1949. His only fault seemed to be a slight disrespect for punctuality, which meant that the curtain often went up without him and he'd amble in a few minutes later.

By the late '40's, Sid was visibly ill and he had a heart-attack and was replaced by Cozy Cole in the All Stars.

Then in 1950, he took his usual trip at Christmas, to visit his mother. Shortly afterwards, he collapsed in the wings of the Chicago Opera House at a Hot Lips Page benefit and died. Big Sid Catlett was forty-one years old.

Next.........

Edited January 9, 2004 by patricia

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

Getting back to my parade of nicknamed artists,

"PARADE"???

I think it would be more likened to the BATON DEATH MARCH.

DEEP

[patricia]

Getting back to my parade of nicknamed artists,

"PARADE"???

I think it would be more likened to the BATON DEATH MARCH.

DEEP

I guess you're right. I hadn't thought of it that way. But, the reason I don't think of them as dead is that their work gives them a kind of immortality.

Jazz history is, because it spans decades, full of dead people. The bios are a way of highlighting their contribution. Unfortunately, we are all part of the inevitable march toward the abyss, eventually.

Now that those who were the youngsters are starting to die, it reminds us of our own mortality, a scary thought, to be sure.

The important thing is whether they leave anything of artistic value behind. Guerin certainly did.

Sadly, now John Guerin is among their number and much sooner than is fair.

I suppose I should have said it differently, but "list" seemed so antiseptic.

Because most of the honourees are from the early days of Jazz, they are part of the history of the development of JAZZ and are, unfortunately dead now or very old.

But their contribution to the artform is undeniable.

The best we can all hope for is that hordes of people don't show up at our funerals, to make sure we're finally dead.

For the most part, we live on through the people whose hearts and souls we've touched, so, while we're still here, we still can direct our lives. If we are to make our time on earth worthwhile, this is the time to do it. After the Grim Reaper shows up, it's really too late.

So, I guess what I'm saying is that all our lives are shockingly short, in the big picture and we would do well to remember that none of us have unlimited time.

We're the only creatures who know for sure we're going to die, but I don't think that most of us want to believe it. It happens to everyone else, but not to us. Makes no sense, but there it is.

So, whatever it is that we have assumed we would do "soon" we should do now.

Enough depression.

Next...........

Edited January 9, 2004 by patricia

[patricia]

OK, at the not-so-subtle suggestion of our thread-originator, here's a nicknamed musician who is still alive, fitting into both catagories, which we sorely need right now.

He is Michael "Patches" Stewart, a trumpet and fluglehorn player who was born in 1955 and is still up and around.

Stewart was born in New Orleans, and though nobody else in his family was musical, he started playing the trumpet at eleven. He played in his highschool band at Lawless Junior High School. He then went on to play in the band at St Augustine High School and then the Purple Knights marching band.

During his summer holidays, while still at school, he went on the road.

Stewart first recorded professionally on LaBelle's hit, "Lady Marmalade", when he was sixteen.

Of his early entry into professional performing, Stewart says, "I guess all that gave me an appetite for performing on stage...I made a youthful decision to turn down scholarships I was offered to Berklee and local universities in favour of 'real world' experiences."

He has worked with the Brothers Johnson, Quincy Jones, Al Jarreau and Marcus Miller, starting in the early eighties, right up to now.

In 1997, Mitchell released his first album, "Blue Patches", which is an acoustic jazz project. He followed that up with another album in 1998, "Penetration", which is an electric, highly produced album.

Explaining his nickname, Mitchell says, "Back in the hippie days I had a pair of bell bottom pants with patches all over them...Peace signs, stuff like that. Some guy said to me, 'If you put another patch on your pants, we're going to call you "Patches" ' and that name followed me from New Orleans to California."

Stewart is known as a virtuoso trumpeter, with a full, rounded sound and an excellent range.

His first favourite musician was Freddie Hubbard, but then he discovered Miles Davis, Clifford Brown and Kenny Dorham.

Now, he names Miles Davis as his special inspiration. What Mitchell admires about Davis is that Davis was constantly renewing himself.

Next.............

