JSngry

No, it's not impossible. It's very easy, in fact, to avoid something that is not there. I'm not in the least bit "anti-intellectual". I am, however, too much anti-"overly-intellectulal", and I am VERY anti-making the intellectual one's first level of response to this music (or any art). Although, if you just can't help yourself, I guess it's ok... Look at it this way - if my first response to Monk is what a wonderful recontextualization of traditional elements into a new way of looking at spatial relationships and shifting proportional density, that has immense implications for the way we live life on Earth, am I really getting Monk? I say, no, not fully. I might be getting what Monk and his music represent, but not the music itself. But if my first response to Monk is a visceral one, one that says "WHOA, YEAH!" (or something like that) and then gets into that other stuff, I'm really getting it. Or even if I do have that first reaction and later but eventually have that second one, then I'm getting it. But not before, and not until. Even if it only lasts a second, you gotta have that, I say. This is not anti-intellectual, it's a realization that the music has many components to it, and that the very first, the most primary one, is communication of non-verbalisable information through non-verbalisable means. Everything follows from that. (and there is a lot that follows from that). It's easy for those who function in the arts from a primarily intellectual perspective to forget (or sometimes, never even realize) that the first level of intent of any art (especially, perhaps, jazz) is communication, first, foremost, and simply. When you have that layer of seperation/misunterstanding at work in all strata of the "jazz community", you quite often end up with a culture that is more concerned with preservation of the esthetic's past means of communication than the creation/support of whatever it is of today that is actually communicating in terms of now. To put a simple face on it, you get a culture who'd rather read the sports page than go to the game. I say you go to the game and then read about it later, to see waht you might have missed, or to get some ideas about somethings that might have happened that you didn't understand. But you ALWAYS go to the game first. What we have now is a lot of people (especially people who do bookings and such) who read about the game in the sports page, watched a video tape of it over and over, and then think they really saw it. And that today's game is going to be more or less just like the one from 50 years ago. THAT is so much nonsense.

Only in passing...

You didn't. I just found the statement to be one that can be, and is, being used in more malevolent minds than yours, mine , and ours (saw it on cable a few nights ago!) to create this smog over jazz that has too many players and fans alike worried about what it is and isn't and who MATTERS more than who, not on a personal level but on a "historical" level, which is all well and good, but geez, don't you miss the days when jazz was just what it was where it was when it was just because that's just what it WAS? I know I do. And although we know that we both like thinking about this other stuff, I think we'd both agree that it's something best undertaken after one has a bit of mileage under one's belt (is that a mixed metaphor?) and in terms of what the music means to US rather than what it MEANS, if you know what I mean. Of course, one leads to the other, usually, but hey, that's better than having it go the other way around, which I see happening too much these days for me to feel comfortable with/about. I used to think that the guys at NT who were totally into the Liebman/Grossman business and didn't want to hear anything pre-Trane were pretty silly. I still do, but on the other hand, that strikes me today as somehow more honest than somebody who spends so much time uncovering the past of the music that they don't have the time and space for confronting the present, and then has the nerve to try and dictate what the present should be. And truthfully, if I had to choose, I'd personally prefer playing for a crowd who digs the music at a gut level but who doesn't know Jelly Roll from Little Debbie than one who's first line of response is weighing everything they hear in terms of what came before it and then deciding if there's enough commonality for it to be worthy of the past masters. That's just too inorganiic a dynamic to foster real music being made, much less recieved. Of coure, the ideal audience who is capable of doing both at appropriate times, but that's such a 20th Centruy concept, doncha' know... I'm certainly not directing this at you, Larry, just at the increasingly "obligational" aspect of being a jazz fan/musician that your comment no doubt inadvertantly and unintentionally suggested, and at that, more in extrapolation than in reality. I know it's not what you meant, and it's probably not what Martin Williams meant either. Yet here we are anyway...

The cat played in Benny Carter's band w/J.J. Johnson: http://www.rfsoc.org.uk/jim5.shtml

Check out Frank Comstock.

