Lazaro Vega

Ahk! He was supposed to play live on Blue Lake during our James Dapogny broadcast, but went home for his anniversary. Good player.

Is that "Wadin'"?

http://www.artsjournal.com/rifftides/2009/...ps_at_50_1.html

You guys are a riot. Thank you thank you. 49 and everything's fine. Ella tonight on the radio......

One of my parents’ deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn’t be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother’s remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school—she said, “you’re WASTING your SAT scores.” On some level, I think, my parents were not sure themselves what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they LOVED music, they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren’t really clear about its function. So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the “arts and entertainment” section of the newspaper, and serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it’s the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music, and how it works. The first people to understand how music really works were the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you; the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works. One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the Quartet for the End of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany in a cattle car and imprisoned in a concentration camp. He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose. There were three other musicians in the camp, a cellist, a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire. Given what we have since learned about life in the concentration camps, why would anyone in his right mind waste time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture—why would anyone bother with music? And yet—from the camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art; it wasn’t just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art. Why? Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce, without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival; art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, “I am alive, and my life has meaning.” On September 12, 2001 I was a resident of Manhattan. That morning I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 AM to practice as was my daily routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and took my hands off the keys. And I sat there and thought, does this even matter? Isn’t this completely irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, pointless. Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost. And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day. At least in my neighborhood, we didn’t shoot hoops or play Scrabble. We didn’t play cards to pass the time, we didn’t watch TV, we didn’t shop, we most certainly did not go to the mall. The first organized activity that I saw in New York, that same day, was singing. People sang. People sang around fire houses, people sang “We Shall Overcome”. Lots of people sang America the Beautiful. The first organized public event that I remember was the Brahms Requiem, later that week, at Lincoln Center, with the New York Philharmonic. The first organized public expression of grief, our first communal response to that historic event, was a concert. That was the beginning of a sense that life might go on. The US Military secured the airspace, but recovery was led by the arts, and by music in particular, that very night. From these two experiences, I have come to understand that music is not part of “arts and entertainment” as the newspaper section would have us believe. It’s not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers of our budgets, not a plaything or an amusement or a pass time. Music is a basic need of human survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we can’t with our minds. Some of you may know Samuel Barber’s heart-wrenchingly beautiful piece Adagio for Strings. If you don’t know it by that name, then some of you may know it as the background music which accompanied the Oliver Stone movie Platoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If you know that piece of music either way, you know it has the ability to crack your heart open like a walnut; it can make you cry over sadness you didn’t know you had. Music can slip beneath our conscious reality to get at what’s really going on inside us the way a good therapist does. I bet that you have never been to a wedding where there was absolutely no music. There might have been only a little music, there might have been some really bad music, but I bet you there was some music. And something very predictable happens at weddings—people get all pent up with all kinds of emotions, and then there’s some musical moment where the action of the wedding stops and someone sings or plays the flute or something. And even if the music is lame, even if the quality isn’t good, predictably 30 or 40 percent of the people who are going to cry at a wedding cry a couple of moments after the music starts. Why? The Greeks. Music allows us to move around those big invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides so that we can express what we feel even when we can’t talk about it. Can you imagine watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the dialogue but no music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the right moment in ET so that all the softies in the audience start crying at exactly the same moment? I guarantee you if you showed the movie with the music stripped out, it wouldn’t happen that way. The Greeks: Music is the understanding of the relationship bet ween invisible internal objects. I’ll give you one more example, the story of the most important concert of my life. I must tell you I have played a little less than a thousand concerts in my life so far. I have played in places that I thought were important. I like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris; it made me very happy to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have played for people I thought were important; music critics of major newspapers, foreign heads of state. The most important concert of my entire life took place in a nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years ago. I was playing with a very dear friend of mine who is a violinist. We began, as we often do, with Aaron Copland’s Sonata, which was written during Worl d War II and dedicated to a young friend of Copland’s, a young pilot who was shot down during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about the pieces we are going to play rather than providing them with written program notes. But in this case, because we began the concert with this piece, we decided to talk about the piece later in the program and to just come out and play the music without explanation. Midway through the piece, an elderly man seated in a wheelchair near the front of the concert hall began to weep. This man, whom I later met, was clearly a soldier—even in his 70’s, it was clear from his buzz-cut hair, square jaw and general demeanor that he had spent a good deal of his life in the military. I thought it a little bit odd that someone would be moved to tears by that particular movement of that particular piece, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve heard crying in a concert and we went on with the concert and finished the piece. When we came out to play the next piece on the program, we decided to talk about both the first and second pieces, and we described the circumstances in which the Copland was written and mentioned its dedication to a downed pilot. The man in t he front of the audience became so disturbed that he had to leave the auditorium. I honestly figured that we would not see him again, but he did come backstage afterwards, tears and all, to explain himself. What he told us was this: “During World War II, I was a pilot, and I was in an aerial combat situation where one of my team’s planes was hit. I watched my friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the Japanese planes which had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the parachute chords so as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched my friend drop away into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have not thought about this for many years, but during that first piece of music you played, this memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I was reliving it. I didn’t understand why this was happening, why now, but then when you came out to explain that this piece of music was written to commemorate a lost pilot, it was a little more than I could handle. How does the music do that? How did it find those feelings and those memories in me?” Remember the Greeks: music is the study of invisible relationships between internal objects. This concert in Fargo was the most important work I have ever done. For me to play for this old soldier and help him connect, somehow, with Aaron Copland, and to connect their memories of their lost friends, to help him remember and mourn his friend, this is my work. This is why music matters. What follows is part of the talk I will give to this year’s freshman class when I welcome them a few days from now. The responsibility I will charge your sons and daughters with is this: “If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you’d take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at two AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you’re going to have to save their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft. You’re not here to become an entertainer, and you don’t have to sell yourself. The truth is you don’t have anything to sell; being a musician isn’t about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevys. I’m not an entertainer; I’m a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You’re here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor, physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don’t expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that’s what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives. Karl Paulnack, Director Music Division The Boston Conservatory 8 The Fenway Boston, MA 02215 www.bostonconservatory.edu

