The Mule

But the film did BOTH. It provided lots of exceedingly RARE footage of the original performer AND modern interpretations of their work. Look, I think part of the point of using people like Lou Reed and Beck and Raitt is to provoke the discussion. Did that particular interpretation work for you or not and if so (or not) why? Does the foundation of the tune--the blues--survive the interpretation? I still don't understand what's wrong with that. I didn't like a lot of the new versions of the tunes but it sure as hell didn't ruin the film for me. Bottom line for me when I watch these things is that I try to put aside my bias and my expectations about how I might do it or what I might want to see and instead try to judge it on the filmmaker's terms. What did he attempt and did he succeed? In my opinion, I thought the Wenders film worked. Plus, I was moved by that final image of Blind Willie Johnson imposed on the star field singing "Soul of a Man" to the heavens. What can I say? I'm a sap!!!

Well, I do take issue with your sweeping comment about people with "no business playing this particular music (let alone getting national exposure)." Don't you think that's a bit extreme? Part of what Wenders was doing is demonstrating that these songs can be interpreted all sorts of different ways by all sorts of different artists throughout the years. I really don't see the problem with that. You can dislike them, but it doesn't mean they're not allowed to play this music. I guess part of my response to these threads is that there seems to be a certain amount of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Some people object to certain aspects of the film and they make it seem like the whole thing is a waste of time or a disaster. There seems to be a bitterness and relentless negativity to some of these posts and when a compliment is made--like the Lenoir footage--it seems grudging. These films can't be all things to all people. Wenders chose a path and went down it successfully, in my opinion. I thought it was different and interesting and personal. It isn't meant to be the last word on the subject. None of these films are "definitive" and they're not meant to be. But I read some of these posts and I want to throw up my hands and ask, "Well, what DO you want?"

I thought it was pretty great. I mean c'mon....just for the footage of Lenoir alone! I liked the structure. I liked the recreations. I liked how personal to Wenders it was. Yeah, I could have done without some of the modern artists, but I appreciated the point Wenders was making and thought it worked. My only beef was that it was a little too long. Honestly, between some of the reactions to this series and the Ken Burns JAZZ series some of y'all will NEVER be happy with ANYTHING no matter what the approach or who makes the film. Pickers of nits, sez I.

No, it didn't wreck Pacino's career, but it was the unveiling of the "Hoo-Yah!!!" Al Pacino...y'know, the over-the-top evil twin of Al's who chews the living shit out of all the scenery.... I often explain it this way: SCARFACE is to Pacino as THE SHINING is to Nicholson... And, yes, the original 1932 version of SCARFACE is a brilliant film--one of the very first gangster movies (along with LITTLE CAESAR). The giant globe with the neon sign saying "The World Is Yours" seen in DePalma's version is a direct reference to the 1932 version.