Well... I still can't accept that it's ok for Sonny in 1949, or 1954, to not get Jelly Roll (and given the general and personal circumstances he found himself in, I think it's highly unlikely that he spent too much, if any, time listening to Jelly Roll, let alone pondering the implications thereof) and still be able to so totally get Bird and Monk (and surely he did), but that a listener/fan is not capable of doing the same thing. I mean, there's something in all great music that speaks to the now as well as the forever. Perhaps what makes great music truly great is that it in fact speaks the truths of the forever in the language of the now. So, I can accept, endorse even, that somebody/anybody would be well served by finding out what that forever is all about, but not that somebody/anybody first has to learn about the past nows in order to get the present one. How many of us understood our father before becoming one? How many of us truly understand our fathers even now? Can we ever truly understand them? Certainly it's a major realization to come face-to-face with the reality that the more things change, the more they stay the same, and that, as the man said, the fundamental things apply as time goes by, but that's a different matter altogether than working hard to find out what those fundamental things are as they apply to one's own immediate circumstances. First, you gotta do that, deal with the now, then you worry about finding out how it all fits. Doing it the other way around is like buying a garage that fits a car you don't yet have. You run the risk of buying a car based on how well it fits in the garage, not because it's what you really want/need. Better to buy the car first and then look at/for garages, I think. I am a huge believer in the continuity of spirit in this music, and in learning about it's whole history. Obviously, the deepr one digs, the deeper one digs, dig? And since most of the true giants of this music are dead now, it's pretty much all history by now (the few exceptions notwithstanding). So yeah, if you're into one dead guy, it would behoove you to check they dead guys before him, if for no other reason than to get an idea of who's who and what's what amongst the otehr dead guy's you're liable to end up getting into. But that's more important when listening histortically than it is contemporaneously. I'd be hard pressed to say that anybody who was into, really into, Bird in 1949 or thereabouts didn't really "get" him if they didn't have a working knowledge of Jelly Roll Morton. Sure, they might not have had an understanding of how Bird fit into the continuum and all that, but there was more pressing business at hand at the time than figuring out how one stood in relation to the other, if you know what I mean. There were defintiely bigger fish to fry, and I think that those fish could be (and were) fried quite well without the historical contemplation. NOW was the time... So yeah, ideas ran out (or cold) and the music changed like it always had. But I find it ironic that the more that people become aware of the depth and breadth of the music's heritage, the less it seems to evolve. For every Henry Threadgill, there's about a million Eric Alexanders, it seems, which is as it's always been, except that the ratio is horribly out of wack compared to what it used to be. Using the past to assit in the contextualizing of the present is one thing, but using it to define the present is another thing altogether. And that applies to audiences at least as much as players, because the ultimate determiner of the course the music takes is, rightly or wrongly, the audience. If the music splits up into a lot of little self-contained subsets, it's because there's not enough of an audience to support it becoming more. And if something takes root and takes over, it's because there was an audience to support it. And by audience, I don't necessarily mean "the masses", just the people who care enough about their lives to seek out music that deals with it, and not be content solely to be fed music that is deemed fit for it. And to that end, if the large part of the audience is more concerned with what then meant more than what now means, well, hey, you'll get your Wyntons and your Alexanders and your whoevers. Because they're worrying about the same thing -proving thier worth in terms of the past, not making a present that matters. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think that it is perfectly possible, I dare say DESIREABLE, to get Bird, Monk, & Ornette (or even more to the point, Threadgill, Cecil, and Ornette) without getting Jelly Roll Morton. Of course, getting Morton will enhance and deepen your appreciation of what it is you've already gotten, but the point is exactly that - it's a broadening and deeping of an appreciation for something you've already gotten, not the prerequisite to actually getting it. Because what needs to be gotten first, in my opinion, is what any particular music of the now is saying in terms of that now. We expect our artists to do such a thing, and frankly, I think to deny audiences the same freedom to be in the now w/o worrying about the then is counterproductive. I really do not think that a familiarity with the past and a recognizing of the continuum should be the first order of anybody's business in the environment of a living art. Certainly it should be a part of it (hopefully an inevitable part), and that's not to to praise willful ignorance (far from it, although I'll take somebody who's learned what they know or don't know hand-me-down from within the culture of the music over somebody who's learned it all from a book but hardly set foot outside of that book and/or others who have learned from the same book) but the first (and second and third and...) order should be figuring out what the hell NOW is, and go about dealing with getting that into some intellegent and relevant music. A knowledge of Jelly Roll Morton, or Bird, or Monk, or Ornette will give you some of the tools to do that (spiritual more than technical, though, more often than not, hopefully) but ultimately you gotta hang up the phone to Dad & Grandpa and get out there totally on your own, to make something of your own. If anything, knowing too much about Dad & Grampa might actually hurt you, because you're liabel to end up trying to make what they made more than you are something that is yours. Better to make it first, and then reflect on what it all means and how it all fits than vice-versa. And that holds for audiences too. ESPECIALLY for audiences. Let them go where the artists feel the need to go. Eventually, it'll all come out in the wash. I fear I ramble even more than ususal. Time to stop.

How much do you think Sonny Rollins got Jelly Roll Morton in, say, 1949? Or 1954? Or even 1962?

Merci, beaucoup to mon amigo, Senor Joe Milazzo.

Yeah, that Migus thing I've seen on CD as both Period and Bethlehem. Wierd... So was the Bethlehem thing first on Period?

Where could one go to read these writings? I'm intrigued, to put it mildly, about the notion of Martin Williams writing about "Gunsmoke"...

And btw, Miles buffs who can't get enough of stuff like this are strongly encouraged to go here http://www.plosin.com/milesAhead/ amd revel in the glory of it all, if they haven't already done so.

Boy howdy, can I relate to THAT!

