Mark Stryker

A double dose of Tyrone Washington today at ridiculously low prices: 1. "Natural Essence" (Blue Note) -- mono, cover beat up a bit with postage-stamp "Audition MONO LP Not for Sale: sticker on the front, and "DJ" in big letters scrawled on the black. LP itself looks beat up with scratches on one side but it actually sounds great. Price: $4.72 2. "Roots" (Perception)-- in beautiful condition. Price: $9.43

Since buying a Rega Planet around 1996-97, I haven't kept up with model numbers or the competition, but I have been supremely satisfied with the sound quality, durability and value-for-the-money that it offers. No bells and whistles but the sound is remarkably analog-like in its warmth and presence -- digital sound for those who don't like digital sound. Again, I don't know what Rega is making these days, but if I were buying a CD player, that's where I personally would start.

I can't speak to the sound quality questions at the heart of this thread, but I do want to say something about musical quality. Brownie mentions the 1945 "Now's the Time" as definitive, and while it's certainly more historic, I would say that the five choruses that Bird plays on the 1953 version are more inspired -- the tempo is faster, the fluidity and distillation of his language is remarkable, big chunks of the solo remain part of the common vocabularly and the overall spontaneity and spark all make this one of Bird's greatest studio recordings. I would say the same about the rest of the material on "Now's The Time," with a special nod to the master take of "Chi Chi," a blues in the unusual key (for Bird) of A-flat and which contains some of his loftiest ideas on the blues that really get away from his familiar licks that tend to show up when he's in B-flat or F (the key of "Now's the Time"). Also, the rhythm sections, more sympathetic than on other Verve dates, play beautifully and are very well recorded -- they sound quite comfortable in the idiom and modern by this point in a way that they don't in the '40s. As for "Bird with Strings," these recordings have always been disparaged in some circles, but for me they contain some of my favorite Bird. You get to hear Bird play more standards rather than just blues and "rhythm," and his melodic improvising, loose rhythmic phrasing and singing sound reach levels of complexity and rapture here that he didn't get to in other contexts. The string arrangements may sound corny to our ears, and in an earlier day they were seen as "commercial." But if you isolate on what Bird plays on things like the famous studio version of "Just Friends" and all of the live recordings with strings, the plush curtains of double-time melody, density of rhythm and variety of phrasing create solos that to me sound fresher and more contemporary than lots of other Bird (contemporary in the sense that you could play the same things today and not be accused of just playing Bird licks). Context matters. Bird took the strings seriously and the sound behind him put him in a different space, inspiring unique ideas and a unique sound. Even on tunes where he's essentially decorating the melody, the way he's able to work all of his fancy curlicues and 16th-note commentary in between the phrases of the written melody, so the tune is never far from front and center, is thrilling -- at least to me.

