Larry Kart

Listened to 8(9) yesterday. Sound much better on this Membran CD set than on the dim noisy Vox LPs I have. I was bowled over by the performance. I have some other very good ones: the famous version by Furtwangler, Kempe on Capitol LP with the RPO from the late '50s (lovely, gentler than most), Bohm on DGG in a complete set, and maybe one by Maderna. Don't feel like comparing them all right now (I think that Maag might be at or near the top), but I'm forever in awe of the composition itself, maybe the greatest symphony by anyone IMO -- not only because of how thrilling what it does is but how perpetually novel what it does is, at least to me. Each time through I think I know where Schubert is going, and each time I'm somewhat or even a whole lot surprised -- this a function mostly of Schubert, not (I think) of poor memory on my part. And I've heard a lot of symphonies. Also, Abendroth, in the Furtwangler vein (though Abendroth's concert recording comes earlier) and maybe even more elemental. And another one, the conductor of which I don't recall, that somehow makes no percepitible tempo transition between the intro and the main section of the first movement -- IIRC because the underlying string figures of the intro are somehow already at the main section's tempo. Need to track that one down and listen again. Also, Klemperer, Bernstein (NY Phil.), and Toscanini (Philadelphia). Maybe it's AT that doesn't need to accelerate.

Oops - John S. authoritatively says it's Ronald Atkins.

My errror -- it's Roland Atkins, not Ronald. Terry Martin's two-part piece on Art Pepper has never been surpassed. Likewise, his piece on Ornette.

My first concert, JATP, Chicago Opera House, Oct. 2, 1955. From my book: "The first live jazz performance I heard was a Jazz at the Philharmonic concert that took place at the Chicago Opera House on October 2, 1955, with a lineup that included Roy Eldridge, Dizzy Gillespie, Flip Phillips, Illinois Jacquet , Lester Young, Oscar Peterson, Herb Ellis, Ray Brown, and Buddy Rich. Aware of the music for just five months, at age thirteen I knew the names of most of these musicians. And one of them, Eldridge, was a particular favorite because he seemed to speak so personally and openly through his horn, with such passion, genuineness, strength, and grit. (By contrast, I thought that Jacquet and Phillips’s tenor saxophone battles were exciting but mostly for show, not to be taken at face value.) Lester Young, however, was only a name to me; I’d yet to hear a note of his music. And partly because of that lack of context, much of what he played that afternoon struck me as very strange. (As it happens, the concert was recorded, and eventually released on the album 'Blues in Chicago 1955,' so I can place memories alongside what actually occurred.) Young was not in good shape on the1955 JATP tour, physically or emotionally. He would be hospitalized for several weeks that winter, suffering from alcoholism and depression, though he would recover sufficiently to make two of his best latter-day recordings, 'Jazz Giants ’56' and 'Pres and Teddy,' in mid-January 1956. But in the gladiatorial arena of Jazz at the Philharmonic, the wan, watery-toned Young I heard seemed to speak mostly of weakness, even of an alarming inability or unwillingness to defend himself. And yet this state of being was undeniably, painfully being expressed, though at times perhaps only out of dire necessity; the brisk tempo Gillespie set for the piece the two of them shared was one that Young could barely make. Then toward the end came a ballad medley, which began with Young’s slow-motion restatement of “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was.” That he seemed to be more in his element here was about all I realized at the time, though even that fact was provocative. And the recorded evidence confirms this, as Young bends a bare minimum of resources to the task -- as though he were saying “This is all I have” and asking “Is this not enough?” Admittedly, that is largely a present-day response to a performance that now seems remarkable to me. Yet something of that sort must have been crystallizing back then, because I was immediately eager to find out more about Lester Young. And when I did -- an album of vintage Basie material that included “Taxi War Dance” and the arrival of Jazz Giants ’56 were crucial -- number of doors began to open."

Check out the Metronome All-Star performance of "How High the Moon" IIRC, with Pres sotto voce and so subtle behind Eckstine and then a stunning solo from Warne Marsh on the uptempo segment. Afterwards, said Warne, Pres complimented him on what he had played.

