Gary

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About Gary

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    Groove Merchant
  • Birthday 07/28/1969

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  • Location Hampshire, England
  • Interests Urm , Jazz<br>Films <br>Football<br>Boxing<br>Cricket <br>Red wine & jazz on a Friday night<br>My babies Che & Zoe

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  1. Binker and Moses

    I was about 3 rows back at the side of the stage Moses was playing. His drumming is so good it’s hard not to get fixated just on him.
  2. Binker and Moses

    I saw them live too in Southampton a really great night the playing was so good made even more special by finally getting to see (and meet) Evan Parker. Your right about Shabaka Hutchins too Sidewinder I’d love to see Sons of Kemet
  3. Happy Birthday, Tonym!

    Happy birthday Tony
  4. Funny Rat

    He certainly sounds as if he is enjoying himself on the LP.
  5. Funny Rat

    On the subject of Brotzmann duets with drummers & EREMITE, the duet with walter perkins 'the ink is gone' is a good one http://eremite.com/discography/bro_3.html
  6. mine are Lee Morgan - search for the new land Bud Powell - the amazing Vol 1 Larry Young - Unity Sam Rivers - Fuchsia Swing Song Clifford Jordan & John Gilmore - Blowing In From Chicago Pete La Roca - Basra Don Cherry - Where is brooklyn Andrew Hill - Andrew!!! Jackie McLean- Let Freedom Ring Wayne Shorter - Adams Apple (today anyway)
  7. Funny Rat

    The news page now states EMANEM & PSI NEWS The musicians pages have now been corrected so that they work with browsers other than Internet Explorer. All Emanem & Psi CDs are now available except 4002, 4015*, 4057 & 4067, which are currently out of stock 4098 & Psi 06.05 are available again http://www.emanemdisc.com/news.html
  8. Funny Rat