The last cutting match Sonny did was with Bradford Marsalis at Carnegie Hall May of 1989. They was chance for Bradford. Sonny blew him away. Bradford bragged to the NYC papers that he was now the best tenor player on the sense. After that show, Bradford wished he didn't. There were two articles in the New York Times about this. Bradford also mentions this on his website. Article Branford never bragged that he was now the best tenor on the scene. On the contrary, his pre-concert comments to the Times were self-deprecating, reverential toward Sonny and prescient about the can of whup-ass that was about to be opened on him. Here's what he said to Jon Pareles before the concert: "I learned some of his solos, like the ones on 'Saxophone Colossus.' All the other records were impossible: they were just too hard to learn. But I picked up 'Blue Seven,' 'Strode Rode,' 'Toot-Toot Tootsie,' and I still remember most of those solos. In fact, I played him 'Toot-Toot Tootsie' at rehearsal. You know, the first time I heard him live in a room, with the door closed behind me, the sound was like being run over by a train. You can hear Sonny Rollins a million times on record and know intellectually that he has a big sound, but that's not like hearing him and having the hair stand up on your head ... "It's like going in the ring with Mike Tyson. But he knows a whole pile of stuff that I don't know, and as far as I know there's one surefire way of learning it, and that's to get bludgeoned by it. A lot of cats said, 'Man, I would never take that gig' -- but he didn't ask them. Just to stand there on a stage with him is an honor. And I figure, what's wrong with getting slaughtered by Sonny Rollins? There's going to be an incredible amount of knowledge passed on in that whipping. I'll pick myself up off the floor, and maybe I'll cry, because I do that sometimes after a tough gig. But then I'll internalize the stuff he played and be a better person for it. I'll be the lamb on that altar, because someday I'll be 60 and I'll be sacrificing some young kid, too. But pray for me." Now, from the department of hazy memories, I do recall reading a review of the concert by Gary Giddins that I can't put my hands on at this moment in which he mentions that the program notes included a bio of Branford, written I think by his brother Delfeayo, in which a bunch of ridiculous claims were made on behalf of Branford. Again, my memory of the details could be off, but the inference was that if Sonny needed any extra-motivation, the program notes were -- as they say in the sports world -- bulletin board material. Thanks for the correction. Anyway, Sonny did blow him away. I was there and do have a recording of this concert. Just a coda to clean-up up the details: Having found that Giddins piece, I see that what he refers to was a pretentiously long 5-page Stagebill bio that, as Giddins writes, "included the astonishing claim that Marsalis 'is the first soloist [to his brother Delfeayo's 'knowledge'] whose contributions to music openly display the multifarious qualities of all major saxophonists in the jazz idiom, in addition to his own.' If Rollins happened to read that, he may have been doubly inspired." Finally, the end of the review is interesting. Giddins concludes with two statements: "(1) Like all great black musicians, Rollins is not a member of the National Academy of Arts and Letters, unlike, say John Cage, and (2) like all great Sonny Rollins concerts, this one wasn't recorded." Sonny still hasn't been elected to the National Academy, but Ornette Coleman was in 1997. The other black members in the music division are all classical composers and all were elected post 1989 -- Olly Wilson (1995), George Walker (1999), T.J. Anderson (2005). As for No. 2, obviously somebody, probably several people, taped it. I thought I recall reading somewhere that this was a concert that Carl Smith has in his collection. Here's hoping Sonny approves the release sometime soon. By all accounts, this was one one of those miracle nights. How's the sound quality of your tape?

The last cutting match Sonny did was with Bradford Marsalis at Carnegie Hall May of 1989. They was chance for Bradford. Sonny blew him away. Bradford bragged to the NYC papers that he was now the best tenor player on the sense. After that show, Bradford wished he didn't. There were two articles in the New York Times about this. Bradford also mentions this on his website. Article Branford never bragged that he was now the best tenor on the scene. On the contrary, his pre-concert comments to the Times were self-deprecating, reverential toward Sonny and prescient about the can of whup-ass that was about to be opened on him. Here's what he said to Jon Pareles before the concert: "I learned some of his solos, like the ones on 'Saxophone Colossus.' All the other records were impossible: they were just too hard to learn. But I picked up 'Blue Seven,' 'Strode Rode,' 'Toot-Toot Tootsie,' and I still remember most of those solos. In fact, I played him 'Toot-Toot Tootsie' at rehearsal. You know, the first time I heard him live in a room, with the door closed behind me, the sound was like being run over by a train. You can hear Sonny Rollins a million times on record and know intellectually that he has a big sound, but that's not like hearing him and having the hair stand up on your head ... "It's like going in the ring with Mike Tyson. But he knows a whole pile of stuff that I don't know, and as far as I know there's one surefire way of learning it, and that's to get bludgeoned by it. A lot of cats said, 'Man, I would never take that gig' -- but he didn't ask them. Just to stand there on a stage with him is an honor. And I figure, what's wrong with getting slaughtered by Sonny Rollins? There's going to be an incredible amount of knowledge passed on in that whipping. I'll pick myself up off the floor, and maybe I'll cry, because I do that sometimes after a tough gig. But then I'll internalize the stuff he played and be a better person for it. I'll be the lamb on that altar, because someday I'll be 60 and I'll be sacrificing some young kid, too. But pray for me." Now, from the department of hazy memories, I do recall reading a review of the concert by Gary Giddins that I can't put my hands on at this moment in which he mentions that the program notes included a bio of Branford, written I think by his brother Delfeayo, in which a bunch of ridiculous claims were made on behalf of Branford. Again, my memory of the details could be off, but the inference was that if Sonny needed any extra-motivation, the program notes were -- as they say in the sports world -- bulletin board material.

