Larry Kart

Pete. "Adams's most recent marriage was to noted trumpet player Pete Candoli, which lasted from 1972 until their divorce in 1989. They toured and performed together, with Candoli serving as her music director."

I'm not a unequivocal Adderley fan, but this album http://www.amazon.com/Radio-Nights-Cannonb...7570&sr=1-1 of material broadcast from the Half Note on Alan Grant's radio show in Dec. '67 and Jan. 68 is something else. Balance isn't ideal on the second group (Zawinul is too prominent, though what he plays is interesting); on the other hand, Sam Jones (in lovely, driving form) is captured with good presence throughout. Both Adderley brothers are inspired -- and, again FWIW I'm not a hardcore fan -- and these were just hot bands that fed off of the audience. I think I prefer the McCurdy rhythm section because he bashes some a la Elvin, and this is a bashing band, but there's no let-up either. Cannonball Adderley Quintet Nat Adderley (cor) Cannonball Adderley (as) Joe Zawinul (p) Sam Jones (b) Roy McCurdy (d) "Half Note", NYC, December, 1967-January, 1968 Little Boy With The Sad Eyes Virgin Night VNCD 2 Midnight Mood - Stars Fell On Alabama - Fiddler On The Roof - * Cannonball Adderley - Radio Nights (Virgin Night VNCD 2) Cannonball Adderley Sextet Nat Adderley (cor) Cannonball Adderley (as) Charles Lloyd (ts, fl) Joe Zawinul (p) Sam Jones (b) Louis Hayes (d) "Half Note", NYC, December, 1967-January, 1968 Work Song Virgin Night VNCD 2 The Song My Lady Sings - Unit 7 - Oh, Babe / Country Preacher - * Cannonball Adderley - Radio Nights (Virgin Night VNCD 2)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zD156wvOvSg

Pete was used more in that role, or fell into it more, than Conte did, though Conte also did a good deal of big-band and studio work. In particular, Conte was a member of the Tonight Show band under Doc Severinsen from 1972-92.

IIRC it was Staley who threw the pitch that Vic Power of the Indians grounded to Luis Aparicio, who stepped on second and threw to first for a double play, thus ending the game that clinched the '59 pennant for the White Sox. I was sitting on a couch in our so-called family room, watching on TV; when that happened I jumped so high and crazily that I went head over heels and landed right back where I'd been sitting. Chicago fire commissioner Robert Quinn immediately set off all the city's air raid sirens in celebration, thus scaring many adults right out of their wits; I had no doubts about what was going on myself.

This Pete/Conte album is a gem: http://www.amazon.com/Two-Brothers-Pete-Co...1791&sr=1-3 It was recorded "live" in the 1980s at Rick's Cafe Americain in Chicago, with John Young, Dan Shapera, and Wilbur Campbell (in great form). I was there, though not on the night things were recorded. At the time, I only knew Pete from his Herman solo spots and the like and as a sterling section man. He can heard at length here as a soloist and was one hell of player -- more from Dizzy than Conte was (or became) and with a hot core of Eldridge as well.

Hank Mobley

A longtime member of Schneider's band said to a friend of mine that he and some of his colleagues refer to her writing as "Celestial Seasonings" music.

Listened again to Overton and Trimble (actually the CRI LP I thought of as entirely Overton has one work by him (his final one, "Pulsations" from 1972, the year of his fairly early death, at age 52) and one by ... Trimble ("In Praise of Diplomacy and Common Sense"). The Trimble I did listen to alongside Overton's "Pulsations," was his "Panels I" (from 1969) for a semi-goofy lineup: electric guitar, baritone sax, Farfisa organ, electric harpsichord, piccolo, percussion, violin, viola, cello, and bass. Far out, man. Actually, it's a fine, somewhat aleatory piece (the details of how it's aleatory are not spelled out). For once, though, the "freedom of choice in performance" elements, whatever they are, seem to have been built into the language of the piece rather than serving as a kind of sauce -- the damn thing moves from moment to moment with a mysterious, loping looseness. I thought at one point of the "Id Monster" from "Forbidden Planet." And it's deeply, naturally jazzlike music at times -- wish I knew who the bari and electric guitar players were. The crucial part though is probably the percussionist's, on kettle drums and playing almost throughout. It's something like Wolpe's swooping writing for kettledrums in his Quartet for Trumpet, Tenor Saxophone, Piano, and Percussion. By contrast, Overton's "Pulsations" was a disappointment. The jazz elements were surface-y, and the whole piece had a short-breathed, declamatory air; whatever the zest of a particular phrase might be, Overton's next gestures tended to sound obvious, as though his sense of variation, which ought to have been fairly "free" given his jazz background, got all rigid in when he donned his classical robes.

In that vein, I have an LP of Hall Overton's classical stuff. Very interesting IIRC. Another fairly obscure good one (actually one-and-a-half -- a whole LP on Desto, maybe, plus half of an old Columbia LP) is of things by Lester Trimble, who again IIRC made knowledgeable use of jazz elements at times.

Another Henry-like altoist who fortunately lived longer was Clarence Sharpe.

