Larry Kart

For anyone who's curious about vocslist Dominique Eade, her "The Long Way Home" (with Bruce Barth, Mick Goodrick, Victor Lewis, and Dave Holland) can be found for $5.98 at Daedalus: http://www.daedalusbooks.com

Ooops. In case anyone followed my recommendation and spavined themselves and/or a loved one in the process, I meant Sibelius' First Symphony (esp. the first movement), not his Second Symphony.

You might find Dominique Eade worth a listen. Her two RCA albums -- "When the Wind Was Cool" (songs associated with Christy and Connor) and "The Long Way Home" -- are both out of print I believe but often can be found at websites and stores where cut-outs accumulate. Both albums have strong back-up bands (Benny Golson, Dave Holland, etc), and Eade is an often daring, always heady singer, though her rather "white" timbre (as in almost vibrato-less, nothing to do with race) will not be to all tastes.

The Miles-Cannonball "Autumn Leaves." Sibelius' Second Symphony.

My Dad -- age 92, once a very sharp lawyer and still pretty sharp on most days -- got one of those (Nigerian in origin) "You've won the Spanish lottery" letters a month ago and fortunately called me to share his joy before he took the steps in response that eventually would have cost him a fair-sized amount of money. A few minutes spent rooting around the Internet, and I was able to gather enough info to convince him that it was the scam it is. What's typical, I think, is that even before I looked I asked him wether he'd entered this or any lottery, and he said, No, but couldn't quite see why that meant he couldn't have won anyhow. After all, they'd sent him a letter saying that he had. This scam takes in thousands of people every year.

The self-serving interviews with Artie Shaw in the mid-1980s Canadian film bio of him convinced me that Shaw was/is a narcissistic jerk in the top class. On the other hand, he played like an angel more often than not, and I'm unable to detect in his music (esp. in his own playing) that blend of hollow intellectual pretentiousness and rampant insecurity that makes him so hard to take as a human being. BTW there was an amusing encounter between two other candidates for the Jerk Award -- Getz and Mulligan -- at the Chicago Jazz Festival ( in 1985 as I recall, for reasons that will become clear in a bit). The situation (Chuck Nessa probably can correct me if I've got it wrong) was that one of them (Getz, I'm pretty sure) was to join the other (that would be Mulligan, then) and his rhythm section toward the end of Gerry's set to play Zoot Sims' "The Red Door" as a tribute to Sims, who had died that March. But during the afternoon rehearsal for that evening's concert, Mulligan had pulled some shit -- refused to run through the tune with Stan, pulled his rhythm section off the stage, I'm not sure what, but very harsh words were exchanged between the two according to an eyewitness (not Chuck and not me either). Anyway, the eyewitness, who was driving Stan back to his hotel, was genuinely concerned that what had gone down between Stan and Gerry had been so nasty that perhaps that evening's schedule would need to be revised. Those concerns were voiced to Stan, who replied: "Don't worry, I've played with the fageleh before, and I can play with him again." (In Yiddish, "fageleh" [pronounced "Fay-geh-leh" in case my spelling is off] literally means "bird" but is the slang term for someone who is effeminate and/or an effeminate homosexual (not that there's anything wrong with that). My assumption is that Stan didn't mean that literally; rather, "fageleh" expressed his feeling that Gerry could be a prissy/bitchy control-freak.

Thanks to all those who recommended "Deep In a Dream." Got it the other day, and it's very intense. Let me try to return the favor by touting an excellent and similarly intense 2001 disc (rec. 1999) by altoist Kim Richmond, who counts Mariano as an influence, "Ballads" (CMG). Basic setup is Richmond (soprano on a few tracks), pianist Reggie Thomas (new to me and very soulful, a bit reminiscent of Donald Brown), bassist Trey Henry, and drummer Joe La Barbera (who's in top form). Appearing on some tracks are trumpeter Clay Jenkins, baritonists Bill Perkins (must have been one of his last dates), Vinny Golia, and Bob Carr, and percussionist Brad Dutz. Richmond is a deep singer, in Mariano's class but his own man.

Any info on Jazz Review, the magazine in which Jack Cooke's review of that Ari Hoenig album appeared? I ask because Cooke is an excellent critic (British) -- a regular contributor to Jazz Monthy in the old days and co-author of "Modern Jazz: The Esential Records" -- and I had last track of him. If he's a regular contributor to Jazz Review, I'll try to subscribe.

Don't have it to hand, but I recall that Nichols' brief article on Monk (from '46 or '47?) makes it clear that while Nichols admired Monk's music, he saw/heard things rather differently, and I would say that his own music backs that up. BTW, the tone of the article, as I recall, is interesting--just one musician (functioning as a journalist) talking about another, ample respect but little or no sense of awe, and in the background that sense of "I would do it/am doing it differently," though within broad agreement about what the "it" that was to be done was.

