Chauncey

Come on Allen, and please abide by your own laudable standards of comparative listening/reading and perception in general: what other liner notes in this category did you read? Now say it in public, with detail-- that Francis' (a TOTAL has-been; as JSngry suggests more politely than I, although I'll add Francis was never even that good, just better than nothing, particularly in the square-but-remunerative venues he was in) five times refried "KoB" blather is better than... ... Art Rosenbaum's book notes to the "Art of Field Recording"? Art Rosenbaum, artist, musician, folklorist Really, I'd love to see the comparison, point by point, both with regard to the music being written about and their respective historic-cultural contexts. Or... did Francis win on the name recognition of the project? Q1: Francis has distinguished himself as a writer on anything but jazz music since when? The 18th of never? Q2: Francis jazz writing peaked when... 1988? At the latest, 1991? That's fine, I wouldn't judge him any more harshly than the kid at the oil change place who had a bad day and forgot to vacuum but spare us the jive accolades. Siegfried & Roy could have written goddamn "KoB" notes and the "Academy" would have given them a prize too. Whoop-de-goddamn-do.

Samuel Feinberg, Piano Sonata No. 6 (Universal Edition, 1925) but just for fun. Much more fun, I should add, then listening to any Brad Mehldau or post-'74 Jarrett, thank you very much. To relax, I lately play a lot of Dussek, don't ask why.

Emus are smarter than Imus and much funnier. Wasn't Saint Tim Russert an Imus regular? Too bad they didn't go out together, This Great Nation Of Ours would immediately be a slightly less asinine place. Credit is due Imus for at least being too awkward to cover up what a jerk he is, while dead establishment icon (and fake "everyman" scumbag, believe it) Tim Russert was slick enough to backslap his way to idiot deification. I spent six of the worst months of my life as a "cub" reporter in Buffalo and am delighted to say I'll be dead before I ever have cause to return. But hey, Imus and Russert love(s) sports, like all Great Americans. Emus, to their eternal credit, don't give a crap.