Christiern

Somebody has probably mentioned these before, but, just in case, you can't go wrong with the Lionel Hampton small group Victor sessions. He left few swing musicians out--there's even Dizzy Gillespie, sounding very much like Eldridge.

The Trio made one album for Riverside--it did not do well. Anyway, here's some bio info on the group's pianist: Walter Norris Classical piano studies with John H. Summers from age four and a half until eighteen. Working professionally (`44-`50) with Howard William’s 19 piece band in Little Rock; also in '49 with Bitsy Mullin's tentet. After graduating from High School, June `50, he joined Mose Allison’s Quartet but left in August `50 to serve with the U.S. Air Force in Japan and Korea. Returning from Asia, summer of `52, he was engaged for six months with Jimmy Ford’s Quartet in Houston, Texas. In `53, he formed a trio for his nine month stay at the El Morocco in Las Vegas before moving on to Los Angeles where he worked in the quartets of Stan Getz, Dexter Gordon, Johnny Griffin, Teddy Edwards, Zoot Sims, Howard McGhee, Buddy DeFranco, Herb Geller, Charlie Ventura; plus the quintets of Frank Rosolino-Charlie Mariano, Ornette Coleman-Don Cherry and Shorty Rodgers-Bill Holman…all during the period between `54 and `60. Next, he journeyed to New York spending `60-`62 at the Embers and Roundtable as intermission pianist. He also joined, in '61, bassist, Hal Gaylor and guitarist, Billy Bean to recorded 'The Trio' for Riverside Records before accepting employment as pianist and eventually Musical Director of the New York Playboy Club from `63 until `70. During this time, he attended Manhattan School Of Music where he studied, as piano major, five and a half years with Heida Hermanns and continued further studies, privately, with pianist, Linda Kessler-Ferri of New York City. After four years of freelancing and teaching, he joined the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra which toured throughout the United States, three times in Europe, Scandinavia twice and once in Japan. He left the Jones-Lewis Orchestra in Munich, January `76, for seven months in Scandinavia playing solo, duo with Red Mitchell, in quartet with Dexter Gordon and quintet with Red Rodney-Zoot Sims before returning to New York City, September `76, to become a member of Charles Mingus` Quintet. In January `77, he signed a five year contract with the Sender Freies Berlin Radio Orchestra establishing residence in Berlin, Germany. He joined the faculty of Hochschule der Künste as Guest-Professor for Piano Improvisation in April `84 and continued through February `94. Also throughout this period, he performed concerts each year in New York and California where in `90 he accepted a five- year recording contract with Concord Jazz, Inc. He toured Japan in `94 with the Fujitsu-Concord "Jazz Summit" Festival. In addition to becoming a Steinway Artist in `95, he was selected for Arkansas` Hall Of Fame by the Jazz Heritage Foundation. In August `98, he formed Sunburst Recordings, Inc. In 2003, he was inducted into Arkansas' Entertainer's Hall of Fame.

I have tried to delete this thread twice, using the recommended "Moderation Options," but it won't go away. BTW, both failed attempts were done when the thread consisted solely of my initial post.

Bill Cosby (in 1959/60 when he was unknown) used to call me to complain when I played the Hot Fives or glorious Duke recordings of the 20s and 30s on my radio show. He wondered why I played this "Uncle Tom music." Sometimes he referred to it as "Mickey Mouse music."