A report on sound quality would be useful. IIRC the LP issue of "Crisis" (and perhaps of "Ornette at 12" too -- pretty sure I still have both) was no prize soundwise, although the music was a prize indeed. In particular, again IIRC, "Crisis" was recorded from the audience at a concert.

I have some Jazz Monthlys from that era. Some very smart people among the reviewers -- also (from that general era or shortly to come) Max Harrison, Terry Martin (my eventual good friend and fellow Chicagoan for many years now), Jack Cooke, Michel James, Ronald Atkins, et al. As in that Fox review, though, at times some of them could be dangerously ... "parochial" might be the right term -- this in part because most of their knowledge of recent/current U.S. developments was almost entirely confined to what recordings got through. Cooke (still active I believe) and James (who sadly died young) were especially good. Harrison at his best was absolutely brilliant, but he also could be prickly almost beyond belief.

C.F. is Charles Fox?

I was there that night. Just glorious.

Anthony Mann's with Jimmy Stewart (also his "Man of the West," with Gary Cooper, Lee J. Cobb, and Julie London), Budd Boetticher's with Randolph Scott, Andre De Toth's, mostly with Scott but don't miss the one with Robert Ryan, "Day of the Outlaw," with Burl Ives and Tina Louise.

Bought a copy of your "Unit[e]" at the Fest. Haven't listened yet but will do ASAP. About Roscoe's set, I may inadvertently have been measuring it against some 50 years of life-changing Roscoe performances. Wanted to catch some of the after-Fest events but body and mind weren't up to it, especially when the Fest listening begins around noon.

Never to my taste back then, though one had to acknowledge his skill, Berman was neurotic as hell. I had a sad encounter with him much later on, when he was doing dinner theater -- in this case a comedy where the "star" was the young actor who had played "Horshack" on "Welcome Back, Kotter." The production was pretty bad, almost certainly because the "Horshack" kid was a punk who was interested in more or less horsing around, not putting over the Neil Simon-like comedy (don't recall whether it was an actual Simon play, but like any piece of theater, the performers had to pay attention to what they were doing to put it over). In any case, I got an agonized letter from Berman a few days later, admitting that the show was not very good but that it wasn't his fault -- and it certainly was not. But boy was that letter agonized. P.S. Oddly enough, of all the many comics I got to talk to in my time at the paper, the most un-neurotic one was Bob Newhart.

Missed all of Saturday. There was only one band I really wanted to see, Mary Halvorsen's, and when I woke up I didn't feel like driving downtown and back and spending $36 to park to catch one 50-minute set. Thought I'd be better off buying some Halvorsen CDs. Among Sunday's highlights for me were the Jonathan Doyle Swingtet, kind of a personal variant on a Western Swing band, with two guitars used in large part as a section, compact catchy originals, a good cornetist (Dave Jellama) and trombonist (Mike Gonzales), and Doyle about as good a tenor saxophonist in that general vein as one could imagine -- swinging like crazy and melodically personal and inventive, he reminded me some of Dick Wilson (of Andy Kirk fame) or Julian Dash. Retro? Knowing Doyle from when he was based in Chicago some 15 years ago, I don't think so. Back then he was just following his own nose (and IIRC he came to town from Texas or Oklahoma), and certainly wasn't and isn't asking to have any badges pinned on him for playing that way; he's just doing what he digs. Lots of happy dancers to this band, quite spontaneously. Josh Berman quintet (Darius Jones alto, Jason Roebke bass, Michael Vatcher drums). Suddenly ( or so it seemed to me) Berman has broken through to a new level -- none of his former moments of coyness and cuteness (as charming as those could be at times), long hot lines, bouncing off of Vatcher's drumming as though they were one, Jones an ideal and often brilliant partner. In a nutshell, I think Josh is a player who had developed an effective and quite individual "style," but a style with limits; to that he now more or less has said "screw it --I'm going for more," though without in any way trashing his former musical self. More like a butterfly-chrysalis thing. Very heartening. A terrific set. Hope to heck this band records. Also, Roebke was just a beast. Louis Moholo-Moholo's 5 Blokes: For me a little went a long way. Saxophonist Shabaka Hutchings seemed to play the same folksy, hymn-like motifs throughout. Alexander Hawkins was a bright spot. Roscoe Mitchell: So shoot me, but I was disappointed. One long rather dour and mostly low-key piece, Roscoe soloing, when he did, on sopranino at his most squiggly. I was close to the stage and found it hard to pay full attention; can't imagine that it was effective for the good-sized crowd out there on the lawn. Alvin Fielder's drumming in solo and support was a highlight. Sheila Jordan: Sounded as good as ever at age 88! With Steve Kuhn, bassist David Wong, and Billy Drummond. Couldn't face Matt Wilson's Honey and Salt/tribute to Carl Sandburg band, and hadno interest in Rebirth Brass Band, so I headed home. To repeat the obvious, the above opinions are mine alone.