I disagree. If you listen to the guitar playing of Ali Farka Toure he sounds A LOT like John Lee Hooker--and the comparision has dogged him for years. While I can see where one might not be willing to make the leap between African flute & drum to African-American fife & drum to African-Americans blues, there were many, many other connections between African music and American blues made--including the handing of musical traditions down from generation to generation and the notion of American bluesmen being the Griots of this country. I do think, however, that Ali Farka Toure went a bit overboard with his claims that African-Americans and Africans are just the same--I know plenty of African-Americans who would disagree. I don't know what the Times is talking about with regard to the Wenders segment, but the review in VARIETY was a rave: Posted: Fri., May 16, 2003, 12:35pm PT The Soul of a Man (Docu -- Special Screening) A Martin Scorsese presentation of a Vulcan Prods./Road Movies co-production in association with Cappa Prods., Jigsaw Prods. (International sales: Road Sales, Berlin.) Produced by Alex Gibney, Margaret Bodde. Executive producers, Scorsese, Paul G. Allen, Jody Patton, Ulrich Felsberg. Coproducer, Richard Hutton. Directed, written by Wim Wenders. Narrated by: Laurence Fishburne. With: Keith B. Brown, Chris Thomas King. Featured performers: J.B. Lenoir, Skip James, Beck, T Bone Burnett, Nick Cave, Shemekia Copeland, Eagle Eye Cherry, Crow Jane, Garland Jeffreys, Los Lobos, Bonnie Raitt, Marc Ribot, Lou Reed, Vernon Reid, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, James "Blood" Ulmer, Lucinda Williams, Cassandra Wilson, Alvin Youngblood Hart, Cream, John Mayall. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By DEBORAH YOUNG -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The seven-title musical docu series "The Blues" kicks off on a high note with "The Soul of a Man," Wim Wenders' exhilarating and involving salute to three legendary musicians little known by the general public: Blind Willie Johnson, Skip James and J. B. Lenoir. Wenders succeeds not only in putting these American composer-performers in the context of their times and in demonstrating their influence on subsequent generations of musicians, but also succeeds in putting them in "the bigger picture" of the human spirit itself. This hugely enjoyable film, riffing from historical pastiche to archive footage, from filmed material to concert performances, has the stuff to go way beyond music fans, doing for the blues what the director did for Cuban music in "The Buena Vista Social Club." The fab music is also a shoo-in for a bestselling CD. Laurence Fishburne is the voice of the ghostly spirit of Blind Willie Johnson, a Texas gospel singer who made his mark with several recordings for Columbia in 1927 -- including "The Soul of a Man." Wenders' fictional re-creation of the singer-guitarist playing on a small town street corner so uncannily mimics newsreel footage that only its exceptional technical quality betrays the fact that it was shot for the film with Chris Thomas King (the blues singer found at the crossroads in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?") playing Johnson. The song is craftily intercut with Marc Ribot's modern cover of the song, a strategy used throughout to provide new perspective on the songs and show their longevity and adaptability. First part of pic successfully gives a sense of place through views of bootleggers, cotton-pickers, and homeless families during the Depression. Next figure to be introduced -- again in a clever B&W pastiche of historical footage -- is Skip James (brought to life in another excellent trompe-l'oeil perf by Keith B. Brown), a Mississippi-born guitarist, pianist and singer. In 1931, James was discovered by a record producer; he recorded 18 key tracks in a single session for him. Though he made blues history, James earned nothing from the recordings and dropped out of sight for 33 years. The real James returns at the end of the film as a sick old man, pulled out of a hospital to appear at the 1964 Newport Festival, where he stunned young listeners. Cream's hit cover of his song "I'm So Glad" earned him enough money to undergo cancer treatments and record new songs. Lucinda Williams, Alvin Youngblood Hart and Bonnie Raitt -- along with Beck, Lou Reed and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion -- are among the performers shown singing James' mesmerizing songs such as "Hard Time Killin' Floor Blues" and "Devil Got My Woman." An extraordinary performance by John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers singing "J.B. Lenoir Is Dead" introduces the film's third hero. Also born in Mississippi, Lenoir worked out of Chicago in his zebra-striped tuxedos. Director Wenders does a cameo as a long-haired young film student searching for info on the elusive singer-composer. He discovers a likable Swedish-American couple, the Seabergs, who made two amateur documentaries on Lenoir in the 1960s. The docus were refused by Swedish TV, for which they were made. These home-style recordings of Lenoir singing and playing in his home are liberally used here. Again, the songs are intercut with modern covers by the likes of Los Lobos (who perform "Voodoo Music" written by Lenoir and Willie Dixon), Shemekia Copeland and T Bone Burnett. Cassandra Wilson's moving rendition of "Vietnam Blues," intercut with footage of planes and bombings, illustrates the political side of Lenoir's songs; his "Alabama Blues" is shown with footage of civil rights and Ku Klux Klan marches and a speech by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (who Lenoir resembled). Lenoir's untimely death in a 1969 car accident followed James' death two years earlier from cancer. Wenders persuasively insists that these "songs of poor men" will survive. Images of the Voyager traveling beyond the solar system with blues songs aboard for the edification of alien listeners makes a powerful final statement. Perhaps it's no coincidence that James became a Baptist minister and Lenoir melded the blues with gospel. Lisa Rinzler's eye-fooling DV cinematography is impeccably blown up to 35mm. The lovingly recorded Dolby sound is worth a trip to the best sound theater in town. Camera (Duart B&W, color), Lisa Rinzler; editor, Mathilde Bonnedfoy; music supervisor, John McCullough; production designer, Liba Daniels. In Dolby Digital. Reviewed at Cannes Film Festival (Special Screening), May 15, 2003. Running time: 100 MIN. And there was also this mention in VARIETY during the festival: "Errol Morris' complex doc about Robert McNamara, "The Fog of War," and Wim Wenders' hybrid doc about three blues singers, "The Soul of a Man," were highlights among the Special Screenings, and Richard Schickel's comprehensive docu, "Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin," kicked off a coming year-long revival of restored versions of the great comic's work." And this: "Highlight of the Official Selection's special screenings was Wim Wenders' wonderful entry in the forthcoming TV series on the blues, "The Soul of a Man," which imaginatively evokes the lives and work of three legendary singer-songwriters."

