Larry Kart

Lengthy, very interesting on-line bio of Frances Faye: http://www.tyleralpern.com/Faye.html Her younger brother Marty Faye was a fixture of my youth as an acerbic, lizard-like Chicago DJ (he played a fair amount of jazz) and (later) TV pitchman. Marty (giving a snapshot of his own style) once said in an interview that Frances wasn't his sister but his father.

Wow... That should set the cause of getting past White Guilt back several millennia. Or more. Just as I always envisioned it -- a narcissistic/masochistic heterosexual singing to a lesbian. You mean EVERYBODY doesn't envision it that way?! Damn! There's another of my illusions shot to hell! Though, come to think of it, it may be a *little* unfair to refer to Mel as a lesbian. Greg M.

A soulful farewell, musical itself.

Young, like Red Garland, had the ability to play a good many fairly "set" figures and make them feel fresh every time. Maybe it had something to do with the "sly sense of humor" that John Litweiler mentions. It was like he was he taking us into his confidence when he went into his "Spartacus" thing, for example -- as though he were saying "You know this and I know that you do, but I enjoyed coming up with it in the first place and I still like it, plus it's paid for a lot of my bills, so let's enjoy it again, together."

Wow... That should set the cause of getting past White Guilt back several millennia. Or more. Just as I always envisioned it -- a narcissistic/masochistic heterosexual singing to a lesbian.

One of the best religious holidays imaginable; almost the whole story wrapped up in one story. I suggest Shelly Manne's "My Son the Jazz Drummer" (Contemporary), reissued on OJC under another title ("Desert Sands"?)

I can't take much McRae after her Decca days, too much self-regarding spin on the ball. Maybe the dividing line for me is her Columbia Billie Holiday tribute album from 1961, a fine date in many ways (Lockjaw!) but McRae's singing is beginning to verge on the studied and near-rigid, though one could understand why a Holiday tribute album might put any singer of standing and ego on edge. Based on seeing her in clubs a few times, I felt that one of McRae's problems was that she basically hated standing at the mike -- the female-object aspect of that, perhaps. When she sat down at the piano and accompanied herself (the way she'd started out, and she was a good pianist), she seemed to be an entirely different and much happier person. Ella, by contrast, could be said to put too little spin on the ball in terms of interpretation and personality, but once recognized (and it took me a while) the basic interior musical qualities of her singing -- tone, time, and timbre -- are marvelous. As for story-telling, late in her career, when her chops began to falter a bit, she could break your heart. (There are few Pablo albums that capture that.) Can't stand her scat singing. About Mr. Bennett, we've heard that song before, but I ask you or anyone else to track down the reissued stuff he did (originally on his own label in the 1970s) with Ruby Braff and George Barnes. Listen to "Lover" in particular; it's a great performance -- the execution of course but also the conception. TB sings it sotto voce as though, a la the lyric, the words literally were being addressed to a woman with whom he's dancing. TB after his MTV "return," not so much.

Just got a phone call out of the blue from Roscoe, who asked if I could send him copies of some things I wrote about him back then for a talk he was going to give in a few days about that period to a class at Mills College, where he teaches now. I mentioned the story I told earlier in this thread, about hearing him for the first time at that mid-1960s session with Elvin (half-afraid that I might have half-made it up or just distorted it), and Roscoe remembered it as though it had happened yesterday, including the name of the tenor player (Bob Poulian) whom he joined onstage and the fact that he himself left the club right afterwards -- figuring, he explained, that things seemed to have gone pretty well, and he'd better leave it at that.

I'm pretty sure Chuck Nessa has some thoughts about this. I recall a post of his about how Clark Terry's "In Orbit," with Monk, didn't have the impact it could have, as fine as it is, because the track order was not what it should have been. On the other hand, the track order on Warne Marsh's "All Music" (Nessa) is perfect IMO.

IIRC, Concord doesn't own that Kamuca material; it was material that they leased, and the rights probably reverted to Kamuca and thence to his estate.

Mark -- If you've got some or most of your stuff of on your computer at home or on an archive at work you can leaf through, why not post a few things you like here?

I see that none of those pieces is a review per se, but Mark did send me some of his things about six months ago, and they were very good.

typic Nate Chinen bullshit & nonsense-- typin' loud & saying NOTHING. tickets were way too expensive for edc-- at least Marty gives us freebies, too bad it was for the Stones. (better than Nate Chinen but what the fuck ain't?) Chinen has caught Ratliff's Disease, which leads me to think that it's probably generic to jazz writers at the Times. The problem, if I'm right, is simple -- you've got to come up with a way of talking about jazz that is addressed to no one (certainly not anyone who knows anything about the music) but sounds kinda lofty/writerly, with a side order at times of fake hip. Thus, bullshit and nonsense. In fact, one of the basic challenges in journalistic criticism of any art is to begin by not excluding anyone and then -- almost immediately and semi-invisibly -- get to the point; and that would be the same damn point one would make if one were locked in a room with, say, EDC, C. Nessa, and Sangry. You can't have one set of thoughts for the paper and another for your friends. Mark Stryker is a good current example of how to do it. Where are Mark's pieces published, Larry? I'm hoping that I can build up my immunity to the dreaded Ratliff's Disease. Detroit Free Press: http://www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/section?Category=COL17

typic Nate Chinen bullshit & nonsense-- typin' loud & saying NOTHING. tickets were way too expensive for edc-- at least Marty gives us freebies, too bad it was for the Stones. (better than Nate Chinen but what the fuck ain't?) Chinen has caught Ratliff's Disease, which leads me to think that it's probably generic to jazz writers at the Times. The problem, if I'm right, is simple -- you've got to come up with a way of talking about jazz that is addressed to no one (certainly not anyone who knows anything about the music) but sounds kinda lofty/writerly, with a side order at times of fake hip. Thus, bullshit and nonsense. In fact, one of the basic challenges in journalistic criticism of any art is to begin by not excluding anyone and then -- almost immediately and semi-invisibly -- get to the point; and that would be the same damn point one would make if one were locked in a room with, say, EDC, C. Nessa, and Sangry. You can't have one set of thoughts for the paper and another for your friends. Mark Stryker is a good current example of how to do it.