Treasury broadcast No. 18. Radio City Studio 6B, NYC - August 11, 1945 (Theme)Take the "A" Train What Am I Here For? Blue is the Night Ellington Bond promo The Wish I Wish Tonight (vocal Joya Sherrill) Someone (Theme)Take the "A" Train Harlem Air Shaft Out of This World (vocal Kay Davis) Midriff Everything but You (vocal Joya Sherrill) Ring Dem Bells Mood to be Wooed Ellington Bond promo Emancipation Celebration--into broadcast close NBC broadcast from The New Zanzibar, NYC - September 26, 1945 (Theme)Take the "A" Train Suddenly It Jumped Laura Kissing Bug (vocal Joya Sherrill) Stompy Jones Solid Old Man Carnegie Blues In a Mellotone Fancy Dan (Theme)Take the "A" Train and close Treasury broadcast No. 19. Radio City Studio 6B, NYC - August 18, 1945 (Theme)Take the "A" Train Work Song - from Black, Brown, and Beige Ellington Bond promo The Blues (vocal Marie Ellington) West Indian Dance- from Black, Brown, and Beige Ellington Bond promo Come Sunday/Light- from Black, Brown, and Beige (Theme)Take the "A" Train - intpo station break (Theme)Take the "A" Train - and broadcast return Subtle Slough Ellington Bond promo Blue Skies I Ain't Got Nothin' but the Blues (vocal Al Hibbler and Kay Davis) Riff Staccato (vocal Ray Nance) Bugle Breaks Kissing Bug (vocal Joya Sherrill) Ellington Bond promo Suddenly It Jumped Warm Valley into broadcast close CBS broadcast from the 400 Restaurant, NYC - May 4, 1945 (Theme)Take the "A" Train I Miss Your Kiss He's Home for a Little While (vocal Joya Sherrill) Riff Staccato (vocal Ray Nance) I Ain't Got Nothin' but the Blues (vocal Al Hibbler and Kay Davis) I'm Beginning to See the Light (vocal Joya Sherrill) "The Jaywalker" - Duke Ellington & His Orchestra 1966-1967 The Shepherd Up Jump Rue Bleu Chromatic Love Affair Salomé Blood Count El Viti Kixx Eggo I'm Hip Too Amta Warr Little Purple Flower Traffic Cop Untitled Blues Policia The B. O. of Traffic Mac Traffic Extension Star Cross Climax B. O. Man Tin Soldier Cootie Williams, Cat Anderson, Herbie Jones, Mercer Ellington (trumpets);Buster Cooper, Lawrence Brown, Chuck Connors (trombones); Jimmy Hamilton (Cl. and tenor sax); Russell Procope (alto sax and cl.); Johnny Hodges (alto sax); Paul Gonsalves (tenor sax); Harry Carney (baritone sac, cl. and bass cl.); Duke (piano); John Lamb (bass); Sam Woodyard (drums). Track 7:RCA Studios, NYC - March 29, 1966 Track 23: Add Emmanual Abdul-Rahim (conga) and replace Woodyard with Rufus Jones. RCA Studios, NYC - August 18, 1966. Tracks 14-22: Same as track 23 except Bobby Durham replaces Rufus Jones. RCA Studios, NYC - March 23, 1967. Tracks 8-13: Chris Columbo replaces Bobby Durham. April 4, 1967. Tracks 1-6: RCA Studios, Los Angeles - June 23, 1967

I just heard that R.T. Davies has died at the age of 77. There was no better sound engineer for restoration of vintage recordings. I just discovered that there is already a thread devoted to this sad news. Can't delete this one, but someone ought to.

And here's a 2-CD set of Albert Ammons, Pete Johgnson, and Meade Lux Lewis--collectively known as The Boogie Woogie Trio. There are 45 selections. These are the same recordings that previously appeared individually as STCD 8025 and 8026...

Here are a couple of Ellington Storyvilles I received today. I'll furnish details if anyone is interested...

Somebody probably told a previous owner where he could stick the Sam Most LP--and he did.

I live in a building that was completed in 1929, so it has walls that are far thicker than anything built around here today. The Negro Ensemble used to rehearse in the apartment next to mine and while I could always hear the actors when I stepped off the elevator, nothing ever came through the wall. I have only had one problem, and I was the noisy neighbor. Geoffrey Holder brought over a tape he wanted me to hear. It was something he had put together for Alvin Ailey, a voodoo thing with lots of loud, deep drums. I had two huge studio speakers at the time, so the sound was, admittedly, voluminous. I was in the kitchen making drinks when the doorbell rang. Geoffrey answered it. It was my new upstairs neighbor, a little Wall Street broker, slight of build and somewhat mousey. If you don't know what Geoffrey Holder looks like, let me say that he is a very large, imposing man with a deep, resonant voice. You can imagine the shock my neighbor had when Geoffrey opened the door and he had to look up. My neighbor later told me that he had come prepared to read me the riot act, but the sight of this large man, whom he instantly recognized as the "Un-cola Man," took the bombast out of him. He almost became apologetic as he wondered if we could "turn the bass down a little bit."

I wouldn't think so. Invision is a different software company, as far as I know. I hope the new version allows and .

Apropos the unwanted. AAJ has welcomed Heaney ("hardbop") back, so I'll not post there in the foreseeable future. I know that every board eventually has its troll(s), but Heaney's little Amazon adventure secured for him a special place in the gutter. I do, however, regard AAJ as a fine site, and I feel grateful to Michael for giving Organissimo a rallying thread.

