clandy44

Vol. 7 (with Phillips and Harris) is very enjoyable. Harris sounds especially on his game, and Flip here, as always, is top-notch. As a Benny fan, I don't think he made too many duds and this sure isn't one.

A review from today's WSJ: MUSIC The Rev. Al Green Loosens Up By ASHLEY KAHN Memphis, Tenn. The Rev. Al Green is slightly restless and visibly moved. The 57-year-old soul singer turned church leader is seated in a corner of Royal, this city's oldest active recording studio and a former 1920s movie theater. Mr. Green, casually dressed in gray running pants, a tiger-pattern jacket and a white T-shirt, a large six-pointed gold star around his neck, points to a battered RCA microphone still reserved for his use only. "There's the old mike No. 9. There's a certain something about this old mike. It's probably haunted!" The entire garage-sized room has a preserved, spirit-laden air about it: clean, yet with exposed, age-old insulation hanging above; an ancient organ and well-trodden carpet below. Mr. Green looks up and laughs. "He don't want nobody to tear the damn padding off the walls, or take off the old spider webs. He says, 'No, that makes the sound.'" "He" is producer Willie Mitchell, the man who helped shape Mr. Green's classic soul sound in the early '70s and still runs Royal Studio. Only a few months ago, the two reunited to record Mr. Green's new album, "I Can't Stop," their first collaboration in almost 20 years. That in itself is news. That Mr. Green traced his own footsteps to the site where, over 30 years ago, he first alchemized his enduring, sugar-and-satin formula can be startling. Even for him. AL GREEN I Can't Stop Blue Note Records Tonight Show With Jay Leno NBC, 11:35 p.m. EST, tonight "I would pick any spot in the studio [to stand] except the very same spot where we sang 'Let's Stay Together' and 'Tired of Being Alone' and 'I'm Still in Love With You.' But here I am, and this is it!" Some historical context: Before Barry White or Marvin Gaye recorded their own takes on bedroom soul, Al Green was already in place as the voice of seduction for an unbuttoned decade. He posed bare-chested on his album covers. His falsetto moan -- straight from the church -- was filled with a longing all could grasp. He put the afro into aphrodisiac, writing songs ("Love and Happiness," "Here I Am," those above) that inspired a generation -- and helped create another. "I mean, people still show me pictures of a beautiful little kid. I say, OK, what's that about? 'Well, it's because of one of your songs . . .'" Mr. Green's fans weren't the only ones influenced by the music's sexual charge, the reverend himself confesses. "In my 20s, I was running to the Holiday Inn, kissing and naughty little things. The sins of our youth, OK?" But as the '70s drew to a close, all that changed -- the escapades, the music -- as the singer gradually yielded to a higher calling. Mr. Green was raised by strict churchgoers. His religious awakening was first triggered in 1973 by what is best described as a late-night visitation. His concerts soon took on a Sunday morning feel as he began preaching between performances of his romantic hits. Mishaps and misfortune deepened his devotion: the suicide of a girlfriend after she tossed boiling grits on him in '74; falling off a stage in '79. It was also in '79 that "the new Al Green" (as he dubbed himself) became a minister, founded a Memphis church and chose to sing only gospel music. Despite a few pop dalliances over the next two decades (duets with Annie Lennox and Lyle Lovett; a less-than-stellar secular album in '95), he generally held to the line that a true servant of the Lord should be singing neither of romantic love nor physical passion. "If I'm gonna sing blues, then come on sing the blues. If I ain't, let me sing the gospel . . . but don't try to fool the Lord and the Devil," he preached in the 1983 documentary "The Gospel According to Al Green." Everybody's been waiting on the music. Al Green's new album, "I Can't Stop," is a return to his secular side. "I've got to reach the people," he says. When that line is read back to him today, Mr. Green sighs and offers an explanation born of experience. "At that time, I was wrestling with my conversion. I couldn't help the way I felt! The balance I've come to now is the wisdom that spiritual things are spiritual things and carnal things are carnal things, but God made both of them." The tempering of Mr. Green's zeal, and a recent street-corner encounter with a few fans, helped return the reverend to songs of love and Royal Studio. "I was in Baltimore dressed incognito -- big hat, glasses -- and there were four of them just trying to act like they didn't know me. But one of them kind of just went off. 'Oh Al, you know everybody waitin' on the music.' And that, verbatim, inspired me to go to Willie Mitchell and say, 'Let's do the music.'" "I Can't Stop" is no mere reunion, nor simple updating; the album artfully weaves the old (same studio and most of his studio musicians from the '70s) and the new (freshly minted ballads and blues) into a satisfying portrait of the singer in middle age. Mr. Green's voice is more robust now, yet ably delivers the emotive squeal of his youth. One critic describes the collection as "a whole new dish for a feast, a lot more than just reheated leftovers." Mr. Green is more humble. "I heard it a couple of times -- sounds pretty good." The 12 tunes render familiar sensuality with nary a mention of Jesus. The title track is a declaration of perseverance with disco-era flourishes. "My Problem Is You" is an unhurried blues that conjures the best of Bobby Bland, Little Milton and others ("The blues is what makes Memphis; Memphis, what makes B.B. King, B.B. King.") "Rainin' In My Heart" is a slow-as-molasses heart-dragger, while the upbeat "I'd Still Choose You" is Mr. Green's admitted favorite. He dismisses a request to identify the tune's inspiration: "That's my business. I tell you my business, I won't have none." Nonetheless, the refrain -- "If I had to do it all over/I'd still choose you" -- reveals much of the reverend's present-day philosophy, answering the God-fearing who might have trouble with lyrics addressing "girl" and "baby" rather than the Lord. But Mr. Green, it seems, has divine support. "I asked God about 'baby.' God said, 'Don't get too carried away with the baby part. If you mean what you say, then do it.' So I did it. "I've got to reach the people. They want to hear 'Baby I love you,' 'I'll never choose another.' That whole lifestyle, the family, the husband, the wife, the kids, the staying together, is what I promote. With a look, Mr. Green lets on that he's done. He adds one last point. "I was having to answer a question for the churches. They said to me, 'Well, Reverend? How should we receive this secular album that you've put out here?' I would say everybody in this room got here some kind of way and it wasn't all just holding hands." Mr. Kahn is an independent journalist and author of "A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album."

