Christiern

No, Lois knows better than to contact me again. I am not at all surprised to learn that she is trying to lure people over with Stanley as bait. The reason I bid her forever farewell (a couple of years ago, I think) was her underhanded use of our posts to generate controversy. There had been a discussion of Stanley where I was among a number of posters who criticized his work and opportunistic behavior. Lois sent the thread (or selected posts) to Stanley, asking him to sign in and respond. That produced the first self-serving rant from him and led to a rather long thread. As you know, her latest invitation resulted in an even longer, more meaningless thread that now has become an internal, often nasty, quarrel over race. I wonder if she realizes how clueless her own posts make her look and how bad the Stanley thread makes her forum look. I think her interest would be better served if she could hide that thread. Anyway, it all comes back to an ill-advised PR attempt. She does nothing to improve the environment at JC and when her "celebrity" ass-licking makes her defend the likes of Stanley at the expense of her faithful, long-time posters (the people he so condescendingly refers to as "minor men"), you know that her priorities are severely warped. I used to recommend JC to musicians and friends, but Lois's m.o. is why I left and will never return. I wonder if Stanley us aware of the fact that he is being used?

I took my own advice and checked out the JC thread again. Wow! Crouch's "minors" are doing some major posting, the thread now has over 1,100 posts and has deteriorated into a pixel ping pong on racism, served by the usual suspects and fueled by the mistress herself. Everything that was saved up for a rainy day is pouring forth and I am glad to see that most of my old favorites are staying out of this one.

I have tried a few of these and they are great fun as they eat up one's time. My problem is that I have yet to make a safe landing--takeoffs are relatively easy, even for me. I use a Mac and I think my favorite simulater was called X-plane (or something like that).

In Denmark, FN=UN (Forenede Nationer).

"Dude, what is your problem? Another post like this and you're gone."

We've had our nasty exchanges, Dan, but I think we both ended up rising above the friction. It is so easy to misjudge people when all you have to go by is a few million pixels.

I have had nasty online exchanges that eventually did u-turns. It's always nice when that happens. As to what it is that makes people show their fangs online, I think two major factors are anonymity and the fact that there is no physical contact--these circumstances easily turn cowards into pixel slinging bullies. Years ago, when I was in broadcasting, the station and individual on-air people regularly received extremely nasty letters from listeners who--for one reason or another--needed to vent. These letters and cards almost never bore a name or an address. We used to refer to them as crank letters and we took them in stride--it was par for the course. Some writers were regulars and the content of their mail was very reminiscent of the kind of thing we are seeing on the internet--that cry for attention that we call "trolling." Like radio, computers seem to have been invented for the loner who sees the outside world as his/her masked ball. Exceedingly shy people (and I used to be one of them) often become comedians--psychiatrists probably have a name and explanation for that, I just have the personal experience. I still become very nervous when called upon to appear before an audience, whether it is for a book reading or to give a talk, or even just to perform an introduction. All that reserve was instantly wiped away when I was alone in a radio studio, doing my thing. The difference, of course, was that I could not see my audience, that I did not know whether I was entertaining people or making them reach for that dial. I see a parallel between that and the anonymity inherent in online board activity. Now, like Joel, I have never hidden behind a handle. True, most people don't automatically link "Chris A" to Chris Albertson, but board regulars don't have to Google to find my identity. So, when I express a controversial or unpopular opinion, I am not hiding behind a pseudonym. People who have seen my posts through the years know that I am often critical of people who mask themselves on line, but only if they launch personal attacks from behind a handle. I think that it is a cowardly thing to do, because whatever is said probably would not have been said if the confrontation was face to face. Other than that, I am okay with cyber IDs. Let me say here that I am as guilty as the next poster when it comes to lashing out (witness my ongoing exchange with Conrad), but I try to keep it somewhat civil. I have been called all kinds of names by other posters, but rarely do I think the mutual antagonism is irreparable. As you point out, Joel, PMs can work wonders. I think that points to a major reason why two posters, essentially strangers, sometimes find themselves at each other's throat. In our case, we are brought together by a common interest in jazz. All jazz not being the same, our likes and dislikes differ, so we have that as a potential basis for argument, but rarely do I see people erupting over the merits of Bechet versus Ayler (although that could happen)--no, we get into heated, escalating arguments over the very same subjects that have started bar brawls through the centuries: religion and politics. The bar brawls are usually fueled by alcohol and the participants are often people who have a tendency to get physical or become verbally abusive. Many of us, the very same people who fly off the handle on these boards, would never attract the attention of a bouncer. However, we are quick to misconstrue the words of a poster about whom we really know nothing. That, I firmly believe, is the problem--we have only limited knowledge of each other outside of that which can be gained from the board. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, but it can also prevent it from surfacing. Posters who have met in person are not as likely to engage in embarrassing exchanges--sure, they might disagree, but politely. If I know you very well, chances are that I will also know and understand why your view opposes mine. I don't know if I have made any sense, but I do know that I have rambled on unmercifully, and, for that, I apologize.