Well, you asked for it. It's long, because I lifted it from my book. BTW, Thanks for posting that photo.--Chris Since first experiencing Bessie in person at the Orpheum, Van Vechten had seen her perform on several occasions, and his enthusiasm never diminished. But memorable as she was on stage, Bessie made a more lasting impression when she played jester to Van Vechten’s court of celebrities on an April evening in 1928. That week, Bessie was at the Lafayette Theater with her latest production, Mississippi Days, an extravaganza that boasted a cast of forty-five “noted” performers, and was billed as a “Musical Comedy Triumph.” Much of the show’s success was owed Bessie’s new musical director, a shy young man named Porter Grainger, who composed and arranged all the music. Bessie was as impressed by Porter’s work as she was by his handsome looks, but she did think him a bit pretentious at times. Ruby recalled that Bessie’s reaction to Porter’s refined mannerisms and sartorial elegance was often a request that he snap out of it. “C’mon down front, now you’re with me,” she would order. Although he had a decided predilection for other men, Porter so respected and feared Bessie that he had on a couple of occasions submitted to her desires and bedded her. Of course Bessie had been around the block a few times, so she knew of Porter’s preferences, but he had been a good sport and now there was an opportunity for her to return the favor. Porter harbored a burning desire to be accepted into Van Vechten’s social inner circle. It was a privilege the writer bestowed on few black people, but Porter met all the qualifications and so it was no surprise that Van Vechten extended him an invitation to one of his elegant gatherings. There was, however, a stipulation: Van Vechten wanted Porter to bring Bessie. “Of course Porter would have done anything to be invited, so he kept after Bessie to go,” said Ruby. “Bessie wasn’t interested, she had no use for being around a bunch of rich white people, but she finally gave in—because Porter kept asking her, and I guess she got tired of listening to him.” Since the Lafayette ran a film before each stage show, there would be time for Bessie to spend a good hour at the the party. Van Vechten made it as convenient as possible by arranging to have a limousine pick them up right after one show and bring them back in time for the next. There were those who felt that Porter Grainger’s neatly pressed suits, spats, and walking stick were his way of commanding attention in the prestigious world of the white man. To gain entry into that world, a black person either had to imitate white standards with some degree of success or, like Bessie, be gifted with an extraordinary talent. In neither case would a black person be accepted as an equal. “Carlo pampered people like Leontyne Price,” said the late Fannie Hurst, “but he would never think of inviting a Negro elevator operator to his home.” That Bessie and Porter were expected to entertain Van Vechten’s guests was a given—black people, even the famous, were rarely invited to homes of the white upper class for mere conversation. Grainger, of course, could offer Van Vechten more than his musical talent, but there was considerable competition in that arena—Bessie would smooth the way. Like most black people, Bessie instinctively sensed class-conscious attitudes and their racial overtones, which may be why she rarely made an effort to befriend white people, and when “dicty”6 black people rejected her for being too much the image from which they had escaped, she pretended not to care. “Bessie would pay these uppity Negroes no mind,” said Ruby, “but I could tell that she was hurt inside when they didn’t want nothing to do with her—her own people, you know.” Bessie could have played the game, for it was well within her means to take up residence in Merrick Park, Long Island, where successful black entertainers and other well-to-do black people had established a colony, but she had no such inclination. “She would have been very unhappy with those people and their fancy homes,” Ruby suggested, “because that wasn’t Bessie.” It was equally difficult for the Merrick Park crowd to relate to Bessie; her prominence as an artist precluded their total rejection of her, but to them she was unforgivably crude; they were made uneasy by her lack of tact and the fact that she could see right through them. “Sometimes Bessie liked to dress up in expensive fur coats that really looked like money,” recalled Ruby, “but she never put on airs, not Bessie. She wasn’t going to change for anyone, she just wanted people to like her for what she was—a real person. She pretended she didn’t care how people felt about her, but she really felt left out sometimes—not by white people; she really didn’t care how they felt—she just loved her own people, and she hated to see them trying to act so dicty6 and white.” Considering her attitude, it is surprising that Bessie