A master orchestrator for the solo piano ... he's really at his peak here. I also really love this version of Tadd Dameron's "Smooth as the Wind" from the same program. Music starts at about the 1:30 mark. Also interesting to see how much Billy Taylor is enjoying the playing.

Last night in the car I heard on the radio Jo Stafford's early recording of "It Could Happen to You" and it totally knocked me out -- the phrasing and breath control were amazing; Sinatra-esque in the liquid legato, relaxed time and how she links certain lines without breaking for breath. Anyway, I regret to say that I know next to nothing about Stafford's work. So, before I trek out to the used record stores this weekend, anybody have advice as to what to look for and any qualitative distinctions to be made between early and later periods of her work? Thanks in advance.

In no particular order: Let My Children Hear Music Black Saint and the Sinner Lady Changes One (plus first side of Changes Two)

Wow, I had no idea that Landon "Sonny" Cox the basketball coach had been a jazz musician. I knew his name as a kind of Jerry Tarkanian figure of Illinois high school basketball (clearly dirty, in other words). But his musical history and those Chicago records are completely unknown to me; I'll be on the look out for them now. (On the other hand, I've heard Robert Shy live many times.) I found the following Sun-Times story in Lexis-Nexis about his 2001 resignation, which I'm posting in full because no active links exist. Note the reference to Joe Henderson in the chronology is obviously wrong, surely the reporter's error. Still, other sources suggest that Cox and Henderson were roomates for a year at Kentucky State College in the mid '50s, before Joe transfered to Wayne State University in Detroit. King's Cox abdicates his throne; Coach resigns, citing changes in system BYLINE: BY TAYLOR BELL SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. 84 LENGTH: 1165 words Landon "Sonny" Cox, a colorful and controversial basketball coach who built one of the most successful high school programs in state history, resigned Monday. After winning more than 500 games and three state championships in 20 years at King, Cox told the Chicago Sun-Times he made the decision because "the rules have changed" and he no longer could be competitive in a system that hasn't enrolled a freshman at the designated magnet school in four years. "It isn't easy to step down," Cox said. "But I did it my way. 've thought about (resigning) for four years. I knew the program was dying. I felt I couldn't go any further. Getting kids is the lifeblood of any program. When they stop coming, the program dies." In the last two decades, Cox won 86 percent of his games (503-83), one national championship (1990) and three state titles (1986, 1990, 1993) and also had one second-place finish (1987) and two thirds (1989, 1999). He produced 15 all-state players and seven All-Americans, including Illinois Players of the Year Marcus Liberty, Jamie Brandon, Rashard Griffith and Leon Smith. "I've been to the top of the mountain," Cox said. "I don't know if anyone will do all the things I have done in so short a time." Cox, 60, said he would consider another coaching position. He plans to continue as director of the Board of Education's academic preparatory sports program for underachieving students, a position he has held for five years. "I'm not necessarily retiring from basketball," he said. "But I probably am unless someone makes me an offer I can't refuse. I don't see that opportunity coming because I don't want to go to a school where I have to start from scratch. "I used to attract kids to King because it was perceived as a high-profile program and they wanted to play for a school with a chance to win. We built that reputation. But it no longer is that kind of program. I never could get used to losing." Music was first love Cox, also an accomplished musician, didn't want to be a basketball coach. When he was growing up in Cincinnati, he wanted to be a great baseball player, another Jackie Robinson. And he wanted to be a great jazz saxophone player, another Charlie Parker. After graduating from Kentucky State, Cox came to Chicago with classmate Joe Henderson, the famed tenor sax player. They were en route to California to become professional musicians. But Cox never left. He found a home -- and another occupation -- on the South Side. Jazz was so popular