Hi Jeff, Guess I sized Lois up correctly the first time she invited Stanley over. Had Rainy pegged, too. Well, I'm glad that I am long out of there. Chris

Well?

Atlee was on hand in February of 1971 when Ray Draper brought his group for an appearance on my TV series, "The Jazz Set." It was the first time I met Bu, but Ray had been telling me about here for a long time. Ray Draper and the New Island Social Club Ray (tuba, baritone horn, vocals and perc.); Atlee Chapman (valve tbn); Clive Stevens (sop and ts); Bu Pleasant (organ and voc); Stu Williamson (bs); Richard Crooks (dms). Somewhere, there is a tape of this show.

If Watson isn't an idiot, he does a convincing, consistent job of playing one in print.

"the legendary Bobbi Humphrey"????? Nothing legendary about here--for that matter, nothing musical, either. But they do surround here with fine players--she's the fly in the ointment.

Happy Birthday, Joel! I vaguely recall being that young.

Thanks, Chuck. I have a certain interest in the royal families of Europe, but not in inbreeding, per se.

What is the "Funny Rat" thread and how can I get to it?

I wondered what happened to that condom!

I'm glad you like the album, Ubu. I don't recall this session, specifically, because I did several with Lonnie at that time, but he was easy to work with. Of course, I had gotten to know him quite well, so we spent more time out of the studio than in it. I don't have the album, so I can't tell if the following repeats parts of my notes, but it is an excerpt from a piece I wrote for a book, Bluesland (Dutton 1991) and undoubtedly long out of print. This extract deals with how I met Lonnie: Over the years, jazz writers have shown a tendency to turn somewhat morbid when dealing with blues singers. If the gloom wasn't there, they often invented it—God forbid that a singer of sad songs should lead a happy life. This is not to say that Lonnie Johnson's was a bowl of cherries, but neither were things as hopeless as Samuel Charters pictured them in his 1959 book Country Blues. A chapter devoted to Lonnie had him living in Cincinnati that year, "not well, and doing very little musically." It described him as a sad person who had gone through life as a loner and become "a sick man, shabbily dressed," too ashamed to show his face. "For Lonnie," read the tear-wrenching summation, "it has been a long road, without much of an end." It had, indeed, been a long road, but one paved with triumph as well as tragedy, and it was far from over. In 1958, when I had a daily show on Philadelphia jazz station WHAT-FM, Lonnie's records frequently graced my turntables. I had always admired his versatility, and I relished treating my listeners to the breadth of his artistry: the superb plaintive blues, the racy double entendre duets with Victoria Spivey and Spencer Williams, the pioneering instrumental duets with guitarist Eddie Lang, and his dazzling guitar solos on classic Armstrong and Ellington sides. Lonnie Johnson was an outstanding blues artist and composer, but his influence stretched far beyond the idiom with which he was most closely identified; his intricate twelve-string guitar work of the twenties is the foundation for much of the music we hear today. Being a recent immigrant from Denmark—where the government-operated radio afforded jazz as much reverence as it did any other important art forms—I was astonished to find that Lonnie Johnson's name was unfamiliar to many of my American listeners, even those who considered themselves to be dedicated jazz fans. The few who had heard of him, knew only of his commercial hits, songs like "He's a Jelly Roll Baker" and "Tomorrow Night," and I was determined to set the record straight, as it were. One morning, after playing some of his wonderful twenties sides, I wondered aloud what had happened to Lonnie Johnson, and the phone instantly lit up. The first caller was banjo player and former bandleader Elmer Snowden—then a parking lot attendant—who himself was a legendary figure, having introduced Duke Ellington to Harlem in 1922. Elmer reported that Lonnie had lived in Philadelphia for the past several years, and that he had seen him at a local supermarket the day before—so much for being down and out in Cincinnati. The next call came from a gentleman who worked at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel and had a coworker named Lonnie Johnson, but knew nothing of this man, a janitor, having a more glamorous past. That afternoon, the hotel's maintenance supervisor said he thought it unlikely that Johnson was a famous performer, but added "he might play guitar, because he's real careful with his hands, and always wears gloves to protect them." Indeed he did, and I recognized Lonnie Johnson instantly as he reported for his three-to-midnight shift that day The following Saturday afternoon, I arranged a small gathering at my apartment for the purpose of bringing Lonnie and Elmer to the attention of two top New York record producers who had accepted my invitation to come down. I had neither met nor spoken to John Hammond and Orrin Keepnews before, but the mere fact