Edited January 9, 2004 by patricia

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

CONN ( A LINGUIST) & PAUL JAZZ,

I hope you Wumps are gonna be around tomorrow morning. I got something coming in that needs to be proof read and then the CD goes into production.

DEEP

[patricia]

In the meantime.................

Our next nicknamed honouree is "Machito" [Raul Grillo], the Florida-born, Cuba raised percussionist/vocalist who, during the 1930's sang with various Afro-Latin ensembles.

In 1941, with his brother-in-law, Mario Bauza, he organized his own band, which he continued to lead for forty years.

He was still at it in the 1970's, beginning his touring with a smaller band to tour Europe and even farther afield.

Although Machito is mainly known in the Latin music genre, he was also important in the Latin/Jazz crossover, which occurred in the 1940's.

He helped to found the mambo style [especially the brass-section work] and represented the first major influence of Jazz on Latin music.

Machito is said to have been the inspiration for the Latin ventures of both Stan Kenton and also Dizzy Gillespie. He also backed Charlie Parker on records.

Machito employed several jazz players, such as Doc Cheatham and continued to evolve include stylistic trends such as salsa.

By the mid-eighties, Machito had attracted a whole new audience of younger enthusiasts, enjoying a resurgeance of popularity.

Machito died in London, in 1984 while working in London. He was seventy-two.

Next...........

Edited January 10, 2004 by patricia

[Peter Johnson]

Hey SGUD (Phil)!

I heard a track from Convergence Zone tonight on the way home from work on WRTI (Temple U--Philadelphia). Your record is TIGHT!!!!!!!! I wish I could remember the name of the tune...for what it's worth, after the intro, it leads with a trumpet solo (and the guy is excellent). I loved it!

I must pick up this album POST HASTE. Where would you prefer I grab it? I.e., from whence do you get the BIGGEST CUT?

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

PaTTY,

CAN THE NICKNAMES UNTIL I GET THIS PROOF READ.

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

Conn....Paulie,

Check in quick.

Tension and release: the mechanism of life. Our hearts beat, our lungs breathe, blood flows and nourishes our bodies' other members. Distill and bottle this mystery and you've got music, most elemental of the arts. Many are the base, conflicting ingredients tried and tested in the metaphoric still, but few are they who humbly purvey Purified Disparate Spirits ...[ethereal theme UP]

It was a cold day in hell when Mr. Bigtime New York City Jazzcat insinuated himself into my life. Hell in 1966 was the U. S. Army at Camp Casey, South Korea. As conscripted volunteers in the Seventh Infantry Division Band, our only consolation was that we were temporarily exempt from that napalm-hot hell south of ol’ China down Vietnam way. Not only was there ice on our rice, but we were also subjected to the daily penances of digging ditches, moving rocks, cleaning latrines, polishing brass, cutting grass and painting everything that didn't move shades of gray (basic training, indeed!). We regularly hauled concertina wire, large tents and small stoves to the field, set up bivouac among the honeypots (shitholes), and then commenced guard duty for several days at a time, four hours on, four hours off. After breaking it all down and hauling it back to Camp Casey, we relaxed by cleaning all those muddy tents and sooty little stoves. The oxymoron "martial music" and the attendant mickeymouse ceremonials were incidental to our mission. Officers to the left of us, sergeants to the right, our grim preoccupation was to keep a low profile and gut it out for thirteen months.

As Mr. Bigtime Staten Island First Army Band sauntered into the second hooch, our quonset-on-the-tundra, he took a long disdainful look around his new barracks and sniffed, "This is merely an inconvenience." Veteran inmates clamored vainly to disabuse him of his cool bravado, but he persisted. "They don't even know I'm here," he intoned.

I immediately hated the arrogant bastard.

Mr. Bigtime Exile, recently separated from fellow jazzcats Dave Liebman, Mike Garson, Donald Hahn, Steve Grossman and their ilk, had the supremely confident demeanor that typified--to the impressionable--New York City hipness. Sensing my alien vibe, he zeroed in.

I was entitled by seniority to inherit a coveted corner bunk near one door of the second hooch. The vacating occupant, a weasel like (aren't they all?) clarinet player, was due to leave this hell for "the world." Mr. Bigtime Tipper slipped him a fin, preemptively buying my targeted living space. I sputtered my profane objections, but lost the battle. If I didn't adjust to the new regime, Mr. Toughman threatened, he'd work my mind over until I was talking to myself.