in clubs along Cottage Grove Avenue that he and Henderson played gigs seven nights a week and two matinees. "The money was so good that we played jazz all summer," said Cox, who recorded six albums and later owned two nightclubs. He picked up the nickname "Sonny" because friends said he played like Sonny Stitt, the great tenor sax player. When Stitt came to Chicago, they played together. He was offered a record contract as "Sonny and the Three Souls." He still plays occasionally. "But my name is Landon," Cox said. "I have outgrown 'Sonny.' " When his late friend Howard Amos got a teaching job, school officials asked Cox if he had a degree. He didn't want to teach, but he realized he could make money playing jazz at night and cash a check for teaching in the daytime. So he began another career. He taught at John Foster Dulles elementary school for 10 years, moved to Wendell Smith elementary school, then to Robeson High School as frosh-soph coach before landing at King as head coach for the 1981-82 season. He earned master's degrees in ethnic studies and guidance counseling and human relations and also became an assistant principal at King. "People really don't know me," said Cox, who was drafted out of college by the Cincinnati Reds as a shortstop. "I will always be a musician and a basketball coach. It may sound self-serving, but I really think there is nobody who can teach the big man better than I can." Controversy followed him Cox seemed to thrive on controversy. On several occasions, he was accused of illegally recruiting players who transferred to King. He even was cited in a highly publicized book, Raw Recruits. They all made for big headlines and good reading, but the allegations were unproven. In 1982, he wasn't stained when investigations by the Sun-Times and Board of Education revealed and confirmed that all-stater Efrem Winters' grades were changed to allow him to qualify for a scholarship to Illinois. In 1990, when all-stater Johnny Selvie was indicted twice for possession of drugs, Cox hired an attorney who got the youngster acquitted of all charges. Selvie went on to play at New Mexico State and is head coach at Lindblom. Cox battled the Illinois High School Association over the eligibility of Reggie Woodward, fought street agents over the residency of Smith and feuded with Griffith and his mother and with Imari Sawyer and his father. But he never budged or compromised his principles. To the end, he remained unrepentant, fiercely loyal to his players and enormously proud that no other boys coach in state history recorded a higher winning percentage and only two coaches won more state titles: Lawrenceville's Ron Felling and East St. Louis Lincoln's Bennie Lewis with four each. "What I really would like to do for the rest of my career," Cox said, "is teach coaches how to run a program, advise principals how to run a program and make administrators understand that high school sports is an important part of the total educational process." No NBA standouts Critics argue that, for all of Cox's success, none of his products has succeeded in the NBA. While he claims to have sent all but a handful of his players to college, he admits that fewer than 50 graduated. But he points out that most of them, including Selvie and Larry Allaway, a star on his 1994 team who will graduate next week from Texas Christian, never dreamed they would have an opportunity to go to college. "The rap on me always has been that my kids go to college but they don't stay," Cox said. "But college isn't for everyone, and not all of them stay. I can't control their lives after high school. They got a college experience and went on from there." Regrets? He has a few. He thought he could win state championships in 1987 (with Liberty), 1989 (with Brandon and Selvie) and 1999 (with Smith and Sawyer). But he felt those teams underachieved. He believes it is "disgraceful" that coaches in the Chicago Public League, arguably the most competitive basketball conference in the country, are so underpaid. According to one study, they earn less than half as much as most suburban coaches. "Despite all of the problems, I have enjoyed coaching," Cox said. "The key to building a winning program is having an administration that supports you and gives you the tools to be successful. I had some wonderful principals who supported my program . . . up until now." He might have been controversial. But he never was dull.