"Why don' you try to stick cho head up cho ass and see if it fit?" and... "Go pelican!"

What's the running time on the dvd portion? Is it just a number or two?

I was just listening to Lem as a sideman on Jack McDuff's TOUGH DUFF... Of his sessions as a leader, I'm pretty fond of WINCHESTER SPECIAL with Benny Golson. I also like ANOTHER OPUS quite a bit.

I think it's probably just some really imprecise writing. He wrote "pre-bop banjoists" when he may have meant "pre-bop jazz" or "pre-bop guitar." Funny you should post this, Berigan as I was just about to download the Harry Reser album from EMusic (they've got the whole Yazoo catalog available). Once I do and give it a listen I'll post a report...

And another interview in the LA Weekly: Rivers’ Edge by Brandt Reiter Sam Rivers: It's all about emotion. Sam Rivers has often been called a giant of avant-garde jazz. Yet it’s hard to think of another living jazz figure of equal stature — and there are precious few — who has been so grossly undervalued. (“What did I do?” Rivers once mused. “Did I tell someone to kiss my ass?”) Born into a musical family on September 25, 1923, Rivers received classical training in Boston after World War II and honed his tenor-sax chops playing bop in the city’s clubs. Big-band and R&B gigs occupied him for much of the ’50s, but by 1959 Rivers was firmly under the spell of free jazz and has plied those waters for most of his career. (His four years with Dizzy Gillespie in the late ’80s is a notable exception.) A ’64 stint with Miles Davis led to Rivers’ first recording as a leader that same year, the hard-bop-based free-jazz classic Fuchsia Swing Song; recently reissued, it sounds astonishingly fresh still. In 1969 he toured Europe with avant piano genius Cecil Taylor, and in 1971 Rivers and his wife, Beatrice, opened the downtown New York performance space Studio Rivbea, pumping fresh blood into the new-jazz loft scene and influencing an entire generation of players. Now based in Orlando, the uncompromising Rivers continues to operate without major-label support and remains as adventurous as any player around. His current trio, with bassist-clarinetist Doug Matthews and drummer-saxist-pianist Anthony Cole (a masterful flautist as well as a tenor player, Rivers also handles soprano sax and piano), is one of the most fascinating in jazz. Were you encouraged to pursue music as a career? No, no. We were raised to be teachers. Learning music was just part of being a civilized human being. You were a preacher and a musician, or you were a doctor and a musician, or you were a lawyer and a musician. Music was never considered the main profession by my parents — ministry, yes, but music, no. I ended up being what they wanted me to be anyway. I taught at Wesleyan, Dartmouth, Yale, Harvard. Dizzy Gillespie, Jimmy Witherspoon, T-Bone Walker, B.B. King — you’ve got one of the odder résumés among free-jazz players. Freedom is a state of mind for me. I can play out, or in, I can play my style within the blues, or I can play my style playing changes. A jazz musician plays everything. The people you hear behind Britney Spears, they’re jazz musicians. Behind the country people, behind hip-hop, commercials — all jazz musicians. They can’t do without us. We are so much a part of this society we’re almost part of the furniture — so dominant you don’t even notice us anymore. When did you start playing free? When I was in Boston. What’s called free jazz — we were doing it already in the classical. This goes back to the Dada. In 1911, 1910, people were throwing splotches on paper and playing that, tracing the contours of mountains and playing that. I was with a classical group — the leader was a classical composer, but he had a kind of disdain for classical musicians because they weren’t able to do anything but read their music. We’d go to museums — he was also an art historian — and just play the paintings. Later, when Ornette Coleman came along, for some players it was a shock, but not for musicians that had classical training, who had heard Stockhausen and Stravinsky. It didn’t hit me as hard. Coleman, even Cecil Taylor — I loved their music immediately. I’m always struck by how accessible your free work is. I really try. Music — art — is all about emotion. That’s all that’s important. If you have the brain thing too, well, that’s an added dividend. Listen to Dolphy, for instance. He’s the only musician in jazz I haven’t been able to analyze. I don’t have the faintest idea what his harmonic concept is. But I enjoy it so much. When did you start writing? Around 1958. That was one of the reasons that I moved to New York in ’64, because from ’58 on I had accumulated quite a few compositions. The musicians capable of playing it in Boston were busy. New York, there’s a lot of qualified musicians looking for adventurous music to play, even just to rehearse. It’s the same in Orlando, which is the main reason I’m here. The musicians here, they’re all very good, all college graduates, all professors of music. So I’m sitting here writing. They perform everything I do, and I have to keep writing to preserve their interest. You know, we’re teeming with great players out here . . . Hollywood was my second choice. I was looking for a place to live other than New York, because I was getting tired of cold weather. But a $150,000 house in Orlando would be a shack in California. That was a big consideration. Your current trio — its range, the way you switch around instruments — I don’t think I’ve seen one quite like it. I’m sure you haven’t. I haven’t had a trio that’s as talented as this in my entire career. We play changes, we play free, ballads — everything. We are the history of the music. You’ve got another big-band album coming out. Yes, Aurora. I’m bringing it out on Rivbea Sound, my own label. I’m following in the tradition of Sun Ra and a lot of other musicians who never did perform with a major label, but were able to distribute their records all around the world. I intend to produce a record a month for the rest of my life. The music is ready. All I need is pen and paper and someplace to sit. The ideas are still bursting out of me. I understand how fortunate I am at 80, don’t think I don’t. The Sam Rivers Trio plays the Jazz Bakery and celebrates Rivers’ 80th birthday through Sunday, September 28.