    I orderd a copy of "The Topography of the Lungs" a couple of weeks ago from Emanem when it was listed as out of stock but a copy arrived 2 days later so it may still be worth ordering direct if it works out cheaper for you.
  9. A review of this was in today independent (UK) http://enjoyment.independent.co.uk/books/r...icle1963501.ece Lee Morgan: His life, music and culture by Tom Perchard By Kevin Le Gendre Published: 12 November 2006 A roll-call of classic jazz revolutionaries would include names like Charles Mingus, Nina Simone, Archie Shepp and Max Roach. They were the ones banned by the radio and censored by record companies, the ones blacklisted by the establishment. Rather than meekly ask for equal rights for African-Americans in the 1960s, they unapologetically hollered: "We insist! Freedom now." At first sight, trumpeter Lee Morgan might seem a surprising addition to this pantheon of radicals. His place in jazz history is largely defined by "The Sidewinder", a bouncy boogaloo devoid of the fiery anger of some of Simone's or Shepp's music. Moreover the track has the rare distinction of being jazz that was popular. It was a massive hit in 1964. However, if you spool forward to 1970 and a television studio in New York, you might well revise your view of Morgan as nothing other than a purveyor of jaunty, finger-snapping tunes that put cornbread soul into jazz. For it was during the recording of Merv Griffin's CBS chat show that another facet of the Philly slicker who zipped around New York in a British sports car was revealed. Morgan was in the audience that night and, as one of the guests lamented the dearth of jazz venues in New York, he and other musicians invaded the set and whipped out whistles and flutes in order to, as Chuck D would later say, bring the noise. The trumpeter and his fellow rabble-rousers then hoisted placards that read, "Stop the whitewash now, hire more black artists on TV", and, provocatively setting cultural records straight, "Tom Jones rose to fame singing black songs". Orchestrating the coup was the Jazz and People's Movement (JPM), a protest group formed by Rahsaan Roland Kirk, another agitator who had made potent political statements through his albums Volunteered Slavery, Natural Black Inventions: Root Strata and Blacknuss. JPM was a direct response to the lack of exposure of jazz in broadcast media. Although the JPM-Griffin affair bears loose parallels to the Sex Pistols-Grundy scandal that took place in Britain several years later, it was infinitely more meaningful, aiming to effect genuine social change rather than kick-start a pop career through the oxygen of publicity and the pollution of infamy. How shocked some must have been to see Lee Morgan disrupting an entertainment industry that had, for the most part, been good to him. After all, he was one of the few jazz musicians that actually sold records in sizeable quantities in the Sixties and knew what it meant to be a star who could walk out of a club with a girl on each arm and another one in tow carrying his trumpet case. Yet he was more than a man about town. As this very accomplished biography shows, Morgan led an eventful life that took him from the austere environs of his native Philadelphia to dark alleys, as well as shining pathways in New York. Like Miles Davis, he had a heroin habit. Like Chet Baker, he had his teeth knocked out by a dealer. Many must have thought he'd finish as one of the countless statistics of unfulfilled potential that blight jazz and the genre to which it gave lifestyle lessons, rock 'n' roll. But he managed to make it back from the brink. Although his addiction earned him the sack from Art Blakey's band, one of the best gigs a jazz musician could hope for in the mid-1950s or early 1960s, the trumpeter nonetheless later returned to the fold and saw his career hit overdrive with the release of "The Sidewinder", a tune apparently written in a few minutes in the studio. Perchard's text really starts to motor in its analysis of both the musical elements of Morgan's aesthetic and their socio-cultural implications. The pre-eminence of blues and subsequently R&B and soul was not solely borne of a desire to simplify jazz. It was about expressing the truth, and gaining a greater proximity to a black audience. Morgan would go on to teach and also campaign on behalf of iconic African-American militants like Angela Davis. As a major name in jazz in the Sixties and Seventies, he had to reconcile his desire to see the music institutionalised in order to survive economically with his espousal of Black Nationalism. The complexities of the situation are effectively evoked. As the British photographer and writer Valerie Wilmer points out, Morgan, for all his civil rights sensibilities, still had a process - chemically straightened hair - at a time when Afros were de rigueur. Most pleasing of all is the way that Perchard actually downplays the sensational nature of his subject's life and death - he was shot by his girlfriend at a club aged just 33 - but vividly paints his portrait against a backdrop of music, culture and politics. Through a wealth of research and incisive anecdote from his band members and close associates, Morgan emerges as an intriguing, multi-layered figure, a mercurial talent whose material success did not preclude social consciousness or activism. Miles Davis still casts a long shadow over jazz history, and too many important players struggle to