Duke's birthday. Lots of his music tonight on Jazz From Blue Lake, 10 p.m. - 3 a.m. At midnight, though, the rebroadcast of the Ralph Jones/Adam Rudolph duo in the series "Live From Blue Lake" first broadcast Easter Sunday. Then back to the maestro. www.bluelake.org/radio or http://bluelake.ncats.net/

Up for James Dapogny's Chicago Jazz Band Monday night at 10 p.m. edt "Live From Blue Lake." Since Dapogny and Chicago drummer Wayne Jones founded this octet in the mid-1970's, the group has enjoyed an on-going career playing music from the first 40 years of jazz, including several recordings and a number of concerts at the Smithsonian. Then, Wednesday night at midnight until Thursday morning at 1 a.m. edt the re-broadcast of Easter Sunday's performance by percussionist Adam Rudolph and woodwinds virtuoso Ralph Jones. Hope you can join us.

Long way to fly....fly fly fly

ALOC!!!!! It sounds better after a glass of wine; or Lemoncello. Looking forward to a program tonight on Bennie Green.

I see you listen to a lot of radio over there, Bill. You might try http://bluelake.ncats.net/ and see if that loads. Been working on the idea of time shifting the program on the Internet, so that for the the 24 hours after Jazz From Blue Lake is over it would be available to listen to in one five hour block. Starting at 3 a.m. you could download the program that just ran from 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. (that must be very early in the morning there: 3 a.m. to 8 a.m. for you?). We're just held up in getting on that by the cost, of course, for the additional bandwidth; and the Digital Millennium Copy Right Act, which is tricky when it comes to streaming on the web. There are all kinds of legal limits on how many selections by the same artist may be played in a three hour period, unless you get a waiver from the copyright owners; and then there are hoops to jump through regarding "on demand" services, which time shifting would be. Dumb ass law as relates to the 78 rpm era, or educational broadcasting, for that matter. Someday, but not today. In any case, wish you could hear the program. Think you might enjoy it. Bessie Smith featured tonight.... LV

Ah, someone out bid me at the last second.....

Now that'd be funky. Cool, Werf. Did you catch Adam Rudolph and Ralph Jones on the air? We had John Erskine from Hope College recording their concert at Hugo's place. Looking forward to hearing the "extended" version of what they do. Man, Bob Porter's the guy when it comes to doing the leg work on Jug. The notes to the 78 rpm era CD are great at setting the scene. They do mention that Gene had a brother in the church. Last year the Blue Lake Faculty guys were playing a reception for a Christian confab in Grand Rapids and the Reverend introduced himself. "Some of the members of my family played music. My brother Gene played saxophone and my father, Albert, played piano. I was the only one who didn't go into music." "Well, no family is perfect." (!) By the way, where is the non-vocal version of "Red Top"? I could have sworn we had that on vinyl at the station, but no luck. So it's the vocal version. Not as good.

Hope you can join us

Was listening to "Take the Coltrane" yesterday, and it's nearly all Stanley from start to finish.

Up for tonight

Q, Where is Conception released? LV

Ingrid is now on the faculty part time at the University of Michigan. She appeared last month with the Western Michigan University Jazz Orchestra, and her own quartet, in Kalamazoo. Blue Lake had the good fortune of recording her band with Geeof Keezer, Matt Clohsey and her husband Jon Wikan a few years back during a concert at Mona Shore High School near Muskegon. Nice, long-form version of "The Night Has A Thousand Eyes."

Koester was sort of trapped between the sandbar and the edge of the shore at Duck Lake State Park. The water will get waist high, chest high, about three feet from shore. But if you walk another yard or two it's back to around your ankles. After that incident he'd introduce me to anyone who would listen, "He's the guy that saved me from drowning in Lake Michigan." I can't remember clearly if I even did -- I think it was Ann Nessa! Who knows. Its become a myth. When Koester would come up to Michigan he'd sometimes bring his jazz films and show them on the warehouse wall where Chuck was working at the time. Great parties. Live band playing early jazz -- I think there was a bass sax involved -- then a cookout and after the sun went down "The Sound of Jazz," "Jammin' The Blues" and all kinds of other jazz films projected on the wall. Again, this was a couple of decades before You-Tube and you just didn't see that stuff much. Koester showed those often at the Record Mart in that period, but it was a real special treat to have them in the vicinity of Lost Valley in Montague, Michigan.