What the hell -- here's that piece about the "Live at the Beehive" set that I wrote back in 1979 for the Chicago Tribune. It ends a bit abruptly because originally it segued into a section of roughly equal length about Roscoe Mitchell's "L-R-G." Now surgically separated from the "Beehive" section, that will be in the book too. Live at the Beehive is one of jazz’s delayed explosions. Recorded at a South Side Chicago club on November 7, 1955, the group heard here was co-led by Clifford Brown, the young trumpet master who would die in an auto accident the following year, and Max Roach, the dominant percussionist of the bebop era. Also present were bassist George Morrow, tenorman Sonny Rollins (who would soon leave town as a member of the band), and three Chicagoans--tenorman Nicky Hill, guitarist Leo Blevins, and pianist Billy Wallace. The wide-open jam session that took place that night was captured by Roach on a home tape machine, and until now, the music has been heard only by the people who were at the Beehive and by a few of the drummer’s friends. Deeply wounded by Brown’s death, Roach long found himself unable to contemplate the music that reminded him of his loss, and the mediocre sound quality of the tape seemed to preclude commercial release. But Roach finally gave in to those who told him that the Beehive session had to be heard. And it turns out that the refurbished tape is more than listenable; anyone familiar with these musicians will be able to fill in the missing elements in the aural landscape. Compared with Live at the Beehive, even the best of the Brown-Roach combo’s studio work sounds restrained. Immediately striking is the change one hears in Brown’s playing. In a tragically brief career that ended when he was only twenty-five, Brown became known for his mellow, butter-smooth tone and his ability to construct seemingly endless lyrical lines. And yet, as lovely as it was, his music at times seemed limited by its loveliness, which could became sweet and cute. But the Clifford Brown heard on Live at the Beehive is virtually another man, a savagely adventurous virtuoso who repeatedly rises into the trumpet’s topmost register to create patterns that seem to have been etched in space by a needle-sharp flame. Brown excels on every one of the album’s five tracks, but he surpasses himself on a twenty-minute version of "Cherokee." The tune, traditionally used to separate the men from the boys, is taken at a lightning tempo, which forces Brown’s lyricism to the point of no return. Eventually, he finds himself stabbing out phrases whose content would be purely rhythmic if it were not for the way his sense of tone and attack makes each note of the design vibrate with melodic meaning. It is Roach who spurs Brown to these dangerous heights, and in the process, the drummer surpasses himself, too. Neither before nor since has he played with such abandon, and often it sounds as though two or three drummers must be at work. This multiple-player effect comes, in part, from the way Roach has tuned his drum kit. Several years before the Beehive session, he began to adjust his instruments to precise pitches. As a result Roach’s playing became filled with tympani-like effects, as though he were trying to make the drums into a melodic voice. During that same period, though, a certain sobriety crept into his work, perhaps because Roach had to exert conscious control over his new resources. But at the Beehive session, all the wraps were off. Roach’s explosive solo on "Cherokee" is the most startling display on the album, but in no way does he slight his role as an accompanist. Brown’s solos are inseparable from Roach’s support, and the drummer creates inventive patterns behind every player at every tempo from the mercurial "Cherokee" on down to the medium groove of "Walkin’." Although the album includes skillful playing from Blevins and Wallace, the other major point of interest is the contrast between Sonny Rollins and Nicky Hill. Rollins, who was just about to establish himself as the dominant tenorman in jazz, is in generally fine form. But Hill, who precedes Rollins on ‘I’ll Remember April" and follows him on "Walkin’," more than holds his own. An eccentrically individualistic player who died in 1965, Hill was a master of oblique construction; and his solos are surprisingly prophetic of developments to come. Particularly on "Walkin’," he ends phrases by extending a note until its harmonic meaning becomes more and more ambiguous, an insistence on the purely linear that foreshadows early Ornette Coleman.

Not to conflate two gifted individuals, but the late Bill Perkins' fascinating Cadence interview from a few years back has a great deal to say about the self-image of some West Coast or West Coast-based players of that era and how and why some of them (notably Shank and Perkins) more or less consciously decided to "toughen up" their music -- rhythmically, harmonically, timbrally, etc.