agreed to appear at the Van Vechten party. One could speculate that it was a paid engagement, but Ruby thought that to be unlikely; she probably did it strictly as a favor to Porter Grainger, knowing how important such social contacts were to him. Whatever the reason, she did go, and she went in style. She also insisted that Ruby come along, which she gladly did. “We still had one more show to do, so there wasn’t a lot of time,” Ruby recalled, “but Bessie wanted to show these people some style. She really didn’t want to go, but she was doing it for Porter, because she was kind of sweet on him. They had a little affair going, but he wasn’t too interested in her—not that way, because women wasn’t what he really wanted, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Bessie had on her ermine coat, and she had me dressed up in her mink.” As her thoughts went back to that evening, Ruby remembered thinking that this was about the grandest place she had seen. “It looked like the Waldorf or the Astor,” she said. After an elevator ride and a short walk down a carpeted hallway, they were met by a maid, at the apartment door. “She was white,” said Ruby. “I never saw a white maid before.” Beyond the small foyer a sea of faces turned towards the new arrivals; curious guests piercing the smoky perfumed air with stares that blended outer warmth with cautious curiosity. Some of the guests undoubtedly shared their host’s genuine admiration for Bessie’s artistry, but she could hardly have failed to realize that in this environment she was looked upon more as a novelty than an extraordinary artist and peer. Van Vechten’s own recollection appeared in a 1947 issue of Jazz Record magazine. It is at slight variance with those of Ruby and some of his guests: George Gershwin was there and Marguerite d’Alvarez and Constance Collier, possibly Adele Astaire. The drawing room was well filled with sophisticated listeners. Before she could sing, Bessie wanted a drink. She asked for a glass of straight gin, and with one gulp she downed a glass holding nearly a pint. Then, with a burning cigarette depending from one corner of her mouth, she got down to the blues, really down to ‘em, with Porter at the piano. I am quite certain that anybody who was present that night will never forget it. This was no actress, no imitator of a woman’s woes; there was no pretense. It was the real thing—a woman cutting her heart open with a knife until it was exposed for us all to see, so that we suffered as she suffered, exposed with a rhythmic ferocity, indeed, which could hardly be borne. In my own experience, this was Bessie Smith’s greatest performance. It would appear that Van Vechten’s memory failed him on one count, for Bessie’s singing style and stage demeanor was hardly of the dangling cigarette variety—she didn’t even smoke, at least not tobacco. While he was overly dramatic in his description of Bessie’s performance, he prudently left out of his story the real drama of the evening. Van Vechten’s assertion that “anybody who was present that night will never forget it,” was undoubtedly correct, but it was not Bessie’s singing that made this party so memorable. The following account is a composite based on the published recollections of Van Vechten and Langston Hughes, and interviews with veteran character actor Leigh Whipper and Ruby. The maid offered to take her coat, but Bessie’s brushed her aside and breezed past the welcoming party into the next room. Barely visible in the oversized mink, Ruby trailed behind her—“It was so big, you couldn’t even see me! I could wrap it around me several times,” she recalled. Bringing up the rear was Porter Grainger, elegantly dressed and somewhat nervous. As he moved slowly behind Ruby, she remembers looking back and seeing him graciously return smiles, almost apologetically—the smiles Bessie had ignored. Taking no notice of a chorus of salutatory “Oh, Miss Smiths,” Bessie, cold sober at this point, did not come to a halt until someone mentioned a drink. It was her host, Van Vechten, radiating the sort of glee a celebrity hunter might exhibit upon having at last captured his prey. “How about a lovely, lovely dry martini?,” he suggested, clasping his hands together. “Whaaat—a dry martini?” bellowed Bessie. “Ain’t you got some whiskey, man? That’Il be the only way I’ll touch it. I don’t know about no dry martinis, nor wet ones either.” “Of course,” Van Vechten replied. “I think we can conjure up something you like,” he purred, and disappeared to fulfill Bessie’s request. Turning to Ruby, Bessie noticed her tripping over the enormous mink. “Take that damn thing off,” she ordered, handing her the ermine to hold. Thoroughly embarrassed by Bessie’s brazenness, Porter pretended to be oblivious to her little scene and began to distancing himself from Bessie and Ruby. He sought to blend, as best he could, into the genteel atmosphere of the drawing room as Ruby, hidden behind the huge fur coats