fasstrack

Now find me The Gang that Couldn't Shoot Straight. Or let our friend JSangry-the MF can locate any arcania in seconds flat. If only there was cyber-Jeopardy...

2 things: ah, yes. The Old Farts' Club. Charter member. I hung the clubhouse so long they voted that I take a vacation (; Also, er, could you see your way clear to faxing those pics? As Don Rickles said regularly to Johnny Carson ca. 1968 (if THAT don't date me...) I'M SO LONELY!!!

Epist: some very keen observations there. What book is that, BTW? Re Byrd: I hear you. Not a damn thing wrong w/The Blackbyrds-an outgrowth, IIRC, of his Howard U. Teaching, as they were students. I've met and played w/him 2x. Brilliant man. Both times were jams. The second time, late '90s, was interesting as hell: while a guy was soloing he turned to me w/Harmon mute in and off-mic started playing hip pentatonics in my ear-'here, kid. Dig THIS shit. Learn something!' The time before I was in the kid jam session house band at the Jazz Cultural Theater-and he and my crazy (and brilliant too) running buddy Tommy Turrentine got it on in a friendly battle. Donald is a guy I wish I could've hung with. I was very lucky in my training. Also on my wish list while they are around and still very viable: Randy Weston and Jimmy Heath. And, if you're listening, oh Lord, Tom Harrell.

That's Warren for you! When we were pals-pre-Zappa-he already was dating a transsexual-and he was just warming up! His girlfriend before that was uber-hot. He used to write everything in like 11/8! I wasn't surprised when he got the gig w/Zappa. He had cojunes! Zappa put him in pumps and skirts-and billed him 'Sophia Warren'! And he shut his mouth and the rest is history. The other guy, Pat Clark, was a sweetheart and very popular. He told me on the bus one day he was off to London for culinary school. Next thing I knew he's exec chef at the Odeon, then Tavern on the Green. He turned down the gig at the Clinton White House. I didn't know til seeing his NYT obit that he was considered an innovator in American cuisine. To tie it together a teacher of the kind we speak of, Lloyd Peckman, brought Pat Clark, myself, and others upstate camping. I think I speak for us all saying teachers made our youth pretty damn special.

I'd love to know what Mr. McCourt was like as a teacher! He was a happy-go-lucky guy who went the extra mile to help his students (including me). And yes, he was somwhat legendary around the sacred halls of Stuy High, at least while I was there. Students would often go out of their way to call out his name from across a crowded corridor during class changes, and he always acknowledged the attention. Thanks! I'm gonna read Teacher--or whatever it's called---next. I couldn't put Angela's Ashes down. No problem, Joel. As I said earlier, nobody had a clue that he was destined for fame. Many teachers at Stuy were just as friendly, helpful and qualified as McCourt. Just one of the things that set the school apart. I was extremely happy to spend 3 of my formative years there (as opposed to spending them at the prison that was my local high school). You're very lucky to have attended Stuyvesant. I went to Canarsie---and it was a great school. My music teacher, Phil Barr, really encouraged me. We had a basketball team with a national reputation, and Patrick Clark (a famous chef who died waiting for a heart transplant) and Warren Cuccarula (a zany rocker) were my buddies. Great times. I tried teaching HS in the '90s and quickly found that the plum jobs were ones I'd never get near and the kids I was assigned were out of control. Could not deal with the discipline aspects and used being slightly assaulted by a kid as a way out---and never looked back, though I was very sad at the time it didn't work out. The point is: my heart really goes out to teachers. The gifted ones are a truly special breed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puM38Xgz38w&feature=related These grooves are intense. I know there isn't great love for Herbie---at least all his doings---here, but give forget the silly clothes, etc. and this a chance. The little subtle harmonic coloristic things he does under these grooves and Benny Maupin's perfect understanding of the music are worth the price of the (free!) ticket. One could almost forgive Herbie for his saying with a straight face introducing Butterfly 'we'd like to do something pretty now....for the ladies in the house'. I swear, he said that... Music's great though, it holds up IMO, where other stuff of that period is dated.

I'd love to know what Mr. McCourt was like as a teacher! He was a happy-go-lucky guy who went the extra mile to help his students (including me). And yes, he was somwhat legendary around the sacred halls of Stuy High, at least while I was there. Students would often go out of their way to call out his name from across a crowded corridor during class changes, and he always acknowledged the attention. Thanks! I'm gonna read Teacher--or whatever it's called---next. I couldn't put Angela's Ashes down.

I'm trying to find that PBS broadcast w/Benny Goodman, where George plays 7 Come 11. Can't so far. I'm trying to find that PBS broadcast w/Benny Goodman, where George plays 7 Come 11. Can't so far. And get back to work!! Damn slacker...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rLZbt-tL6xw&feature=related If only the man had great ears and could swing And check out Basie's reaction shots. A great 2 minutes and change of music.

I'd love to know what Mr. McCourt was like as a teacher!

It took me two hours to get that one darn Getz chorus written down (from the CD, so no slowing down). That part where he goes way up, hitting about the hightest notes possible on the tenor, and some some quick flurry of notes, I never got that down ... but even for a lacking amateur like me, it was a good exercice! You chose well. He was a master...

