Brownian Motion

Has anyone heard this recently released album on Delmark?

I like Salon's choice for "Person of the Year".

What a boring observation.

Lame.

Bob Skinner Thomas Grinder Beverly Crusher

Anita Lobel Arnold Lobel Frog & Toad

Here's his NYT obit. The New York Times Printer Friendly Format Sponsored By December 14, 2006 Kenny Davern, 71, Clarinetist Who Loved Traditional Jazz, Dies By DENNIS HEVESI Kenny Davern, a radically traditional jazz clarinetist and soprano saxophonist whose liquid tones linked him to the classical sound of New Orleans but who could also play free jazz, died on Tuesday at his home in Sandia Park, N.M. He was 71. The cause was a heart attack, his wife, Elsa, said. A professional on several instruments since his teens, Mr. Davern became nationally known in the 1970s when, with the pianist Dick Wellstood and another soprano saxophonist, Bob Wilber, he formed the Soprano Summit. The band toured the world and recorded several well-received albums. When the band reunited in the 1990s, Mr. Davern had returned almost exclusively to the clarinet, on which he was known for hitting notes far above the instrument’s normal range. “You could pick Kenny out on a record after two or three notes —like a hot knife going through butter,” said Warren Vaché, a trumpeter and longtime friend. “His playing was edgy and cutting and virile and, at the same time, passionate and tender..” His style, Mr. Vaché said, “was derived from Dixieland but weaved in everything else.” John Kenneth Davern was born on Jan. 7, 1935, in Huntington, N.Y., the son of John and Josephine Davern. By the age of 11, Kenny Davern was playing a clarinet that his mother had bought for $35. Living with his grandparents in Woodhaven, Queens, after the breakup of his parents’ marriage, he played in the school band and in a Dixieland band with friends from the neighborhood. At 16, Mr. Davern got his first big break when the trumpeter Henry (Red) Allen called him for a clarinet gig at an American Legion Hall in Queens. “I have no idea how he came to phone me,” he recalled in a profile written by Brian Peerless, a British jazz impresario. Within two years Mr. Davern was on the road in the saxophone section of Ralph Flanagan’s big band. He then auditioned for Jack Teagarden’s Dixieland band and afterward, Mr. Davern recalled, Mr. Teagarden asked, “Kenny, where’ve you been all my life?” In 1954, still a teenager, Mr. Davern made his recording debut with Mr. Teagarden. Four years later he recorded his first album under his own name, “In the Gloryland,”on the Elektra label. He later made many albums for the Concord, Chiaroscuro and Arbors labels. In the mid-1950s and ’60s, enthralled by the recordings of Jimmie Noone, Mr. Davern focused on the New Orleans style. He played with Phil Napoleon’s Memphis Five and Pee Wee Erwin’s band, even joining the Dukes of Dixieland for a couple of years. But later in the ’60s, when Mr. Davern was regularly leading his own traditional band at Nick’s in Greenwich Village, he also became close to musicians like the trombonist Roswell Rudd and the soprano saxophonist Steve Lacy, Mr. Vaché said. “Kenny’s curiosity made him see the good side of the avant-garde,” he said. In later years he was a sought-after performer at jazz festivals in America and Europe, resolutely playing his own lyrical version of a traditional repertory from the 1920s on an instrument last popular in the 1940s. He is survived by his wife of 36 years, the former Elsa Green, for whom he and his friend the saxophonist Flip Phillips wrote the tune “Elsa’s Dream”; two stepchildren, Mark Lass, of San Diego, and Deborah Wuensch, of Poulsbo, Wash.; and four step-grandchildren. Asked to name other jazz greats his friend had played with, Mr. Vaché said, “We’d need a year to list them all.” But Mr. Davern, who was known for his acerbic wit on and off the bandstand, listed as one of his favorite ensembles Dick Wellstood and His All-Star Orchestra, which consisted of exactly two members.

He was a courageous, friendly man.

I would say that this is a scam by someone trying to make a quick killing in the commodities market.

Anon Alteen Bill Wilson

Enos Slaughter Country Slaughter Enos the Penis

Bunk Johnson.

Troublemaker.