From today's WSJ Reinventing the Music Of Bix Beiderbecke By JIM FUSILLI Neither Bix Beiderbecke nor Geoff Muldaur has commanded much attention lately from anyone save their devotees, but the two have come together in the form of one of the most surprising and delightful albums of the year. "Private Astronomy: A Vision of the Music of Bix Beiderbecke" (edge Music) is Mr. Muldaur's reinvention of some of the cornet player's compositions and performances, all of which emanate from the late 1920s and earliest years of the '30s. The 13-song disc comprises Mr. Muldaur's two approaches to the Beiderbecke canon and the sounds of the era. The six chamber performances of his piano compositions illustrate how Mr. Beiderbecke was as influenced by Debussy, Ravel and Stravinsky as he was by Nick LaRocca, Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith. The remaining tracks are bright, snazzy takes on the pop and blues of the time sung back then by Bing Crosby and the Rhythm Boys and Frankie Trumbauer, among others. Surprisingly, and perhaps wisely, no one attempts to trump Mr. Beiderbecke on the cornet. While there are a few spry solos here and there, mostly on violin and guitar, airtight adherence to the layered arrangements is the thing on "Private Astronomy." To execute the knotty charts, Mr. Muldaur and producer Dick Connette put together an extraordinary band, which includes jazz saxophonist Ted Nash; Art Barone, who played trombone with Duke Ellington; drummer Artie Kinsella, who plays in the All-Star Shoe Band on Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion"; violinist Paul Woodiel; guitarists Doug Wamble and Mike Munisteri; and Mark Gould, principal trumpet with the Metropolitan Opera. Their work is flawless, studied yet affecting, serious yet full of fun. "Private Astronomy" represents the next phase in the 60-year-old Mr. Muldaur's return to center stage. A founding member of the Jim Kweskin Jug Band, which featured his then-wife, Maria, Mr. Muldaur emerged from the Cambridge, Mass., folk-blues scene in the '60s and worked with the likes of Bonnie Raitt, Jerry Garcia and Richard Thompson, who reportedly said, cryptically, "There are only three white blues singers and Geoff Muldaur is at least two of them." He dropped out in 1980 -- "It's the usual boring story of drinking and drugging," he told me -- and went on to establish a successful management-consulting business. On a whim, he joined old friend Bob Neuwirth on a '97 tour of northern Italy. "We didn't get paid and we were roughing it," Mr. Muldaur said, "but I found myself staying back in my hotel room and working on guitar licks." By the time Mr. Muldaur returned to the States, he'd decided to become a working musician again, and a year later he released "Secret Handshake" (Hightone), a very pleasing blues-folk set that he called "17 years of things that were marinating in my mind, things I'd been singing in the shower." While working as a consultant, Mr. Muldaur wrote new arrangements of Mr. Beiderbecke's piano compositions, only one of which Mr. Beiderbecke recorded prior to his death in 1931. (Jess Stacy, a pianist best known for his work with Benny Goodman, recorded several of them.) To illustrate the complexity of Mr. Beiderbecke's compositions, Mr. Muldaur insisted upon recasting them as chamber music rather than the jazzy adaptations he'd heard in recordings by Ry Cooder, Benny Carter and Bucky Pizzarelli, among others. The chamber pieces -- four Beiderbecke piano pieces, a reprise of one, "In a Mist," and a gorgeous reworking of "Davenport Blues" -- are the highlights of "Private Astronomy." "The guys were originally thrown by it," Mr. Muldaur remembered. "It's got a certain feel to it. It's not traditional jazz." And yet, while the music is rich with influence of the classical impressionists, its harmonies, rhythms and some of the phrasing by the musicians are unmistakably rooted in early 20th-century jazz. Mr. Muldaur sings several songs, including "Take Your Tomorrow (And Give Me Today)," which Mr. Beiderbecke recorded with the Trumbauer band; Irving Berlin's "Waiting at the End of the Road," which Mr. Crosby sang with Paul Whiteman's orchestra during its Beiderbecke years; and Mr. Beiderbecke's "Clouds," with new lyrics by Mr. Connette, Linda Thompson and Rufus Wainwright. Martha Wainwright, Rufus's sister, offers a brassy take on "There Ain't No Sweet Man That's Worth the Salt of My Tears," while, continuing the family affair, Rufus's and Martha's father, Loudon Wainwright III, backed by Mr. Muldaur's daughters Jenni and Clare, sings a rousing "Bless You! Sister." With his loving renditions of tunes culled from the Beiderbecke canon, Mr. Muldaur succeeds in shaking the cobwebs off songs that are imprinted on the DNA of American music lovers but have long been out of earshot of even those with an ambitious CD collection. His sentimentality adds an appropriate touch of tenderness that echoes long after the music subsides.