Caught them at the Chicago Jazz Fest last night. To quote Jim S., "I liked it more than my rational brain was telling me I should." And boy does the band play as a unit. Especially liked the drummer, Mark Guiliana. A one hour or so set, consistently gripping. Wouldn't be surprised if some good friends of mine who I think were there just hated it. Next time I see them I'll ask. Preceding band on the evening bill, drummer Dana Hall's Spring (reedmen Geoff Bradfield and John Wojciechowski, trumpeters/percussionists Etienne Charles and Victor Garcia, bassist Clark Summers), was in excellent form. Really hot music, very well rehearsed. Also enjoyed vibist Stu Katz's afternoon tribute to Shearing (with pianist Dan Trudell, guitarist Bobby Broom, bassist Dennis Carroll, drummer George Fludas). Stu really captured the vintage Shearing quintet's hallucinatory gliding time feel, the way they made almost every piece seem like it was in long meter. Trudell was good, but it was too bad that Stu couldn't have played both vibes and piano.

Love her recordings of Graupner.

I can't get along with someone who says, and does so in a pontificating manner, something as at once flippant and just plain stupid as "... Beethoven ... offered fast-scale passagework over varied textures.” Yes, Iverson can play, and he has a nice blog for the most part, but sometimes when he tries to think/starts to type, it's a train wreck. Who cares, in one sense, but if there is one person out there who ends up thinking, because someone said it in The New Yorker, that offering "fast-scale passagework over varied textures” has anything to do with any of the music that Beethoven is known for ... aiee!

Love J.C. Moses on this one. Also love the way Jordan's solos seems to be made of whole tunes.

"The change was the shape of the container. Bach and Parker built structures based on internal counterpoint, where the melodic impulse was true in every dimension, while Beethoven and Coltrane offered fast-scale passagework over varied textures.” Leaving Coltrane aside for the moment, if you think that Beethoven was about offering "fast-scale passagework over varied textures" -- good grief!

Good points above, but some facts got garbled. The person who said that thing about Kenton and Ellington was Andre Previn, not Gunther Schuller. Also, in the post I linked to from Darcy Jame Argue http://musicalexchange.carnegiehall.org/profiles/blogs/arranging-ellington-the-ellington-effect Argue shows in detail how, in the specific case of "Mood Indigo," no less a talented musician than Schuller (who certainly had an "ear"), both in his transcription of the opening of "Mood Indigo" and in his explanation of what Ellington was doing there, inaccurately described the specific decisions Ellington made.