Like all new arrivals, Mr. Drumperious was quarantined during his first two weeks in Korea. However, this policy was oppressive to him, since he was impatient to sample Asian culture in the nearby village of Tongduchon (yeah, he wanted to get laid). He tried to convince, cajole or con everyone in the band to buy him a forged "slickie" pass on the black market. All stood firm against his entreaties, mindful of the serious disciplinary risks involved--all except me. I was the sucker who cracked just to shut up his New York whine.

Being pretty slick myself, I explicitly briefed Mr. Bigtime Horny on my infallible Plan B for returning to the post at curfew. We were to meet at the main gate a few minutes before midnight. In the event that word was passed back that the Military Police were collecting passes, legit or otherwise, for periodic scrutiny, he and I would dash to a different, little-used gate where the M. P.'s were known to be less meticulous.

Does it surprise you to learn that Spec. 4 Different Drummer didn't show before the final beat of the I2 O'clock blues? As always, he set his own tempo-- and took me down with him for the kicker.

In the morning our company commander, a defector from Castro's Cuba aptly named Candido, performed a conga riff on our sorry asses, then dismissed us. At that point I had to jab Pfc. Bigtime Pumpkin hard in the ribs as a reminder to execute a proper salute and about-face before marching out of Capt. Candido's office. (His civilian instinct was to just turn and split) As we headed back to the second hooch, I couldn't resist the delectable temptation to twist the blade.

"They know you're here now."

Thus a forced friendship was forged from our loss of rank, loss of pay and two weeks of extra duty. Settling into my embezzled crib, "D" campaigned in earnest to redeem himself and to convert his bandmates into disciples. He possessed an eclectic array of jazz tapes and the knowledge to explicate them. Every time he cranked up the box was a revelation. Charismatic and didactic, garrulous, querulous, gregarious and hilarious, he was the ideal leader of misfits. He corrected one guy who was snapping his fingers on one and three. Poppin' on two and four, the cat learned to swing. Prof. "D" elucidated the jazz argot, e.g. "hip" means perceptive, au courant (pardon my French, I'm paraphrasing here). Liberally lubricated by beer, pot and the then-legal Korean "mental energizer," Anapong, this son of a saloonkeeper extolled the affinity between a "taste" of intoxicant and "tasty" musical passages.

And in all seriousness, I'm here to testify that "D" was a mentor to the late tenor player (and pride of Washington, D. C.) Carter Jefferson. Young Pvt. Jefferson was talented but directionless. Under "D"'s tutelage, he found the path that led him, in his maturity, to the likes of Art Blakey and Woody Shaw. Rest in peace, Carter, you crazy little motherfucker.

Danny's generous spirit has shone throughout the many years I've known him. He got me a gig with the Glenn Miller Orchestra when he was a new hire himself. Later, he jumped that band in Japan to retrieve his Korean family--the twin sons he had himself helped deliver and their mother, his impish, constant wife, DuYeon. I met them at San Francisco International the exhausted day they all arrived to begin a better life. Danny had one dollar in his pocket and no job, but the beaming pride of a patriarch. We've laughed many times about the "mere inconvenience" of his Korean sojourns, but I've seen the satisfaction that he quietly enjoys whenever he can provide an opportunity for family, friend or fellow musician. Generous? Hell, he introduced me to my fifth wife, the only one of my ex's to pay me alimony!

I've related these "war" stories for two reasons.

1) To illustrate what I've come to know is characteristic and consistent of the man and the musician. Danny's traits are often tensely contradictory. He leads without leaning heavily; he plays with simultaneous ebullience and restraint; he celebrates tradition with eyes and ears open to innovation; he's loyal and fickle, duty-bound and footloose. He only plays music in the key of D-Bop: his cues impel you to blow, to stretch out if you like, but you must know and negotiate the changes, follow the form, speak the idiom, make a statement, Tuff. Love him or hate him, Danny is the most confoundedly self-effacing egomaniac I've ever met. Therefore, reason number- -

2) This is my sweet revenge.