she carried, stumbled to the side of the foyer. Because they were only to stay there a short time, no one bothered to relieve Ruby of the coats. “I didn’t even get a drink,” she complained, “but I had a ringside seat.” Contralto Marguerita d’Alvarez now stood by the piano, talking to her accompanist as guests began to gather around. Returning with Bessie’s drink, Van Vechten paused at the opera singers’s side long enough to make a brief announcement, Madam d’Alvarez would sing an aria. Then he moved on, graciously making his way over to Bessie. He handed her the drink and she promptly downed it, handed the empty glass back to her host and said. “I think I’ll have another one of those.” Ms. d’Alvarez began singing her aria and Ruby remembered hearing it, but she could not see very far into the living room from where she sat. She thus did not notice, as Langston Hughes did, that Bessie was riveted by the operatic performance and that she walked over to Ms. d’Alvarez when it was over, slapped her on the back, and advised, “Honey, don’t let nobody tell you you can’t sing.” Then she turn and walked back to VamVechten, mumbling something about her throat being dry. Porter had been standing off to the side, horrified and embarrassed, but Van Vechten motioned for him to come over—it was time for Bessie’s performance. He walked them over to the piano and disappeared briefly to return with another drink for Bessie. She gulped it down and handed her empty glass to Van Vechten for another refill. Someone asked her what she was going to sing. “Don’t you worry about it,” she said. “My piano player knows.” Porter Grainger smiled shyly and went into the opening bars of “Work House Blues.” With her subtle, sensual movements and heaving bosom, Bessie mesmerized her audience. The guests listened attentively as she delivered her tale of hard times. Perhaps not everyone understood Bessie’s words, but as they cut through the scented air and novelty became art, they surely understood why Carlo had offered this treat. Ruby recalled that Bessie sang six or seven numbers, but that is probably an exaggeration. Leigh Whipper recalled hearing only two or three and that each one was followed by enthusiastic applause. There were apparently also further requests for refills, which made porter increasingly uneasy. Only he and Ruby knew what effect the refills were having on Bessie. It was therefore a relief when she finished a number and announced, “This is it!” “Bessie was good and drunk when she finished her last song,” said Ruby. “So Porter came over to me and said ‘Let’s get her out of here quick, before she shows her ass.’ We got her coat on her and got her to the front door when all of a sudden this woman comes out of nowhere. ‘Miss Smith, you’re not leaving without kissing me goodbye,’ she said.” As she stood facing her, the diminutive lady raised herself up on her toes and threw her arms around Bessie’s neck. Porter’s fears were coming true, Bessie was about to fly off the handle. Almost hanging on her neck, the lady started to pull Bessie down to her level, but she did not get far. Suddenly, she went off. “It was a mess,” said Ruby. “Bessie screamed ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ and she pushed her arms out, throwing the poor woman to the floor. Then she said ‘I ain’t never heard of such shit!’—and poor Porter, he would have done anything to be with that crowd, but now Bessie had done shown her ass to all them people. I felt so sorry for him.” Even forty-three years later, Ruby had no idea who the effusive woman was, but Leigh Whipper, whose account of the incident was practically identical to Ruby’s, identified the lady on the floor as the evening’s hostess: Fania Marinoff Van Vechten. Following a painful silence, Van Vechten and one of his guests helped his wife to her feet. Surrounded by stunned celebrities, Bessie stood in the middle of the foyer, ready to take on the whole crowd. Porter knew that she had only begun—it was time to get her out of there. He grabbing Bessie gently by one arm, he told Ruby to take the other; as guests—some horrified, others bemused—followed them with their stares, Ruby and Porter escorted the Empress out of the apartment and proceeded slowly down the hall towards the elevator. Van Vechten trailed closely behind, seemingly giving his review of the night’s performance. “It’s all right, Miss Smith,” he said softly, “you were magnificent tonight.” They had reached the elevator before it dawned on Bessie that she was actually being led away. Shouting “What the fuck are y’all pullin’ me all over the damn place for?,” she threw her arms in the air and this time almost knocked Ruby and Porter to the floor. When the elevator door opened, she quieted down, raised her head high, marched in past the startled operator, and sank to the floor in the corner of the car. “I don’t care if she dies,” sighed Porter, straightening the tam on his head. ©2003 Chris Albertson