Well, yeah, Chuck Nessa, man: No Chuck, no Chicago Jazz Festival. OK, maybe not that black and white, but if it weren't for his take no bullshit from people in power, i.e. City Hall Chicago, chances are The Jazz Institute of Chicago might not have prevailed. Before "Taste of Chicago," the jazz fest. was using Grant Park for cultural events. And it was just "any" jazz festival in those days, it was one of the last bastions, and strongest bastions, of a multiplicity of musical styles from the historical continuum, nearly anti-corporate at every turn. As a student radio announcer/jazz director at Michigan State University in the early 80's I was calling the Steeplechase Records office in Chicago requesting promo copies of their latest releases (several of which I still have in my possession) - and it was Chuck on the other end, asking me if I was familiar with the Basie band's men Buck Clayton and Dickie Wells. Buck's double lp with Buddy Tate, Dickie Wells and Jimmy Rushing was one great concert recording. Just recently, with their firesale, I picked up Mosaic's Complete Columbia Small Band Swing Sessions and low and behold, there was the studio album that preceded the 1959 tour that led to the concert in Denmark Steeplechase released. Some lessons never stop. Shortly after moving into a cabin in Faculty Village in the Manistee National Forest here at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp (March 1st, 1983), I was doing the Saturday morning show live. I looked up from back announcing an Air recording on Antilles Records (maybe "Chicago Breakdown,") and this girl's smiling face was in the window between studios, and when I looked at the small square window in the studio door, some dude's grinning face was filling it up. I opened the door like, "Wat the" and there's a hand sent forward with "Hi, I'm Chuck Nessa." Then it was really, What the? His daughter Carla is now the graphic designer on those unfussy CD presentations. Chuck, the convergence of jazz forces in Whitehall, Michigan, of all places, in the 1980's was better than any graduate school a 20 something could have ever. And there was Augsburger! Having had the chance to produce or at least lend a hand in producing concerts here in Michigan by Von Freeman, Ira Sullivan (who's date on Flying Fish Chuck produced), Roscoe Mitchell and Fred Anderson, all after having been exposed to their music through Chuck, is an honor. There's no way to describe, too, how important Chuck's vast library and early dedication to serious discographical study were in assembling retrospective radio programs before the Internet. From pulling a half water sogged Bob Koester out of Lake Michigan during one of his visits to Whitehall, to sitting in the press section at the Chicago Jazz Festival throughout much of the 1990's, to being invited to after parties at the old Blackstone Hotel, to sitting in on a mixing session for "Procession" with Leo Smith, there are just so many great memories in jazz that are associated personally with Mr. Nessa. And it is always good to see his hard work recognized world wide. He won't talk about it, but the Charlie Parker/Dizzy Gillespie Uptown release: thank goodness Chuck was there to shepherd it. You have no idea. The integrity he's brought to work he does has earned him a level of trust among musicians anyone in the music industry would be proud to have achieved. So raise a glass to Mr. Nessa. "Tenors and turmoil" could sum up his catalogue in a cheeky way. When I was 19 one of the coolest records I owned featured three harps and the trumpet of Leo Smith. Can't wait for the world to hear that one again in digital sound. Hopefully we'll see you Sunday, Chuck, for Adam Rudolph "Live From Blue Lake." Adam said he wants to tell you about a concert he just did with Roscoe and Yusef Lateef.

http://www.metromodemedia.com/filterd/RoscoeMitchell.aspx

That's the one with Art Blakey? I have that as double album on Columbia called "One Night At Birdland." No Conception on that one. Morgenstern does go into it. He dates it as June 30, 1950, but Fats dies on July 7th, so he's really doubtful. He quotes Ira Gitler as having seen Fats and Birdland in 1950 and saying he's in bad shape.

Up for the Adam Rudolph/Ralph Jones duo this Saturday at Mexicans Sans Frontiers. They're playing Good Friday at Kerrytown Concert House; Saturday in Grand Rapids and Sunday live on Blue Lake Public Radio. It's been 20 years since Adam toured in Michigan. He played at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts in Grand Rapids then with the band Eternal Wind.

I wonder if they'll have any transcriptions. Fats is easily one of my all time favorites, though I tend to his small band recordings with Tadd Dameron on Savoy and Blue Note as the center piece for listening. Need to delve further into the Royal Roost broadcasts with Dameron. "Only" have the two-fer on Milestone. There must be much more live material, just haven't found it yet. Yes, his playing with Eckstine is fine, both lead and solo; and that version of "Move" he made with Max Roach and Linton Garner is something else. But "Nostalgia" and "Ice Freezes Red" and "Lady Bird" are the ones that I've gone back to time and again. B flat major seven is how Hod O'Brien described Dameron's music to me once in a casual comment. And it was Fats who took that sound into improvisational beauty.

http://www.thenation.com/doc/20090420/zirin?rel=emailNation

Sparty said, "No."