I have told Mosaic not to use Airborne for my shipments. They were partial to leaving Mosaic boxes in the middle of my driveway, which makes my receipt of the box a far more chancey enterprise than I was willing to assume. Apart from that, UPS eats their lunch in every which way.

We were in Rehoboth Beach, DE a couple weeks ago, and saw several jazz posters displayed in the window of the Kennedy Gallery. I found out that they were reproductions, but they are nicely detailed from what I imagine the originals looked like. I bought the Basie one (an October 1939 poster advertising the Basie Band at Sweet's Ballroom in Oakland for just one night) for $25 and had them frame it for an extra $95-it looks pretty cool on my study wall. If anyone is interested, call Kate Kennedy and she can send you a sheet showing the posters available. Her number is 302.227.3903. Posters include Duke, Miles, Trane, Monk, Chick Webb, Dizzy, Earl Hines, etc.

Here he is again, this time with an 18 cd sampler. http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewI...&category=43620

This seller seems to have collected lots of Mosaic cds, but no booklets or boxes. A fine sampler-why didn't Michael think of this? http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewI...&category=43620

This is a terrific article, not only for the subject matter but also for the writing ability of the reporter-I don't remember seeing his byline, but I will be keeping an eye out for it in the future.

Despite looking hither and yon, I could not turn up a copy of Benny Carter's Groovin' High in LA. That led me to Hep itself, where I had an enjoyable correspondence with Alastair Robertson. He tells me that that cd is OOP, but he might consider a limited pressing if there was enough interest. If anyone else is interested in this cd, drop him an email-maybe it wouldn't take that many of us to get the pressing done. His email is alarob@hepjazz.co.uk.

The greatest jazz piano player who ever lived, to me. Speed isn't everything, but he reportedly was playing a thousand notes per minute in his prime. Of course, Erroll Garner wins plaudits if only because he couldn't read a note and never took a piano lesson! True genius.

Looks like Giddins agrees with us: Weatherbird by Gary Giddins All Duke's Chillun Got Melody Gerry Mulligan's concert jazz band was short-lived and indelible and not for dancers October 15 - 21, 2003 At long last, Gerry Mulligan's five Concert Jazz Band albums, recorded for Verve between 1960 and 1962, have been collected, though not by Verve. Mosaic (35 Melrose Place, Stamford, CT 06902, 203-327-7111, info@mosaicrecords.com) has done a consummate job with The Complete Verve Gerry Mulligan Concert Band Sessions. These much loved but long-unavailable records have never sounded better—even the muzzy Milan sides gleam. The integrity of the original LPs is preserved, with unreleased takes placed at the end of appropriate discs. From the first measures of Al Cohn's arrangement of "Sweet and Low," you know you are on enchanted ground, and the sense of discovery and triumph never subsides for long, partly because each album's personality is distinct from the others'. Mulligan became an overnight sensation with his piano-less quartet in the early 1950s, but big bands remained his first love and the CJB was his boldest attempt to initiate a venturesome orchestra—its very name warned dancers to go elsewhere. It was to be a workshop ensemble, an expanded version of the Miles Davis nonets (for which Mulligan had scored most of the music), allowing him and other writers to show what a full complement could do. His celebrity, plus the willingness of members to work cheap and Norman Granz's deep pockets, made the undertaking possible. Another crucial component, as Bill Kirchner demonstrates in his illuminating notes, was the steady instigation of Bob Brookmeyer, the Mulligan quartet's