Impossible: He and William Parker were talking about a Clifford Brown/Max Roach recording from the Beehive that was so fast they considered it free. Is anyone familiar? I will post a new thread for this I guess. Pete C: Sounds like creative hyperbole to me. I don't remember anything qualitatively different when I heard those recordings from other performances by the group. They must be thinking of the "Cherokee" on "Live at the Beehive." I do hear something close to a qualitative difference between this performance and any other Brown-Roach uptempo performance of "Cherokee" (or anything else) I know -- it's so damn fast and Clifford and Max are so united/inspired--and I can see where it would make sense to think if it as "free." That is, while what Clifford and Max are playing sounds co-ordinated, esp. rhythmically, one gets the feeling that in practical terms that's because they're both in their topmost conceivable/executable gears, and those gears happen to coincide. Whatever, it's amazing, extreme music. FWIW, there's a piece about the "Live at the Beehive" set in my forthcoming book "Jazz In search ofd Itself" (Yale U. Press, fall 2004).

To pick up on a point that could have been made in the thread that was linked to above, I believe that the distinctive sound of the piano on RVG's vintage sessions (which some people grouse about, including some musicians and other fairly knowledgeable folk -- see p.136-7 of Peter Pottinger's Bill Evans bio "How My Heart Sings" -- but that I, like many listeners of my vintage, more or less imprinted on) had less to do with the instrument(s) themselves and more to do with the way RVG miked them (very closely I would guess, perhaps in order to place control and balance of the piano sound in relation to the rest of the instruments, esp. the drums, more in his own hands).

All I know of Desmond's father is what's been posted here. But much should be revealed in good time -- knowledgable, conscientious jazz writer Doug Ramsey (who actually knew Desmond) is working on a Desmond bio.

Don't have it anymore for some dumb reason, but I recall a Herb Pomeroy Band LP on United Artists that had a Bob Freedman ballad feature for Mariano, "On Another World," that was something else -- both as a piece of writing and for Mariano's interpretation.

Can't recall where I read or heard it, but I believe that Desmond once spoke of early Zoot Sims as being very meaningful to him. I can hear a kinship in the rhythmic poise and fluidity, plus a certain toying with the beat quality that in Desmond tends to get emphasized much more than it does with Zoot, even to the point of bounciness at times. Now that I think of it, that same toying with the beat/bouncy strain is the hallmark of Pete Brown's style, though the overall jump mood of Brown's music is not that much like Desmond's. On the whole, though, if you discount Konitz as a model (which I would, despite some I think deceptive similarities), Desmond strikes me as a notably self-invented player, given his era and his exposed to lots of music, urban background.

Dug out McDougal's "Initial Visit." Contrary to what I said before, I don't hear much Ammons in him. I do hear a kinship to Von Freeman (in timbre, intonation, and dual loyalty to the Young and Hawkins traditions), though each man is himself (and Von is a master). If my memories of McDougal live are accurate, on a good day he had another, higher gear or two than this record manages to capture. A Nessa-produced McDougal album probably would have been something else. BTW, McDougal's writing is worth a listen too; his McDougal's ballad "Ode" is a potent piece, and some of his blowing lines are really catchy.

Larry Kert (now deceased I believe) was a well-known performer in Broadway musicals, best known for his work as one of the leads in "West Side Story." He was the younger brother of tasty cabaret singer Anita Ellis.

Heard him live quite a few times. Out of Ammons, I'd say, with his own distinctive hip, "heady," soulful flavor. One those guys whose name and the way he sounded seemed a perfect match.

Interesting album. Teddy Edwards play the shit out of Hava Nagila, very soulful. Fun to compare his solo to Harold Land's on Jazz Impressions of Folk Music (on the Carmell Jones Mosaic Select). What are the odds that those two tenor players, closely related in several ways, would both find themselves playing on that tune?

I'm very fond of the (in my case, pretty beat up) circa 1957 Jubilee LP "Three For Duke," with Charles, Hall Overton, and Oscar Pettiford playing Ellington material. Could be something that Fresh Sounds will get around to one day.

Welcome, indeed. Lots of knowledge/experience/dry wit/common sense etc. is at Mr. Tracy's command.

I have somewhat uncertain/mixed feelings about him myself, but Jeff Parker is definitely worth a listen.

Listening again, I wonder whether anyone out there agrees that Warne's solo on "317 E. 32nd" is essentially one long line, a single, unbroken evolving thought. If so, it may be, at two choruses, the longest (or one of the longest) such sustained episode in recorded jazz or in any comparable improvised music, period. Bach no doubt could have done it in real time too, so could Usted Ali Akhbar Khan (if comparable).

Wesbed -- I'm not all that musically literate myself but thought I'd managed to detect what's different and attractive about this music and describe it pretty well -- in terms that the musically literate wouldn't find inadequate or just plain wrong and that wouldn't leave the less musically literate scratching their heads. If I did manage to do that, I'd say, Just keep listening. Also, if the tack I took doesn't help, Barry Ulanov's illuminating notes to several of the original albums are in the Mosaic booklet too.