that they made the trip and seemed eager to hear Lonnie and Elmer gave me hope. My Philadelphia apartmen, 1959. Left to right: Lonnie Johnson, yours truly, John Hammond, unidentified drummer, Elmer Snowden. I still have my tapes from that gathering, so I don't rely on memory when I report that it was an evening filled with amazing music. Lonnie, a lean man with a misleading, perpetually sad face, looked much younger than his years. That afternoon, he was in a splendid mood as he exchanged stories with Elmer, a jolly, slightly overweight man who seemed gladly to accept second billing. There were many questions and compliments from Hammond and Keepnews—who represented Columbia and Riverside Records, respectively—but neither man seemed prepared to whisk anyone into a recording studio. A few days later, I took the tapes to Bob Weinstock, the owner of Prestige Records, who immediately approved the recording of an "exploratory" Lonnie Johnson album. A month later, when he heard the test pressing of Blues by Lonnie Johnson, Weinstock was so impressed that he signed Lonnie to a contract. Several albums followed, including Blues and Ballads, featuring Lonnie and Elmer together, and one that reunited Lonnie with an old studio partner from the twenties, Victoria Spivey Lonnie's career was once again heading up. Encouraged by Weinstock's reaction, and egged on by the kind of boldness that can only come from naïveté, I picked up the phone and called the William Morris Agency As it happened, my call was routed to a devoted Lonnie Johnson fan who was delighted to hear that he was alive well, and available. The result was a one-month booking at Chicago's Playboy Club, at $350 per week. I told Lonnie that I did not intend to make money on him, but that I expected to eventually be reimbursed for my expenses, which now included a tuxedo and a Gibson guitar. As it turned out, I was repaid a total of $25, but it was impossible to get angry with Lonnie; he had a way of looking as sad as his most poignant songs, and to know his background was to understand his fear of hitting the skids again. I understood that those who handled Lonnie's business matters in the past had not always done so honestly, so it was not surprising to find that he viewed my offer of nonprofit management with suspicion. In some ways, Lonnie was out to-get back some of the losses he had suffered at the hands of shady managers, club owners, and record company powers, but it was clear that he also bore some blame for past slides. This, the last in a series of comebacks, happened to be perfectly timed. America was experiencing a folk music revival that embraced ersatz "folkies" like the Kingston Trio, Bob Gibson, Oscar Brand, and Peter, Paul and Mary, but also focused renewed attention on the real thing, including the blues singers of the twenties. Young folk music fans were eager to learn more about men and women whose names appeared on time-worn 78-rpm record labels, and among them few performers had recorded as prolifically as Lonnie Johnson. As his name began to appear in newspapers, and his records were played on the air, Lonnie basked in his newfound celebrity status. Unlike previous peaks he had experienced, the crowds that now gathered around him consisted mainly of young white fans who were perhaps more attracted by the mystique of a legend stepping out of history than by anything he sang or played. They were full of questions about the artists he had worked with and about his own past, but Lonnie had few answers; there were times when all the attention seemed to overwhelm him, and while he responded politely to fans and press people, he hardly ever volunteered personal information. Even I found him reluctant to discuss his past, except to acknowledge that which had already been written.

Joel, I have always liked my metaphors mixed (or ever-so-gently stirred).

Well, he must be having a ball with all the attention he is receiving here and at JC because the squealing has been long and loud. No one is squealing, madame Fuller, and if he is having a ball, it's because the likes of him cares more about being paid attention to than he does about the nature of that attention. His apparently insatiable ego is so inflated that it has taken to the air and made him look down upon us mere mortals. He is a blathering Hindenburg. BTW, may we ask that you keep your deck of R cards neatly tucked in you bosom? We don't like to play that here.

The late and not lamented Frank Kofsky regularly stumbled over his Marxism.

Here's a clickable version of the Popsie link.

...and he puffed and puffed and puffed. That ego seems to grow with every embarrassing post. What a colossal jerk Stanley turned out to be!

I wonder if he would review Stanley's book?

A good number of my pixels would have taken another direction and I might be on another book tour now, I'd certainly know a lot less about a number of things, and I would have been robbed of some truly enjoyable cyber acquaintances, some of which materialized over beer and such.

Had there been no response here, Jim, I could see your point, but 115 and counting?