valve trombonist and ultimately the CJB's most prolific arranger. Eighteen months after the start-up, Granz sold Verve, dooming the project but for one last hurrah in late 1962, but the CJB's influence was immediate and lasting. The first big band to play the Village Vanguard, it engendered what is now known as the Vanguard Orchestra, unleashing a tide of rehearsal or Monday-night bands. Its method of building orchestral constructs from combo outlines helped Mulligan retain a limber spontaneity; among the many bandleaders who elaborated on the idea were Charles Tolliver (see below), David Murray, and most recently Dave Holland. But Mulligan's band had something no other band could rival—his stubborn, nostalgic, frequently inspired, occasionally cloying passion for melody. Ironically, Mulligan was so preoccupied with the mechanics of bandleading that he wrote nothing for the project beyond an unreleased update of his Kenton classic "Young Blood" and a majestic "Come Rain or Come Shine," recorded twice to feature Zoot Sims and, more successfully, himself. So in addition to Brookmeyer and Cohn, he enlisted Bill Holman, George Russell, Johnny Mandel, and a then unknown Gary McFarland. Mulligan and Brookmeyer were the primary soloists, spelled by Sims, Clark Terry, Gene Quill, Jim Hall, Willie Dennis, the forgotten tenor Jim Rieder, and the group's unsung hero, trumpeter Don Ferrara, whose bursts of invention on "Out of This World," "I'm Gonna Go Fishin'," "Barbara's Theme," and "All About Rosie" place him in the Hasaan category of lost jazz noblemen. A benign Olympian hovers over this material, and it isn't Apollo. The blessings of Duke Ellington are everywhere; no other group of writers paid homage with more candor and creativity. The original notes to the CJB's last LP specified Ellington's impact on those pieces, but it was apparent from the first: symbolically in the first recorded number, "I'm Gonna Go Fishin' " (from Anatomy of a Murder), and wittily in the Ellington-meets-Clyde McCoy passages of "Sweet and Low." Hats are tipped to Evans-Thornhill, Basie, Goodman, and Herman, while Russell's "All About Rosie"—a superior update of the 1957 version—flies in its own orbit. Yet Ellington is invoked constantly, in voicings that include clarinet and in the interplay between soloists and ensemble. There is so much to admire, not least the rhythm sections, especially the team of Mel Lewis and Bill Crow, which emphasize a relaxed capering that reflects Mulligan's easeful swing. The contrast between Mulligan's smoothly gruff lyricism and Brookmeyer's gruffly smooth barking, hissing, chomping solos typifies the good humor that often rises to the top—as in anything by Cohn, notably the matchless double windup of "Lady Chatterley's Mother," or the last bar of Brookmeyer's "You Took Advantage of Me" (a solo sigh that was played by the ensemble at a European concert released on European labels), or Mulligan's whimsical "Emaline" intro to "Come Rain or Come Shine," or his breakaway interpolation of "Blues in the Night" and Brookmeyer's asthmatic entrance on "Sweet and Low," or John Carisi's orchestration of Miles Davis's two choruses on "Israel," to say nothing of Holman's 6/8 arrangement of "I'm Gonna Go Fishin'," which turns it into a rocking counterpart of "All Blues." The On Tour album qualifies as a de facto Zoot Sims concerto and a definition of mercurial wit. Rumors of hours of unreleased material have proved untrue; the Vanguard tapes are apparently lost, and the 11 new alternates and otherwise unreleased items don't add much, except for "Young Blood." Mulligan would undoubtedly be relieved. This is desert island material, returned to life after more than two decades, in a limited pressing of 7,500 copies. Those should sell quickly enough; maybe then Verve (which now offers only the Vanguard set) will return this music to stores. Don't wait.