I've had these for years and they're pretty cool. Here's a link so you can see them.... Early Jazz Greats Some samples:

I'll second PARTY TIME. It was the first Cobb I ever bought. I also like this one: Some blistering exchanges between Cobb and Lockjaw...

Wow.... Great story. I love this series of reissues. Don't think there's a clunker in the bunch. Unfortunately, I got in after the first batch or two became impossible to find so I'm missing a lot of the early ones. The only thing that put me off to these was HOW EXPENSIVE they were and I almost never found them at a discount.

I'm loathe to get rid of anything I don't respond to instantly. Some of the sessions that I didn't really care for when I first listened to them are now among my all-time favorites . I guess I simply wasn't ready for them at the time. I've noticed that on certain things--the really challenging pieces--it takes me a few listens over a long period of time before I "get it." Now that I've noticed this I actually pay more attention to music I where my initial instinct is to resist....

For Sam Rivers, both art and life are long Nearing 80, the jazz saxophonist with an abiding passion for 'spontaneous creativity' opens at the Bakery. By Don Heckman Special to The Times September 23 2003 Ask saxophonist Sam Rivers about his impending 80th birthday on Thursday and he just laughs. "I don't think about it much," he says. "I'm feeling fine and my son is a doctor. That always helps." Ask about his music, however, and the epigrammatic responses quickly expand into thoughtful explanations of his lifelong fascination with the improvisational processes of jazz. "I've been through a lot of different phases," Rivers says. "I've played bebop and I've played avant-garde, and I'm still learning something new about it every day." "Still learning" to the extent that the trio he brings to the Jazz Bakery tonight for a six-night run will incorporate sounds, rhythms and improvisational techniques stretching across stylistic boundaries, embracing every segment of his long career. "Spontaneous creativity" is how he describes the music he performs with bassist Doug Matthews and drummer Anthony Coles (with each playing three or four other instruments). It is jazz in which preset harmony and melody have been abandoned in favor of completely spontaneous improvisation — jazz not based on anything. "I've been doing spontaneous creativity so long that it's like second nature," Rivers says from his Florida home. "Basically what it means is that we create everything on the spot — the melody, everything, even the rhythms." What is an audience to make of jazz without the familiar reference points of harmonies from standard tunes and the blues? "At the bottom line, art is all about feeling and emotion," he explains. "In rock, they substitute volume for emotion. We try to do it with color, tempo and so forth." The keystone of Rivers' fascination with spontaneous creativity is the '60s, when jazz — and popular music and the nation — went through a series of titanic upheavals. Ornette Coleman, Albert Ayler, Cecil Taylor and others proposed new ways of approaching jazz, often abandoning the art's long association with the process of theme and invented variations. "When you think about it," he says, "[Charles] Mingus, Cecil and Ornette were already stretching out before the '60s. They really led the way into the rebellion and the iconoclasm in the music that happened in the '60s. "Not only in jazz but in the other arts as well. Changes everywhere — painting, photography, writing, pop music think about Jimi Hendrix — directly reflecting everything that was happening." Oklahoma-born Rivers was working with Miles Davis in the early '60s. By middecade he was involved with activities surrounding Bill Dixon's edgy Jazz Composers Guild. "People couldn't quite figure out where I was coming from," he says. "When I came to New York, I was playing with Miles Davis. Then I went with Cecil Taylor, and everybody seemed to think that was what I did. Then, later, when I went with Dizzy Gillespie, they said, 'What is Sam Rivers the avant-gardist doing with Dizzy?' But I think