Right -- "personal problems." As opposed to getting run over by a truck, which would be impersonal.

if you really know - please share. -_- No, I don't know for sure, but I'll bet that either it was an outright overdose, general debilitation from drug use over time, or (a la Sonny Clark) a specific incident where someone is so completely out of it that and on the streets that one night he is exposed to the elements to a dangerous degree. If physical violence had been involved, I think I would have heard about that. In those days, in the jazz press, such things usually weren't talked about openly. There were one or two standard phrases -- can't recall them now -- that were understood to mean than X had been a drug addict and had died from an overdose or from one of many drug-related causes. Arguably, no alto saxophonist of talent -- with the possible exception of Jackie McLean on "Jackie McLean and Co." -- ever sounded more strung-out than Ernie Henry did. I recall an old Martin Williams Down Beat review of either "Presenting Ernie Henry" or "Seven Standards and a Blues" (or maybe it was "Brilliant Corners") in which, taking note of Henry's sharpish intonation and at times extreme effortfulness of articulation, he wondered whether Henry really could play much at all (as in, were these things a matter of choice or sheer infirmity) and also implied that those who were drawn to Henry's playing were in some sense voyeurs of pain. Martin, of course, was quite a puritan, but he does have a point. Henry's effortfulness is related to Monk's in that it is truly musically expressive of just what Henry, one feels fairly sure, is trying to bring off; on the other hand, he does falter at times, even by his own standards/narrow margins. As for the nature of what Henry expressed emotionally, while I'd say it would be voyueristic to prize Bird's "Lover Man" because it sounds like what it actually is, a man having a breakdown (and Martin may have had that in the back of his mind), Henry doesn't strike me that way. His limitations as an instrumentalist led him to come up with some unique, musically interesting moves (like a drowning man who invents a new swim stroke), while the "cry" of his playing never seemed external or self-regarding (as IMO Frank Morgan's sometimes did); rather, that aspect of Henry, listened to at the time (before his death), seemed like a dangerous, powerful act of realism, for him and to some degree, and along similar lines, for the listener. It sure was no vacation.

In some form or other. Two dates while he was alive, Presenting Ernie Henry and Seven Standards and a Blues, and a posthumous collection of previously unissued material, Last Chorus, that might not have emerged but for his death.

Love her Little Rock accent.

Take a wild guess.

Jim -- More and and more your 21st Century sounds like a slightly modified version of the '60s, minus the psychedelic drugs.

Apologies to Dave Chapelle for that one, btw. No problem. As Freud (among others) said, All humor is based on hostility.

You use the "freeway" image, the "fast lane" image, and the phrase "lest you do get run over," and you don't see why a reasonable person might feel that "the 20th century is over now" sounds fairly pissed-off and not like a simple statement of fact? There's no connection between "is over now" and "get run over"? You've told several stories about being justifiably pissed-off by various annoying old farts (e.g. that club owner); the desire to visit violence on people who won't get out of your way is natural enough.

Dr. Phil's mouth often moves at least one clause too far into the realm of the quietly absurd self-serving. Here, for me, it's "longer than you can imagine." Beautiful in its puffed-up snootiness. And "Somebody needs to step up" is nice in the same vein. Actually, I think it's Roger Clemens who could use some help from Dr. Phil right now.

All right, Jim -- and excuse me, Chuck, while I engage in further public "self-abuse" -- but isn't there a good-sized gap in tone between your "willing to accept chronology as an perpetually ongoing entity" and your "the 20th century is over now." No, not really. Recognizing that yesterday was Tuesday, today is Wednesday, & that tomorrow is going to be Thursday doesn't seem too big a reach... I do like the notion of ignoring chronology when it comes to getting late fees waived though. The tone of "willing to accept chronology as an perpetually ongoing entity" says, "We're all in this together"; the tone of "the 20th century is over now" pretty much says, "Got out of the way, you old dying fart."

Mark: For me the "if you're not part of the solution in classical music, you're part of the problem" approach is a problem in itself, because it tends to equate novelty (as in "we've got to do/hear something different") and quality. The Carter Quartet No. 5 is to some extent of value because it is a new work in several senses (recent and, in Detroit at that time, and in many other places, not yet performed in concert), but it's mostly of value because it's such a damn fine piece of music; it would still be of great value if it had been written 30 years ago and were played as often as, say, one of the Bartok quartets. By contrast, while I'm not familiar with the work of all the composers on that Kronos program, with the exception of Nancarrow, I can't imagine that any of them whose work I do know could ever produce a piece that had a smidge of the musical value of the Carter -- or of the Dvorak, Hindemith and Mendelssohn pieces that the Pacifica played, for that matter. Yes, the cowardice, or whatever you want to call it, on the part of that chamber music society was vile, but the only real answer to the "modern music" problem is modern music that grips you musically, not gestures toward "adventure and relevance."

All right, Jim -- and excuse me, Chuck, while I engage in further public "self-abuse" -- but isn't there a good-sized gap in tone between your "willing to accept chronology as an perpetually ongoing entity" and your "the 20th century is over now."

Thanks. I was thinking what Chuck said. It's a nice reminder of the kinship between Brahms and Elgar, especially their shared inclination to disguise or even half-bury some of their hairier harmonic thinking. The blend of rest and unrest in this passage might be downright terrifying if it weren't so ... I don't know, cloaked. Schoenberg was really keyed-in on this aspect of Brahms; I wonder if S. heard much Elgar and what he made of him.

Ok (as in "Oh-kay"). Now I finally understand what you're talking about. And I couldn't agree more. As I said at one point in Ye Olde Book: "History is always happening, and it's happening to us."