I'll add a me-too. The Mulligan is really unbelievable for its sound, considering it's 40+ years old. I've only heard disc 1 so far, but it blows away most if not all of the other Mulligan lps and cds I have in terms of its sound, and is a challenger for a top performance in my view. I also have listened to only one of the Patton discs, but glad I picked up the set. Mosaic just seems to be getting better and better-don't have the Johnny Smith yet, but I'm sure it is top notch in all ways. Buying direct from Mosaic is an antidote to buying on ebay where the prices and the seller representations are grossly inflated, and where identity theft is just a key stroke away.

GOM-you can pre-order this (as I just did) at CD Universe for $46.88 plus about $5 in shipping.

I have none so this is a sure thing-all of their earliest recordings. Excellent.

I have the Mosaic Prima but nothing else of his. Needless to say, the Prima music of the 30s was jazz through and through and highly entertaining. If Prima can be accused of mugging too much, so can Fats and many others-none of that criticism bothers me because I have always found it historically and musically interesting. Eventually, I will follow Prima into his 40s and 50s work to see if I admire it as much as his 30s stuff.

I agree with Vajerzy-I listen to this set more than the Capitol one. If you like Duke...well, you know what I'm going to say.

The Crazy Jazz website has a separate list of the Penguin crown cds.

GOM-Speaking of anti-racism songs, don't forget (Why Am I So) Black and Blue? The music and lyrics never fail to sting me. Waller brings a mournful quality to the piece that really resonates.

Geez, Brad, thanks alot. After my recent pigfest in the Mosaic True Blue promotion, I was trying to keep a low buyer's profile for at least a week or two. So long low profile. Nice price and great music. Heads-up like this are what make the board so terrific. Buying this even though I suspect Mosaic will eventually do a more complete Basie Columbia set.