I've witnessed the evolution of D-Bop's musical concept from his sextet at the duMaurier Jazz Festival in Toronto, 1993 and '95, through his small band of Bloviators and the initial Big Band Bloviation in upstate New York, to the present product. Peter Mack, by our putative leader’s admission, the rhythm and business pilot of their collaboration, has been a key player in the purification process. Look for new ingredients (hint: an Oliver Nelson chart or two) on their next purveyance, Volume 3, in September; aught-four. Until then...

Purified Disparate Spirits abound; Imbibe those which are at hand... [ethereal theme FADE AND OUT]

Steve Groebner 7th Inf. Div. Band, 1966-67

Edited January 10, 2004 by DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)

[Guest DEEP (GET ME OUT OF MY SKULL)]

Conn (a linguist) & Paulie,

MAYDAY ! MAYDAY ! MADAY !

DEEP

[SGUD missile]

Hey SGUD (Phil)!

I heard a track from Convergence Zone tonight on the way home from work on WRTI (Temple U--Philadelphia).  Your record is TIGHT!!!!!!!!  I wish I could remember the name of the tune...for what it's worth, after the intro, it leads with a trumpet solo (and the guy is excellent).  I loved it!

I must pick up this album POST HASTE.  Where would you prefer I grab it?  I.e.,  from whence do you get the BIGGEST CUT?

Thanks Pete:

I appreciate you interest in CONVERGENCE ZONE ( Origin 82417 ) , but I guess DEEP would pronbably prefer I ABSQUALATE to my own thread on this subject

however, here we are.. so:

I'd recommend:

www.bigbandjazz.net

..or www.cdbaby.com

BTW : the trumpet player was probably Jay Thomas ..and absolute monster ..

Also BTW: DEEP ..I like the liner notes ..very descriptive and elucidative ..

( where can I score summa dat anapong ?? )

Edited January 10, 2004 by SGUD missile

[patricia]

PaTTY,

CAN THE NICKNAMES UNTIL I GET THIS PROOF READ.

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

Of Course.

Edited January 10, 2004 by patricia

[connoisseur series500]

Conn (a linguist) & Paulie,

MAYDAY ! MAYDAY ! MADAY !

DEEP

Give me a sec, DEEP.

I got to take care o' some crap today, then I'll put my grammar glasses on for you, okay?

Hang on there brother.

[connoisseur series500]

Sorry DEEP, I kinda forgot I was supposed to look over your bio there--what with all the football and stuff on.

I don't know how to split up paragraph baloons to quote in the same thread, so you'll have to locate the specific areas yourself.

A few grammatical suggestions:

"metaphoric; still, but few are they"

"shades of gray. (Basic training indeed!)"

Keep punctuation inside parentheses: ex. (shitholes,)

"weaselike" should be either one word (check spelling) or put it this way: "weasel-like"

I would probably replace "impel" with "compel" but am too lazy to check the dictionary. (second to last paragraph)

[patricia]

Sorry DEEP, I kinda forgot I was supposed to look over your bio there--what with all the football and stuff on.

I don't know how to split up paragraph baloons to quote in the same thread, so you'll have to locate the specific areas yourself.

A few grammatical suggestions:

"metaphoric; still, but few are they"

"shades of gray.  (Basic training indeed!)"

Keep punctuation inside parentheses:  ex. (shitholes,)

"weaselike" should be either one word (check spelling) or put it this way: "weasel-like"

I would probably replace "impel" with "compel" but am too lazy to check the dictionary.  (second to last paragraph)

There is no such word as "weaselike". Use "weasel-like" if you want to use that simile. Or replace it with "weasely", or "weaselish".

Yes, regarding replacing "impel" with "compel".

We are "compelled" to act a certain way by rules. For example, a Stop sign compels us to stop even if there are no cars coming. It's the rule, in a musical context to follow direction of the leader.

A toy boat crosses the pond because it is "impelled" by your pushing it.

So, unless orders to move, or play a note a certain way for example, are achieved by an actual physical push, or swat at the back of one's head, the moving, or the note is achieved by enforcement of a rule, or direction, compelling one to obey and thus move or play the note.

Edited January 11, 2004 by patricia