Don't remember ever hearing her sing, but she does have a peripheral association with jazz. The New York Times Printer Friendly Format Sponsored By December 12, 2006 Georgia Gibbs, 87, Singer of the ’50s Hit ‘Kiss of Fire,’ Dies By MARGALIT FOX Georgia Gibbs, a brassy-voiced pop singer who topped the charts in the 1950s with “Kiss of Fire” and other hits, died on Saturday in Manhattan, where she had lived for many years. She was 87. The cause was pneumonia, said Leslie Gottlieb, a publicist and family friend. She said Ms. Gibbs had been undergoing treatment for leukemia in recent months at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, where she died. During her years in show business, Ms. Gibbs was widely known by her full, magisterial title: Her Nibs, Miss Georgia Gibbs. “Nibs” in this sense denotes a person of importance; its etymology is uncertain. Like many white singers of the period, Ms. Gibbs, who recorded her biggest hits for the Mercury label, was known in particular for her covers, often with bowdlerized lyrics, of R&B songs by black artists. She was also known for her versatility; her repertory included tangos like “Kiss of Fire” as well as torch songs, jazz, rock and novelty numbers. Ms. Gibbs recorded three singles that sold more than a million copies each: “Kiss of Fire,” which reached No. 1 on the Billboard charts in 1952; “Tweedle Dee” which was No. 2 in 1955 (the song was originally introduced by LaVern Baker); and “Dance With Me Henry” (previously recorded by Etta James as “Wallflower”), which was No. 1 in 1955. A frequent guest on television and radio, Ms. Gibbs appeared with Ed Sullivan, Milton Berle, Bob Hope, Jimmy Durante and Garry Moore, among other notables. It was Mr. Moore who came up with the title Her Nibs. Ms. Gibbs was born Frieda Lipschitz on Aug. 17, 1919, in Worcester, Mass. Her father died when she was very young, and she spent much of her childhood in an orphanage. There, Frieda discovered a talent for singing; by the time she was a teenager, she had left the orphanage and was supporting her family by working in Boston ballrooms. She made her early recordings, with Artie Shaw and other bandleaders, under the name Fredda Gibson. In the late 1950’s, Ms. Gibbs married Frank Gervasi, a journalist; he died in 1990. She is survived by a brother, Robert Gibson, of La Mesa, Calif.; and one step-grandchild. In part because she chose to record less frequently after her marriage, Ms. Gibbs never attained the lasting fame of contemporaries like Rosemary Clooney and Patti Page. But in her heyday, she was so well known that the post office routinely delivered to her door overseas letters addressed simply, “Her Nibs.”

Little Pig Robinson Frank Robinson Felix Frankfurter

Stan Kenton was a controversial musician in his time. I never much cared for him, so I can't make any recommendations.

Maybe a sample of early "Third Stream" -- my pick would be "Sketch" by the MJQ and the Beaux Art String Quartet.