GREAT TO HAVE THE BIG "O" BACK! Hope the tornado spared your homes, family and friends. Chris

Thank you, Dan. Thank you Lon--what an excellent suggestion

Empress Of The Blues Ep 1/6 9.30-10.00pm BBC RADIO 2 Tuesday 1 June 2004 For over 60 years, George Melly has had an enduring love affair with blues singer Bessie Smith and, through these six new programmes, he reassesses her enduring contribution to modern music. With the help of her biographer Chris Albertson, and rare archive material, George also helps to disentangle some of the legends and untruths that still surround Bessie’s colourful life. Contributors include Bill Wyman; Ottilie Patterson; playwright Edward Albee; and expert Dalton Roberts at the Bessie Smith Memorial Hall in her birthplace, Chattanooga. There is also a full interview with “the Rat”, the man who owns the hotel that was once the hospital where Bessie died. Considered one of the greatest blues singers of all time, Bessie Smith, in many ways, was also the most tragic. Her story is one of early phenomenal success followed by career doldrums, with a resurgence of interest in her cut short by her death at 43. She was killed in an automobile accident in 1937, which was misreported and led to the myths which persist to this day: that Bessie was taken to a white hospital, where she was refused entry, and that the extra time it took to transport her to a black hospital contributed to her death. Bessie created many definitive versions of such blues and jazz standards as St Louis Blues (accompanied by Louis Armstrong) and the risqué Empty Bed Blues and Kitchen Man, as well as Alexander’s Ragtime Band and After You’ve Gone. She herself wrote many lyrics that reflected her bitter-sweet life. Other artists have performed her material over the years and still sing much of it today, including George, who explores its appeal. Presenter/George Melly, Producer/Neil Rosser BBC Radio 2 Publicity

This is shameless self-promotion, a review of my Bessie Smith biography from the Times Literary Supplement (London). Friday 7, May 2004 Biography Chris Albertson BESSIE 314pp. Yale University Press. £19.95 (US $29.95) 0 300 09902 9 In the epilogue to this revised and expanded edition of his biography of Bessie Smith, Chris Albertson quotes Warner Brothers' reader's report on the original edition published in 1972: "Bessie Smith was not on drugs, and this is not the five-handkerchief stuff that Lady Sings the Blues is made of”. Nevertheless, there was considerable film interest, in the wake of Diana Ross's impersonation of Billie Holiday, with Dionne Warwick, Cicely Tyson and Roberta Flack considered for separate projects, one of which got off the ground. As the proprietary guardian of the flame, Albertson seems caught between disappointment and relief, confident that his vivid account of Smith's career as a heavyweight "rambunctious diva" would make a great screen biography, but dismissive of all Hollywood's attempts to produce a jazz-related film that does its subject justice. Seeking justice for Bessie has been a life's work for Albertson, and this reissue is greatly to be welcomed. In many ways an exemplary biography, it charts its subject's development as a artist, placing considerable emphasis on the degree to which, at the time of her death in a road accident (inaccurately mythologized by John Hammond's sensationalist report in Down Beat, 1937, and perpetuated by Edward Albee's 1960 play The Death of Bessie Smith), she was in the process of re-establishing herself as a performer and extending her repertoire well beyond the recorded legacy of the blues on which her reputation rests and which Albertson analyses with informed appreciation. Relating the events of Bessie's wayward, often violent, private life, her experience of racism when on tour and her dealings with those who sought to get the better of her either by patronizing or by carelessly lighting her dangerously short fuse, Albertson comes up with plenty of five-handkerchief stuff--though in this case, the handkerchiefs are mainly needed to mop up the blood, much of it shed by Bessie herself. With the collaboration of interviewees, chief among whom is Ruby Walker Smith--Bessie's niece by marriage, who regularly accompanied her on tour and whose stories, by his own delighted admission, left him numb on his side of the microphone--Albertson achieves a gripping, often moving, narrative. Ruby died in 1977 and, given the amount of Bessie which is recounted in her own words, it comes as no surprise to read in the acknowledgements that without her phenomenal memory and gift for storytelling this book could not have been written. JOHN MOLE

The wake for drummer Elvin Jones will be held: Monday, May 24, 2004 from 6:00 to 9:00 p.m. at Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home, 1076 Madison Avenue @ 81st Street, New York, NY 10028 (212) 288-3500 Funeral services will be private, but a memorial service will be announced at a later date.

...and many mo' better ones to come!

It is said that the new iPods will be able to send video images to a TV, wirelessly.

I figure it would take me one year and two months to listen to my CDs 24/7, and that is not taking into account the fact that my collection has not stopped growing.

She also had a highly individual piano and vocal style. It is an approach that I have never heard anyone attempt to emulate. Also, her rhythm sections were exceptional, including (on her 1947-49 Capitol sides): Billy Hadnott Lee Young Nappy Lamare Ulysses Livingstone Irving Ashby Sid Catlett Truck Parham John Collins

"Dixie" and traditional New Orleans jazz are not one and the same. I hope, for the audience's sake, that Wynton does not overdo the growls, as is his wont.

A rather long dream, wasn't it?

This link will give you some information. I believe she is still among the living--a wonderful artist who made many fine recordings for Capitol.