Yes, on April 15 I put the Bourse before the art.

Would like to be there but am afraid I'll be hung up picking up and mailing tax returns before the deadline.

I like the album. Zoot is in very fresh, lively form, and while I could see where some people might find Hipp a bit stolid rhythmically, I'd prefer to call her sober. Also, there's a Tristano-ish melodic connectedness to her thinking that I find appealing and individual.

Very cool. The way he indicates the rhythms toward the end with that sideways shoulder-arm move!

Would that be the 'Cat Meets Chick' session for MGM recorded in 1954 that is included on Clark Terry's Emarcy session Verve Elite CD? In this case the 'chicks', according to the cover art, are Terry Pollard (vibes), Norma Carson (tpt), Corey Hecht (harp), Mary Osborne (gtr), Elaine Leighton (dms) and Bonnie Wetzel (bass). Yes.

Interesting piece here (translation follows the German original): http://www.katekaiser.com/articles/Jutta_H...ly_2006_new.pdf Note in particular Leonard Feather's attempt to hit on her, after which (Hipp turned him down) he switched from being her fervent backer to putting her down in print. Methinks that this is a pattern that one could run across throughout Mr. Feather's life -- not that he slept with George Shearing, but I'm trying to think of other female artists that Leonard praised and promoted. I vaguely recall an all-female combo that he assembled for a recording but don't remember who was in it.

I love People, Places and Things the one time I heard them. The concept really worked -- the material is interesting (I'm old enough to have heard some of it the first time around), the heads were played accurately and with passion, and the soloists then were able to do their own things without breaking faith with the material. Ward was inspired. Ajemian is a chance-taker, but I have heard a player on the scene (who admires Ajemian) say, "He can't really play the bass." I didn't quiz him on this but am pretty sure that he meant that Ajemian's musical skill-set is intense and novel but very home-grown and not broad, and if that he's faced with material that's not in his bag, he'd have trouble adjusting. On other hand, I believe (and I think my informant would agree) that if JA were that different along those lines, he might not be the unique, valuable musician he is. Further -- and this is my thought alone -- if my informant's view of JA is accurate, I think it's a tribute to and sign of the nature of this scene that a guy like JA is listened and reacted to by his colleagues with the interest and respect that he deserves. I may be wrong, I can imagine a lot of scenes where that wouldn't be the case.

More straightahead, lyrical, and swinging for the most part, but Ajemian's inherent spacy (in the best sense) foxiness is omnipresent. The feel factor is just different and probably unique. Again, the liner notes make the nature and quality of the mind that's at work here pretty clear.

http://www.lacitybeat.com/cms/story/detail...165&id=4153 His comments on Kenny Clarke's drumming are acute.

Yes, I was assistant editor at Down Beat (that meant there were two of us on the editorial side, plus a saintly/brilliant production manager Gloria Baldwin) under Dan Morgenstern in 1969-70. I did some writing, a lot of editing and corralling of contributors and their work, plus we laid out the magazine. In many ways it was a dream -- working with Dan was an education in itself, plus he's one of the best, kindest people I know (we've stayed in touch), except that I was making maybe $5,200 a year and after year one the so-called old man, John T. Maher, who had promised me a raise if I didn't screw up, died and was succeeded by his son, Jack, who told me that he knew nothing about his father's promise, and if I didn't like it I could go f--- myself. I replied in kind, and that was that. My predecessor was Bill Quinn; I was followed by Jim Szantor, who later became a friend when we both worked at the Chicago Tribune. Jim was a genius copy editor and a very smart, funny, soulful guy. He also was the world's Number One fan of Sal Nistico. Bill Quinn I didn't know that well except that he moved on to Playboy, where he no doubt was much better paid. His main legacy to me was that a young woman who worked at DB that summer in some quasi-secretarial role was a big pal of his (may in fact have sotto voce been in love with him -- Quinn definitely was a handsome, very well-dressed, cool dude) and as a result so it seemed decided that I, Quinn's replacement, was inherently despicible. (Perhaps Quinn left in part because of friction with the old man about pay or something as well as because he could hook up with Playboy -- I don't know -- and she knew about this and thought that I was a figurative dagger in Quinn's back; or maybe she just despised me on the spot, without any trimmings or back story.) In any case, this young woman (who was fairly attractive) stared daggers of hate at me all summer, which was unnerving, in part because our desks were placed so that every time I looked up she was looking right at me, like the mask of Medusa. Eventually the rather wounding aspects of this were mitigated by my dawning awareness that she was pretty close to nuts; not only did she look like a much prettier version of Louise Lasser, she was maybe five times as neurotic, which is saying something.

I'm a good guesser; Haldeman is 29: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fusea...endID=122442377