How did Bethlehem stuff end up on OJC?

A-HA! Seems that this session was originally released on 10' as simply MILES DAVIS ALL-STARS, Vols 1&2. PRLP 196 1-Bags Groove (tk1) 2-Swing Spring PRLP 200 1-Bemsha Swing 2-The Man I Love (tk 2) The BAG"S GROOVE album was a 12"(?), Prestige 7109, as was the AND THE MODERN JAZZ GIANTS, Prestige 7150. Considering that the latter contains a piece from 10-26-1956 ("Round Midnight" w/Trane, Red, et al, and tell me THAT wasn't a piece of marketing calculation...), it seems that the album got its title in very late 1956 at the earliest, and wuite possible in early-mid 1957, or maybe even later (wish I could find release date info for all this stuff..), by which time the buzz about Miles was very high (he began recording for Columbia in mid-1956, remember, although the results weren't released until a bit later, once the Prestige contact had been fulfilled), that about Monk beginning to rise w/his Riverside dates, and the MJQ already being on Atlantic and making a lot of noise. So the title MILES DAVIS & THE MODERN JAZZ GIANTS seems to very much be an "after the fact" thing, no doubt aimed at targeting the then-rising "celebrity" status of Miles as well as the "rising star" ascendency of the other parties involved.

If you look at the personnel and the time, it seems to me that it was sort of a "Prestige All Star" date, all of the players then enjoying a bit of profile for their Prestige recordings of the time (and in Heath's & Clarke's case, thier participation in same, both in and out of the MJQ). Why it was Miles' name given the "leadershhip" role, I don't know. My guess would be that it was scheduled as his date, part of his contractual obligation and such, and that the "Modern Jazz Giants" bit was a bit of hype (well-deserved in this case) aimed at spotlighting how "The Stars Of Today Are On Prestige" or some such. The only glitch in that reasoning is that Miles' "comeback" in terms of public awareness didn't really begin until July 1955 at Newport, and in 1954, Monkwas still pretty much know amongst the cognosenti, when he was known at all.

Now...who were the brave souls Israel Young & Leonard Feldman who put up the moneies and such to publish the magazine?

DOH!!!

You're welcome! One correction - Nat Hentoff was the co-editor of Jazz Review, not MArtin Williams. Who the other co-author was, I can't say.

So, what's the deal on this one? Tunes, arrangers, players, etc. Can't say that I've yet developed a taste for him as aplyer, but his "surroundings" were often quite interesting...

Towards the top!

Y'all need to hear the words to this song...

Great idea for a forum!

Exactly! I see too many newcomers to the music, fans and players alike, who latch on to a book, or an author, or a teacher, or a player, as their "definer" of the music, the filter through which all must pass in order to reach them, and that bugs the piss out of me. All you're doing is letting other people's prejudices (favorable and unfavorable) become your own. MAybe as the music's become more "standardized" the response to it is becoming likewise, or maybe it's the other way around, I don't know. But I don't like it! Bah! Humbug! Everybody owes it to themself to develop their own prejudices on their own time!

Well, nobody gets it totally "right", because if youy could write about music to that extent, there would be no need to play/hear it, dig? But for various styles, I'd give Gunther Schuller a big nod for sheer technical analysis, Larry Kart a big not for intellectual awareness, Dan Morgenstern a big nod for captruing the emotional essence of the music, John Litwieller a big nod for getting to the crux of where "there" is, Frances Davis a big nod (up until lately) for writiing about now with the clear perspective of others who do the same about then, and so on and so on. Point is, I'd imagine that all of these writers share a feeling of, at least, respect for what Williams accomplished in terms of setting the tone for critical jazz writing, even if they and others have taken it to a different level. When I point out the reservations I have about him, it should not be taken to mean that those reservations come at the expense of the same respect. And there's a book edited by Williams called "Jazz Panorama" that is a collection of essays from the old Jazz Review magazine, a magazine that I think Williams was the editor of, that is as good a read as you can find. Not coincidentally, perhaps, many of the pieces were authoured by musicians themselves, including Schuller's "legendary" analysis of "Blue Seven" (don't remember if Zita Carno's not-quite-as-legendary one of "Blue Train" is in there, but it should be...). It's to Williams' eternal credit that he had the perispacity to put out such a erudite publication using such insightful writers (not al of whom were musicians, btw). "Jazz Panorama" is, in the long run, I think, a more useful book than is "Jazz Panorama", not so much in terms of "education", but in terms of "understanding" the music. But if you're really into jazz writing, you need both, imo.

My "enthusiasm" for Gleason has waned somewhat as the years have passed, but I gve him highest props for his willingness to be (or attempt to be) as "in the moment" of his appreciation of the music as the players were in making it. In retrospect, a lot of what he wrote seems gushy/mushy/gee whizzy to me today, but the guilessness of the writing remains striking, and that still "matters" to me.