From today's WSJ: A Young Jazzman Turns 85 By KURT NOVAK Flugelhornist Clark Terry blew a short call-to-arms from his seat in the audience, signaling the guest of honor's entrance at the opening of the Hank Jones 85th birthday celebration at the Blue Note last month. It was possibly the greatest gathering of jazz musicians in New York since Art Kane's famous 1958 photograph "A Great Day in Harlem." Throughout the evening, 13 small groups, including a rotating cast of some 35 performers, played tribute to the ageless Mr. Jones, known within the jazz community as a king of the piano. Fully three-quarters of the house, including Oscar Peterson, Stanley Crouch and Ira Gitler, appeared to be admiring musicians and writers. (Mr. Peterson called him "probably the best pianist in jazz today.") But it is not just a lyrical touch and unerring melodic sense that have endeared Mr. Jones to his musical collaborators. His warm personality, sense of humor and love for his craft seem to have been equally important to his long-term success. Eldest of the renowned Jones brothers (including drummer Elvin and the late trumpeter/composer Thad), Hank Jones was born in 1918, grew up in Pontiac, Mich., and moved to New York in 1944 to play with trumpeter Hot Lips Page. Since then, Mr. Jones has worked with practically every major figure in jazz, including Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker and Ella Fitzgerald. Along the way Mr. Jones developed a reputation as one of the world's leading accompanists. How does one sustain a 50-year-plus career in a field known for its problematic personalities, inconsistent popular appeal and less than ideal working conditions? "Diversify," he said, in a conversation a few days before the concert. One of the most important lessons he learned is to "be prepared. . . . Arrange your personal affairs so that you don't get caught off guard -- always have something in reserve." For Mr. Jones, this meant not only knowing how to adjust his playing to suit the given situation or soloist -- the essence of jazz -- but developing the ability to read music fluently so he could work in a variety of settings, such as those encountered in his 15-year stint with the CBS Radio & Television orchestra. Mr. Jones noted that he aspires to play with the command of Art Tatum, who "never played a run that wasn't an integral part of his conception of a composition." And, he noted, despite Tatum's advance harmonics and complex rhythms "I am always able to recognize the melody in Tatum's playing." But pure technique is not the only factor to consider in the collaborative art of making improvised jazz music. Mr. Jones liked working with Ella Fitzgerald because "she had an even temperament and always approached performing with energy and enthusiasm. She was eager to learn new material and she was kind and considerate . . . a real sincere individual." He said he also liked playing with saxophonist Coleman Hawkins, "a great player" and another artist with an uncommon ability to adapt. "Hawkins could play with anyone, whether it was swing or bebop with relative newcomers like Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. It didn't matter what it was -- Hawkins could do it." Another proof of Coleman Hawkins's genius, according to Mr. Jones, was "the perfect jazz record . . . I never get tired of 'Body and Soul.' You can play that over and over, and because of the combination of Hawkins's brilliant playing or the sound of the chords or whatever, you just don't get tired of it." Apparently people don't get tired of Hank Jones either, as witness the hundreds of recordings he has played on, not to mention the camaraderie and good spirits displayed by all of the musicians at the Blue Note tribute. Instrumentalists of various generations played on this powerhouse showcase of talent, organized by Charles Carlini and pianist James Willams. Participants included not only Mr. Terry but Jimmy Heath, Freddie Cole, Lewis Nash, Candido, Rufus Reid, Peter Nash, Ben Riley, Marian McPartland, Barry Harris, Kenny Barron, Ray Barretto, Bill Charlap, Geri Allen and many others. Midway through the evening Mr. Jones himself got on the bandstand, joined by bassist George Mraz and drummer Louis Hayes, and demonstrated to all that he is in full command. Says Mr. Mraz of Hank Jones: "He is one of the youngest piano players I've ever worked with . . . always coming in with new stuff and open to new ideas." Not too bad for a young man of 85.