King Kong Son of Kong Mighty Joe Young

The New York Times Printer Friendly Format Sponsored By December 10, 2006 You Can Surf in Cleveland, Before the Lake Freezes By CHRISTOPHER MAAG CLEVELAND, Dec. 9 — They surf in Cleveland because they must. They surf with two-inch icicles clinging to their wet suits, through stinging hail and overpowering wind. They work nights to spend their winter days scouting surf. They are watermen on an inland sea. Given its industrial past, Cleveland largely turns its back to Lake Erie, lining the coast with power plants, a freeway and mounds of iron ore to feed its steel factories. The shore is especially deserted in winter, when strong winds and waves pummel the land. In December, as temperatures dip into the 20s and ice gathers in the lake’s small coves, Cleveland surfers have Lake Erie almost entirely to themselves. “Surfing Lake Erie is basically disgusting,” said Bill Weeber, known as Mongo, 44. “But then I catch that wave and I forget about it, and I feel high all day.” Scott Ditzenberger hoped to experience the same feeling when he heard that the first blizzard of the winter was pounding across the Midwest. “I was so excited I could barely sleep last night,” said Mr. Ditzenberger, 35, who quit his job as a lawyer in August to spend more time surfing and to film a documentary about Cleveland’s surf community. It was the kind of day that lives mostly in Cleveland surfers’ fantasies. Pushed by the storm’s winds, water the color of chocolate milk rose 10 feet in the air before slamming onto a beach of boulders and logs. The temperature was 40 degrees and falling. One surfer, Vince Labbe, climbed onto his board only to get blown backward by 40-mile-an-hour winds. Mike Miller, known as Chewbacca, managed to tuck his head and left shoulder into the barrel of a wave before being crushed by a wall of water. “I haven’t seen a break this good in 10 years,” Mr. Ditzenberger said. Go ahead and laugh. Cleveland surfers are used to it. When Jamie Yanak sits at a stoplight with his surfboard atop his 1996 Ford Thunderbird, he said, people point and laugh. Every year a local television crew arrives on the beach to film surfers in the snow and make jokes about “California dreaming.” But this is not California. And Cleveland surfers are not playing around. Many of the roughly 25 committed surfers here work nights all year to keep their winter days free for surfing. Mr. Weeber quit his job as an advertising art director and makes less money as a summer landscaper. He moved his family closer to the beach, to spend more time on the waves. Sean Rooney, 31, said, “All I want to do is surf.” The strongest winds and waves come in winter, just before Lake Erie freezes. Waves up to 10 feet have been surfed, but the largest swells are usually chest-high. Instead of curling into a vertical wall, the waves are round like haystacks, and they collapse onto the shore like soggy paper. Surfers learn to avoid ice chunks the size of bowling balls. Some wear goggles to surf through freezing rain, which can sting their eyes like needles. That is a bad idea, Mr. Labbe said, because the goggles freeze to their faces. Surfers watch their friends for signs of hypothermia, urging them to leave the water when their eyes glaze over and their words slur. Ear infections are a common affliction. To reach the lake, surfers drag their boards across snowdrifts and beaches littered with used condoms and syringes, Mr. Ditzenberger said. The most popular surf spot is Edgewater State Park. It is nicknamed Sewer Pipe because, after heavy rains, a nearby water treatment plant regularly discharges untreated waste into Lake Erie. Love and family obligations prevent most surfers here from moving to California or Hawaii. So they adapt. Mr. Rooney chose a surfboard that is longer and wider than most modern boards because it adds buoyancy in the lake’s salt-free water. He replaced its three small fins with one large fin, which helps him turn quickly on small waves. Because the nearest surf shop is on Lake Michigan, 285 miles away, Mr. Labbe builds surfboards for his friends in his mother’s basement. “Cleveland surfers have a reputation for being gritty and hard-core,” said Ryan Gerard, owner of Third Coast Surf Shop in New Buffalo, Mich. “They just don’t care what other people think about them.” Except that they hate being compared with the modern California surf scene. Cleveland surfers believe they are the last remnants of the original surf culture in the 1940s and ’50s, when surfing was still a renegade sport of social misfits who scouted virgin breaks, surfed alone and lived by a code of friendliness to newcomers and respect for the water. They keep their best surf spots secret. They consider themselves part of an underground society. And they hope to keep it that way. “Everybody surfs in California, which waters down the experience,” said Mr. Rooney, who grew up surfing in Orange County, Calif., before moving to Cleveland three years ago to work in his family’s real estate business. “Being here takes me back to that feeling of discovery that the founding fathers of surfing experienced.” Occasionally there are days when the waves are good and the sunset falls into Lake Erie like a red fire and the Cleveland surfers bob silently in the water, alone in the city. And they laugh at their good fortune. “Nobody surfs here to get noticed,” Mr. Ditzenberger said. “We surf here because we love it.”

I second this. Also, any Blue Note sides by Sidney Bechet or the Blue Note Jazzmen.

I don't presume to speak for Chris, but I believe there is a connection between the appearance on this board of Scott Dolan and Chris' disappearance. I don't know what their common history is, but Chris does not respect Dolan's political opinions, and Dolan in turn acts obnoxiously and resorts to silly name-calling (see above). What? Because I refer to him as al-Bertson? Hell, he never seemed to have a problem with Johnny E blowing apart at the seems, now did he? Neither do you, by the way. So why not bark up another tree? I didn't do jack shit to him, and he intentionally started a thread to see if he could get me fired up which Jim later deleted. Do some reasearch before relaying the story, my friend. Al-bertson is not the only demeaning name you hung on Chris; you also referred to him several times as "Granny". Johnny E is irrelevant to the discussion. Nice red herring, though. I stand by what I wrote, which attempted to pinpoint the reason Chris Albertson left this board.

Arthur Ashe Ashley Wilkes Dustin Hoffman

I don't presume to speak for Chris, but I believe there is a connection between the appearance on this board of Scott Dolan and Chris' disappearance. I don't know what their common history is, but Chris does not respect Dolan's political opinions, and Dolan in turn acts obnoxiously and resorts to silly name-calling (see above).

Dr. Joyce Brothers Dr. Robert Robert Palmer Betsy Palmer Ward Heeler Wardell Gray