André Previn: Further re: Ellington's methods, in a specific famous instance (where Gunther Schuller FWIW got it wrong): http://musicalexchange.carnegiehall.org/profiles/blogs/arranging-ellington-the-ellington-effect

Thanks. I got to know Chris and her girlfriend after that -- two lovely people --and eventually wrote the notes for a Connor album on Concord. Helen Keane was the producer, but I was asked to do the notes by the label's veteran publicist, Terri Hinte. Late in the game, Keane contacted me, saying the notes were no good and needed to be redone or replaced altogether because in them I hadn't mentioned every song, which would imply (she said) that the ones I didn't mention were inferior. I replied that I spoke of the songs on the album that to me exemplified Connor's approach, that anyone would understand that, and that it was Hinte at Concord, not Keane, who had asked me to write the notes (IIRC at Connor's suggestion), and that she (i.e. Keane) could go ---- herself. Heard no more from her; the notes appeared as written.

FWIW, a review I wrote of a Connor performance: Cool, breathy, and almost barren of vibrato, Chris Connor's voice is a haunted house. Its tone color alone would be enough to freeze the soul, and the way each phrase seems to be exhaled more than sung only increases the impression that in her music Connor must contend with ghostly powers-either that, or she herself is a spirit summoned unwillingly from beyond It's easy to mistake Connor's otherworldly aura for a chic, dry-martini hipness, which is why she became a star in the 1950s, first with the Stan Kenton Orchestra and then on her own-"the Kim Novak of the jazz set," as one writer put it. But even though she appeared to be a second generation disciple of Anita O'Day and June Christy who took those singers' mannerisms to near-absurd extremes. Connor was a very different type of artist. O'Day and Christy were her models, but Connor inhabited their detached, emotionally oblique style of singing in a way its originators never dreamed of, transforming an attractive show business commodity into an attitude toward life-a desperate wrestling with herself and the world. That such battles could not be won on a nightclub stage actually contributed to the power of Connor's music. Barely contained within the boundaries of performance her losses were so deeply felt and nakedly expressed that communication seemed a paltry word for what took place. While the pain she gave voice to (and the numbness that followed in its wake) must have had an innersource, to be moved by Connor's music was to recognize that her distress was public as well as private-the advance-guard of an emotional void that might swallow us all. In that sense the Kim Novak comparison is perfect, for Connor; as film critic David Thomson said of Novak, has "the desperate attentiveness of someone out of her depth but refusing to give in." Connor now appears far more confident and optimistic than she used to be. But much of the essential Connor tension remains, the feeling that music is a dangerous medium that must be plunged into at the point of maximum threat. "The Thrill is Gone" is one of Connor's signature tunes, and last night at Rick's Cafe Americain she sang it much more swiftly than in the past-perhaps because, with her vocal technique in fine shape, she needed the challenge of speed to make the emotional content come alive. On "If I Should Lose You," extreme slowness played the same role, forcing Connor into those harrowingly awkward rhythmic corners that only she dares to explore. Impressive throughout, and altering one's image of Connor to some extent, was the sense of control she displayed on every piece. "Out of her depth" may have been an apt description on her in the past, but now the depths are entered into more out of choice than helplessness. Chris Connor's wounds apparently have healed, perhaps more than she or anyone else dared to expect. But the memory of pain still shudders through her music, creating a dialogue between self and soul, public performance and private meditation, that is as strange as it is beautiful.

I love Chris but not at all on this; she and the band are on different planets. Amazing chart.

Contrary to what I said above, I don't care about Miwa's music either. Guess I just felt compelled to throw her a bone because I'd hocked at her the way I did. Life can be like that.

Don't want to get on a moral crusade here -- all I can say is that when I first heard that track, the presence of that "quote" startled me. As for Sonny himself, if his late wife Lucille were still around, Ms. Miwa probably would be toast. Further, could someone enlighten me with an example or two of what Miwa meant when she said, "This is a common tradition in jazz, there are countless examples of this on Blue Note albums." The first half of that sentence I kind of get -- originals based on other originals, not tunes based on standards -- but not to my recollection would-be original tunes that swallow up wholesale chunks of other original tunes and then go their own way, with the swallowed-up chunks sticking right out of the fabric. Also, I don't get the second half of that sentence at all. What examples from Blue Note albums? I ask that last in all ignorance/innocence; nothing comes to my mind. In any case, Miwa is not without talent IMO.