emerge from it. This illuminating biography reminds us that the prematurely departed Lee Morgan also made a significant contribution to "America's most revolutionary art form" in ways both musical and non-musical. A roll-call of classic jazz revolutionaries would include names like Charles Mingus, Nina Simone, Archie Shepp and Max Roach. They were the ones banned by the radio and censored by record companies, the ones blacklisted by the establishment. Rather than meekly ask for equal rights for African-Americans in the 1960s, they unapologetically hollered: "We insist! Freedom now." At first sight, trumpeter Lee Morgan might seem a surprising addition to this pantheon of radicals. His place in jazz history is largely defined by "The Sidewinder", a bouncy boogaloo devoid of the fiery anger of some of Simone's or Shepp's music. Moreover the track has the rare distinction of being jazz that was popular. It was a massive hit in 1964. However, if you spool forward to 1970 and a television studio in New York, you might well revise your view of Morgan as nothing other than a purveyor of jaunty, finger-snapping tunes that put cornbread soul into jazz. For it was during the recording of Merv Griffin's CBS chat show that another facet of the Philly slicker who zipped around New York in a British sports car was revealed. Morgan was in the audience that night and, as one of the guests lamented the dearth of jazz venues in New York, he and other musicians invaded the set and whipped out whistles and flutes in order to, as Chuck D would later say, bring the noise. The trumpeter and his fellow rabble-rousers then hoisted placards that read, "Stop the whitewash now, hire more black artists on TV", and, provocatively setting cultural records straight, "Tom Jones rose to fame singing black songs". Orchestrating the coup was the Jazz and People's Movement (JPM), a protest group formed by Rahsaan Roland Kirk, another agitator who had made potent political statements through his albums Volunteered Slavery, Natural Black Inventions: Root Strata and Blacknuss. JPM was a direct response to the lack of exposure of jazz in broadcast media. Although the JPM-Griffin affair bears loose parallels to the Sex Pistols-Grundy scandal that took place in Britain several years later, it was infinitely more meaningful, aiming to effect genuine social change rather than kick-start a pop career through the oxygen of publicity and the pollution of infamy. How shocked some must have been to see Lee Morgan disrupting an entertainment industry that had, for the most part, been good to him. After all, he was one of the few jazz musicians that actually sold records in sizeable quantities in the Sixties and knew what it meant to be a star who could walk out of a club with a girl on each arm and another one in tow carrying his trumpet case. Yet he was more than a man about town. As this very accomplished biography shows, Morgan led an eventful life that took him from the austere environs of his native Philadelphia to dark alleys, as well as shining pathways in New York. Like Miles Davis, he had a heroin habit. Like Chet Baker, he had his teeth knocked out by a dealer. Many must have thought he'd finish as one of the countless statistics of unfulfilled potential that blight jazz and the genre to which it gave lifestyle lessons, rock 'n' roll. But he managed to make it back from the brink. Although his addiction earned him the sack from Art Blakey's band, one of the best gigs a jazz musician could hope for in the mid-1950s or early 1960s, the trumpeter nonetheless later returned to the fold and saw his career hit overdrive with the release of "The Sidewinder", a tune apparently written in a few minutes in the studio. Perchard's text really starts to motor in its analysis of both the musical elements of Morgan's aesthetic and their socio-cultural implications. The pre-eminence of blues and subsequently R&B and soul was not solely borne of a desire to simplify jazz. It was about expressing the truth, and gaining a greater proximity to a black audience. Morgan would go on to teach and also campaign on behalf of iconic African-American militants like Angela Davis. As a major name in jazz in the Sixties and Seventies, he had to reconcile his desire to see the music institutionalised in order to survive economically with his espousal of Black Nationalism. The complexities of the situation are effectively evoked. As the British photographer and writer Valerie Wilmer points out, Morgan, for all his civil rights sensibilities, still had a process - chemically straightened hair - at a time when Afros were de rigueur. Most pleasing of all is the way that Perchard actually downplays the sensational nature of his subject's life and death - he was shot by his girlfriend at a club aged just 33 - but vividly paints his portrait against a backdrop of music, culture and politics. Through a wealth of research and incisive anecdote from his band members and close associates, Morgan emerges as an intriguing, multi-layered figure, a mercurial talent whose material success did not preclude social consciousness or activism. Miles Davis still casts a long shadow over jazz history, and too many important players struggle to emerge from it. This illuminating biography reminds us that the prematurely departed Lee Morgan also made a significant contribution to "America's most revolutionary art form" in ways both musical and non-musical.
  10. Albert Ayler