Just an observation, Larry-and one I broached myself in the OP. Nothing-no one- exists in a vacuum. It's a bit like still loving a great musician's work despite finding he's a rotten SOB. I'm glad I read and processed most of Angela's Ashes before I knew about these deep waters. It takes a special discipline to shut out the noise and opinions on an artwork or anything else and just let it in and decide on one's own.

It's interesting how this became about the McCourts, manipulative writing and variations of biography and fiction-rather than Angela's Ashes. I know I sort of loaded that gun in the OP. Does anyone else agree that the book itself is superb? McCourt's prose is beauty and simplicity. It flows. The only U.S. writer I find his equal as a memoirist is Pete Hammil-esp. his A Drinking Life. It dealt with some of the same themes in an equally original voice.

I knew of Malachy way before Frank got so 'big'. He had a talk radio show on WBAI in NY in the '80s. And a damn entertaining show it was. Or make that 't'was'. Don't shoot-it was a joke. I swear... I didn't want to latch onto such a pat explaination-but jealously is always at least a little factor in drive-by snipes at the (especially newly) famous. But such VENOM. McCourt really must've rubbed Limerick the wrong way, then stuck salt from Mam's fried bread in the wounds.

You're way more perspicatious than me. I haven't transcribed off recordings-except for some Tom Harrell 20 years ago-since I was a jazz tadpole. The only problem was the needle arm on the Victrola was so damn heavy. And I slipped and dropped it in the stream a few times. Maybe that's why my transcription of Bix's solo on Davenport Blues has not only notes-but every few bars the word 'gurgle'...

The OK was for Pete. I wasn't trying to badger you. I assumed you'd read it. My bad. Your points are good ones-and I appreciate your candor in where you're coming from. I'd love reading your thoughts if you do read it. I'll post a link to the then-controversy at a real computer later.

Ok.

and thank your mom for buying that guitar you begged for so you could grow up and accomplish many things--especially riding shotgun over US whackos-- (is he laughing, boys-or grabbing the nearest cleaver?

Agreed. But you're not answering the question posed specifically about Frank McCourt, and why he and his book aroused such bile back home even as it was lauded and loved everywhere else. (BTW, to throw yet MORE wood on the fire, the Pulitzer awarded the book was for biography-not a whisper about fiction).

The year I read it. Now. The controversy goes back to the late 90s, but the themes remain germane, to me anyway.

Pt. 2...lies. Harris claims Angela told her she was unwanted and her sons were waiting for her to die. It's amazing how Angela is used as a wedge by both sides. The cruelest accusation: Frank and Malachy, against Catholic law, had their mother cremated rather than pay for a funeral! Interestingly, no one ever attacks the book itself. It's too well-loved, and IMO deservedly. Questions that come to mind besides the obvious ones of jealousy: how much license can a writer take before a work becomes fiction or 'biographical novel' (as I was astonished to find Manchild in the Promised Land was after knowing it since age 14-it was so REAL). I'll end w/2 thoughts: the people of Harlem lauded, not hated Claude Brown for an equally unflattering portrayal. And to quote Bob Dylan on the subject of songs: 'Lies, nothing but lies.' Thoughts?

Did you ever have this wet blanket thrown your way: you're into something great, only to nearly be thrown off-course by encountering a chorus of malcontents along the way? Bullshit, they inveigh. This guy's a liar, a traitor, an opportunist. I finally got to Frank McCourt's book-and found it masterful writing, with a black, ironic humor that was never bitter, but about surviving. Certainly it resonated with many more. Now, almost done, I read many in Limerick hate not the book, but McCourt himself. He's pummeled in local editorials as being hateful toward the town, denying its spirit and anything else good, of exaggerating his poverty and factual errors describing people and events 70-80 years ago. Most bristling is the late Limerickian Richard Harris, who gets into a pub fight w/McCourt (he says McCourt hit him and ran!), calls Frank and brother Malachy 'users', and claims Angela herself disavowed the book and walked out of a play about their youth the boys performed back home, calling it a 'pack of...

Dav-e-lah! If you remember all the locations in Art Sch...are in NY-Spring St. subway stop, etc. Maybe the model was Visual Arts. Just a guess. Can't agree the characters are shallow though. The girl being chased has a change of heart and falls for the boy student before he takes it out for her. OK, admittedly she's a pushover for his portrait of her-and that's a bit shallow. But she also dumps the Aryan hunk (OK, so it's after his couer is blown) and goes with the kid. This was the sweet part for me: how many no-talent, no-soul types but w/looks get the girl, glory, fame-in stories and life? And this kid was willing to take a bum rap to get her, plus the infamy gained-but mostly to beat the Nazi. Even he has a vulnerable moment taking him to jail when he asks the kid in earnest 'were my paintings good at all?' the film reminded me of themes in Crimes and Misdemeanors-esp. the dynamic betwn the Allen and Alda characters. Success or loser-we're judged one or the other in society. Makes one do strange things.

I guess I'll look into Ghost World. There's a wonderful library where I'm staying for only one more day in W. Palm Beach. Don't know if they have it. Next chance would be one of the 'art houses' in NY like the Film Forum or Angelika-where these films pop up in retrospectives. Don't have a DVD player and don't have (and don't want) a TV. Much better on the big screen anyway.

Now for penance, youmg man, go to your room and learn a solo from Dr. Wu. Then come back and sing it for your mother and me. Or YOU'RE #@$%& GROUNDED!! (;