I really benefited from the different things I did. I'm one of the few players who felt comfortable about crossing back and forth." His own recordings began to be released in the mid-'70s, including the highly regarded "Fuchsia Swing Song." In 1970, he and his wife, Beatrice, founded Studio Rivbea, a pioneering location in the Manhattan loft-jazz scene that became a vital part of cutting-edge jazz for the balance of the century. In the '80s, after returning from yet another lengthy tour — this time with Gillespie — Rivers decided he'd had his New York experience and began to think about moving. Serendipitously, he received an offer to move to Orlando, Fla. "I was offered an orchestra to work with," he says, "to play my music, try new things, the sort of orchestra we'd had at the studio. And sure enough here I am, pretty much working with the same musicians I've had for more than a decade. They're all teachers at various universities along with some studio players and some musicians from Disney too." "It's a good situation, very conducive to my 'creative posture,' " he adds with another laugh. "I get a lot of work done, I have a group of good players that play my music every Wednesday night and I occasionally get out on tour with my trio." Given the effect that the '60s had on his creative development, has Rivers' comfortable life in Florida affected his interest in stretching the envelope? "Not at all," he says. "The orientation may be different, but creativity is creativity. You start with nothing, no plan, and you make something out of it. Back in the '70s, I had a group — with [bassist] Dave Holland and [guitarist] Barry Altschul doing exactly that: performing 2 1/2 hours with no music, just spontaneous creativity, making cohesive performances. And that's still where my heart is. Sometimes I do it on the spot with the trio. Sometimes I write it down for a large group. "After all," Rivers concludes, "composing — by any composer — is really a matter of writing down the improvisations that you hear in your head. And those spontaneous creations just keep on coming." * The Sam Rivers Trio Where: The Jazz Bakery, 3233 Helms Ave., L.A. When: Tonight-Sunday, 8 and 9:30 p.m. Price: $25 Contact: (310) 271-9039

Before I add a post, I just have to take a moment to say that this very well may be the SILLIEST thread yet: "Hello, my name is Iron James Read and I'm a pirate..." Had to do a Pirate Translation on a Dusty Groove catalogue description: The pirate speaks, "John Patton -- Got A Good Thin' Goin' . . . CD . . . $10.99 List Price: $11.98 (Item: 51439) Blue Note, Mid-60s Condition: New Copy View Cart A classic by Big John Patton! T'master organ player be joined by Grant Green on guitar, and t'much-overlooked drummer Hugh Walker -- a fantastic player on t'kit, little known, but who played with this incredible "skippin'" groove -- one that sounds that reminds us a loto'someo't'work that Joe Dukes did with Jack McDuff in t'60s! There's no bass on t'set at all -- and Walker's drums combine with added conga from Richard Landrum -- givin' t'songs an extra roll, and a modal approach that expands Patton's sound past his usual gutbuckety soul jazz!"

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!! Well, at least I got the joke!

Any opinions of the live Fantasy compilation McDuff cd, THE CONCERT DUFF? I'm about to download it from EMusic...

They also look okay in 800x600 if you use the "stretch" function in Windows.

Fascinating link, Lon. Good find. Thing is, I know I've seen that quote attributed to Monk IN PRINT more than once. Can't remember where tho...

Over the years I've seen the quote, "Writing about jazz is like dancing about architecture," attributed to several people but most often to Thelonius Monk. Does anybody know if Monk actually said it? If he didn't, who did?

btw, if you haven't seen it already TIME magazine did a fine cover story on Cash. Richard Corliss wrote a wonderful piece. Here's the link: The Man In Black

Spreading the word of jazz is pretty much the only proselytzing I ever do...

I'm guilty as charged! Take me away! But where to, the boobie-hatch or jazz jail?????