    Be sure to let us know what its like for us non-torrenters
  11. Albert Ayler

    There was an article on Albert in the Times yesterday that included a small interview with Sunny Murray http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2101-2431668.html The Sunday Times November 05, 2006 The world is ready for Ayler — at last Coltrane's heir was so ahead of his time that we’ve only just caught up, says Stewart Lee Albert Ayler’s body was retrieved from the East River, in Brooklyn, on November 25, 1970, a few months after his 34th birthday. The saxophonist grew up in Cleveland, left to find work as a musician playing in restaurants in Sweden in 1962, and returned to New York, changed and inspired, to take the American avant-garde jazz of the period further from its roots than anyone thought it could, or perhaps should, go. Ayler played at John Coltrane’s funeral, as if the baton were being handed on, but his mysterious death means we’ll never know how he might have developed. For many, the apparently uncompromising aggression of the raucous free-jazz movement dubbed the New Thing encapsulated black anger. But Ayler’s music resisted definition, suggesting euphoric celebration and revolutionary fervour in equal measure. Ayler’s obituary in the jazz magazine Downbeat struggled to categorise the saxophonist. Was the music he made — a mix of nursery-rhyme melodies, military bugle blasts, raging spirituals, funereal dirges and unrelenting improvisations of the harshest quality — really jazz at all? Faced with confusion in his lifetime, Ayler claimed that history would be his judge. “One day the people will understand” was his oft- repeated mantra. This year’s London Jazz Festival features two Ayler-related performances: a concert of his music by the guitarist Marc Ribot and Ayler’s bassist, Henry Grimes, and a free afternoon show by the American saxophonist Caroline Kraabel. This is preceded by a screening of a new documentary, My Name Is Albert Ayler, by the young Swedish director Kasper Collin. Does this flurry of officially sanctioned South Bank approval mean that the people do now, finally, understand Ayler? Collin’s film is a haunting mesh of old cine footage, paint-stripping live performances and interviews with surviving friends and family. A strange shot of a semi-naked Ayler, staring silently into the camera, threads through the film, as if the subject is daring you to dismiss him. “I didn’t want to speculate about things too much,” says the director. “I wanted to leave it up to the audience to decide.” He avoids commentary and frames Ayler’s life with impressionistic images. On his first visit to Sweden, we see footage of the midnight sun that fascinated him. His closing months in Brooklyn see him again obsessed with the sun, staring into it across the East River. And when Collin goes to Cleveland to meet relatives — his brother and collaborator, the trumpeter Donald, and his sprightly father, Edward — they get lost in a cemetery looking for his grave. “The film was produced over a long time,” says Collin. “I knew about Albert Ayler seeing the sun in Sweden maybe two years into the project. The film wasn’t really scripted. I built it around recordings of Ayler’s own voice. The contrast between his music and his soft, gentle voice was fantastic, because it is not the voice you are expecting.” For Collin, Sweden is crucial to Ayler’s career. “Scandinavia was important for the development of American free jazz and avant-garde music,” he says. “Ayler felt more relaxed in Sweden. Probably there were some people here who believed in him. It helped him get confident. One big event was in the spring of 1962, when the jazz club The Golden Circle opened, and they had really great acts like Cecil Taylor and Sunny Murray.” Murray played drums with Ayler throughout the 1960s. A bear of a man whose memories of Ayler often trail off into happy, helpless laughter, he toured here last month fronting a trio that included two British musicians, the saxophonist Tony Bevan and the double bass-player John Edwards. At the Red Rose, in Finsbury Park, London, the response to their opening set, and the demographic diversity of the crowd, would have delighted Ayler. Does it seem strange to Murray that the saxophonist should leave his native land, only to discover the kindred spirits of the American avant-garde in Sweden? “No, not really,” he says, sitting at the side of the stage, rolling a cigarette. “I haven’t figured out yet how me and Cecil Taylor ended up in Sweden, but I met Albert when he came over to the club, wearing a very handsome cap, dressed very nice in his leather suit. He said he had been playing there in Sweden since he left the army. He said he had been playing his music alone in the forest by himself for a year. He asked if he could play with us. Back then, Cecil just wasn’t outgoing. It was such a weight having to carry the New Thing. Cecil said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ “So me and Jimmy Lyons, we said, ‘Yeah, go home and get your horn.’ He came back with this beautiful new sax, so we told him, wait until we give him a signal. Then, in the middle of the gig, we said, ‘Come up’ — and it was beautiful. Albert was like a magic streak of light in the air.” Collin suggests that Ayler’s time may have come: “Albert was always saying, ‘One day people will understand.’ He was right. He would have been very glad that his music is appreciated by a younger audience, coming to it from alternative rock. It’s not a real jazz thing any more.”
  12. Ornette's Lonely Woman- your favorite version

    I really enjoy Peter Brotzmann's solo version from 1984 .
  13. Favorite Beatles tunes/specific-recordings??

    My ' Favorite Beatles tunes/specific-recordings??, tunes/versions that AREN'T "played out" / heard too much' are some of the Lennon penned tracks from the White album Happiness is a warm Gun Dear Prudence Glass Onion Julia Cry Baby Cry
  14. Have a great day Lon!!