Article from today's Wall Street Journal: A Japanese Jazz Musician Tackles The Daunting Subject of Hiroshima By NAT HENTOFF In the early 1950s, jazz impresario Norman Granz, returning from a concert tour of Japan, told me of a recording he had made in Tokyo of a 23-year-old pianist, Toshiko Akiyoshi. Oscar Peterson had heard her in a coffee shop and alerted Granz. When she came to Boston in 1956 to study at the Berklee School of Music, I heard Toshiko often. Because she was a fluently secure melodic swinger, more experienced jazzmen welcomed her on gigs. Immersed in jazz since she was a teenager, her dream of being where it all started, she told me, had come true. In the early 1960s, she co-led a combo with her then-husband, alto saxophonist Charlie Mariano, and I recorded her during my short tenure as an A&R man for Candid Records. Jazz was her natural language. Toshiko went on to the demanding graduate school of Charles Mingus's orchestra; and no longer married to Charlie Mariano, she formed an enduring musical and life partnership with the unaccountably underrated tenor saxophonist and flutist Lew Tabackin. A self-challenger, like Toshiko, he too never stops evolving. In Los Angeles in 1973, she formed with him an intriguing orchestra that will celebrate its 30th anniversary at a Carnegie Hall concert on Oct. 17. During all those years, Toshiko had never thought about interweaving Japanese music with her jazz life. What persuaded her to learn more about her roots was -- to my surprise when she said this in a July 2003 Down Beat interview -- an article I had written in the Village Voice when Duke Ellington died. He had often told me that what drove him as a composer and orchestra leader was to tell the history of his people in America, embedded in the black musical and life experiences of the centuries that preceded him. "Reading that triggered me," she told Michael Bourne in Down Beat. "I thought that should be my job -- to employ some of my heritage, to put Japanese culture into jazz." In a number of her compositions -- such as "Drum Conference," commissioned by, and performed at, Jazz at Lincoln Center this year -- she has been doing that job with characteristically singular inventiveness and a sure sense of textural dynamics that make her orchestra the most subtly dramatic in present-day jazz. The climax so far of Toshiko's bringing her heritage into her jazz life is "Hiroshima -- Rising From the Abyss." First performed, and recorded, at Hiroshima on Aug. 24, 2001, it has now been released in this country on the True Life label (available at Amazon.com and many record stores). As she told me, Toshiko had never thought of writing music about the horrifying devastation inflicted on the people of Hiroshima by this country on Aug. 6, 1945, when she was 15. "But at that time," she told writer Michael Bourne, "people tried to avoid speaking about it. Even the victims." In 1999, however, a Buddhist priest, Nakagawa, asked her to write music memorializing that fateful day in his hometown. He sent her photographs taken three days after the bomb. In her notes to the American release of "Beyond the Abyss," she writes that the pictures were so horrifying that she couldn't imagine what music she could bring to them. "But," Toshiko continues, "one photo caught me eye. It was a young woman who came out of a bomb shelter looking at the sky, smiling a little with beautiful eyes full of hope." Seeing those eyes convinced Toshiko she could find in herself the music to honor, among the others, that young woman. Toshiko quotes the Dalai Lama: "We human beings cannot live without hope." On the True Life CD, "From the Abyss" is the centerpiece. There are three sections of this memorial work: "Futility-Tragedy," "Survivor Tales" and "Hope." The entire set's first track, before the main composition, is "Long Yellow Road," and the last track, "Wishing Peace," has so moving a flute solo by Lew Tabackin that, Toshiko tells me, "tears come to my eyes when we perform it." The most haunting, deeply reverberating section, "Survivor Tales," has a Hiroshima high-school student, Ryoko Shigemori, reading from a eyewitness account of the deaths and disfigurements, the "Mother's Diaries" from the Hiroshima Memorial Museum. Along with the reader, commenting on these tales is Wong Jang-Hyun, a master of traditional Korean flute. The high-school student reads: "There was a rumor we would not have vegetation for 75 years. . . But here, trees are growing, grass is greener than ever . . . This is our message to the world from Hiroshima . . . No nuclear and atomic weapons, and peace on earth." The 30th anniversary concert of Toshiko Akiyoshi's orchestra on Oct. 17 at Carnegie Hall will include a performance of "Beyond the Abyss" with Wong Jang-Hyun, together with masters of traditional Japanese drums. It will be the orchestra's final appearance. "I'm 73 now," Toshiko told me. "I started as a pianist, and I believe I can play better, that I can improve myself. So I will go back to the piano with a small group." Over half a century, Toshiko, in her music and in her life, has exemplified the resilient life force of jazz, and of the message of hope from Hiroshima in "Survivor Tales."

Red Trumpet has an excellent reputation, based on comments from a friend who is a first class audiophile. About a year ago, I was in the market for a tt and I talked to them-they were super nice and went out of their way to help diagnose a problem with my old tt. Eventually, I narrowed my choices to the MH 5 and the Rega P3. I took my time, checked new prices and looked on Audiogon-I found a 1-year old P3 for $550 all-in and went for it. I think the P3 is excellent (easy to set up and no problems), but my research suggests the 5 is too. And, I think $439 is a good price for the 5 new.

As the pr types are wont to say, just the kind resuscitation project that has made Mosaic its rep. The music is terrific and the collection can not be pieced together by what is available today. The HRS sides are still better in my view, but I would strongly recommend this set.

A thoughtful, if belated, obituary of Bill Perkins. Most surprising is that he held an engineering degree from C.I.T., one of the country's most prestigious colleges and certainly every bit as competitive as M.I.T. Jazz Saxophonist Bill Perkins, 79 By Adam Bernstein Washington Post Staff Writer Thursday, August 14, 2003; Page B06 Bill Perkins, 79, a saxophonist who was taken with the "palm tree gentleness" of West Coast jazz in the 1950s and later became a member of the Doc Severinsen "Tonight Show" band, died Aug. 9 at his home in Sherman Oaks, Calif., of complications from cancer. Retiring in personality and delicate on his horn, Mr. Perkins was one of those musicians always being described in the music press as chronically underrated. "I'm a born follower," he said. But he followed in some of the most technically dazzling big bands of the 1950s and early 1960s, including Woody Herman's Third Herd, Stan Kenton's progressive outfit and Terry Gibbs's Dream Band. Mr. Perkins, a worshiper of sensual saxophonist Lester Young, emulated him on ballads such as "Blues for Brando," recorded with trumpeter Shorty Rogers in 1954, and as a featured soloist on "Yesterdays" on the Kenton album "Contemporary Concepts" (1955). Starting in the 1960s, he used his early training as an engineer to get sound-production work. He also held instrument patents, including a synthesized saxophone and trumpet. William Reese Perkins Jr. was born in San Francisco and as a child accompanied his father, a copper mining engineer, to Chile. His companion was the Victrola, and after his father's death his mind was set on engineering and making music. He grew up with his mother in Santa Barbara and later received an electrical engineering degree from the California Institute of Technology and a music degree from the University of California at Santa Barbara. Originally trained on clarinet, he switched to saxophone at 15. During his career, he mastered a variety of woodwind and reed instruments. While with Jerry Wald's band in 1951, he received a call from Herman's manager asking if he could fill in for his main sax player, who had been fired. After first sloughing it off as a practical joke, Mr. Perkins accepted and soon he was dazzling the leader with a tenor solo on the standard "Perdido." Besides steady jobs with Herman and Kenton, he also performed on acclaimed albums with pianist John Lewis ("Two Degrees East, Three Degrees West") and saxman Art Pepper ("Art Pepper Plus Eleven"). Among his studio work was playing in a band led by Duke Ellington to record the soundtrack for the Frank Sinatra film "Assault on a Queen" (1966). "I think I took the studio work too seriously," he told interviewer Steve Voce in the mid-1980s. "I'd go to each job with the attitude that it was supposed to be a work of art, and I'd wind up going home almost on the point of tears because I thought I'd played badly. But, as my dear friend [saxophonist] Ernie Watts pointed out, it's not art, it's craft at best, and if you look at it that way it won't be so painful to you." Starting in the early 1970s, he spent two decades with Severinsen's band. He also toured widely with saxman and arranger Bill Holman, his colleague from the Kenton group. © 2003 The Washington Post Company

I have it. My unadorned advice: buy it. Period. Full stop.