otoh, what steady gigs usually do for people who don't really have all that much to say is to broaden their ways to say it. I don't know of any "process" that will make somebody interesting, perceptive, original, whatever. Either you are or you aren't. Them that are usually/eventually find ways to protect & nurture it as best they can under any given set of circumstances. Them that aren't find ways to avoid confronting it, including avoiding silence (at many different levels). I'll buy that. But I also know of way too many dynamite musicians, from foot soldiers to a few stars, who if they had the opportunities that the players had back in the day to really hone their voices and ideas on the bandstand via regular club work, might really get to something. I'm not saying we could produce another Trane; I am saying that fewer opportunities all around diminishes the health and potential of the music, even if one byproduct of more work would be a lot of mid-level players jogging in place. I'll take that trade-off if you know what I mean.

Can't speak for the big-time pop world, but the problem in jazz it seems to me is not too many gigs but not enough gigs. One of the major reasons Miles, Trane, Mingus and so many of the great bands of the past evolved so swiftly and produced so much innovative music was that they were working constantly -- several sets a night, 6 nights a week, month after month after month, into year after year. Put the right musicians in that crucible and you'll move from "Seven Steps to Heaven" to "Nefertiti" or "Giant Steps" to "Meditations" at an astounding rate. Which is not to say that artists don't benefit from a time out and the opportunity to rest, re-evaluate, explore new ideas without the pressure of the next gig or audience expectations or whatever.

As it happens, Dave Liebman has a new recording out of Ornette's music and he's reprinted his liner notes on his website as part of his newsletter. There's a relevant discussion of some of the musical issues getting kicked around here: http://liebintervals.blogspot.com/2010/02/intervals-marchapril-2010.html Scroll down to the middle ...

Great record -- one of the best late Dexter LPs, with exceptional tenor solos on "Tenor Madness" and "Days of Wine and Roses," plus the trio (Drew, Pederson, Riel) sounds tight. Riel sometimes gets on my nerves in this period by being too busy and too on top of the time, but not here. For what it's worth, I also really like "Bouncin' with Dex" and "The Apartment" from the same period.

Ran Blake, "The Blue Potato and Other Outrages" (Milestone). Also, some great finds at a local used record haunt last weekend: Trane's "Ascension" (edition one); Lucky Thompson's "Plays Jerome Kern and No More" (Moodsville); Eddie Henderson's "Inside Out" (Capricorn).

Slightly off-topic but I just swoon every time I hear the Dameronia voicings of the ensemble on "Stablemates," which also contains one of my favorite mistakes of all time. On the bridge of the first chorus, in the third bar, Lee Morgan splatters the melody note (concert E-flat). It's kind of a glorious clam. He's playing really hard and going for it, and at least to my ears, it comes off as a quintessential, soulful hard bop moment. I have, on the other hand, wondered why they didn't do another take; or maybe this was the cleanest version they got. In any case, that would have never made it onto a Blue Note LP. You can hear it on the sample at Amazon. It's track No. 2: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000UBQQ70/ref=dm_sp_alb

With that said, playing jazz is not like popular music where a fix set of tunes will add up to X amount of minutes. With jazz, the musicians' solos can make a tune 10 minutes one time and 20 minutes the next time. It is all determined upon the mood at that moment. Playing 55 minutes or 75 minutes is irrelevant in my opinion. Lorraine is just a grumpy person. I've seen it many time when I've gone there. I am going again tonight so let's see she does something new. We can debate bedside manner, but, fundamentally, if the contract says 75-minute sets for X amount of dollars, then it's the musicians' responsibility to deliver that amount of music. That's the deal. Lorraine could have said, "If you choose to only play an hour, I'll just dock your pay by 20 percent." Now, do I think someone should be keeping a stopwatch? (I'm sorry, Lee, you need to play another two choruses of "All the Things You Are" to get to your set time up from 73 minutes to 75 minutes.) No, of course not. But stopping 15 or 20 minutes early? That's way over the line, and the issue is really about delivering what the club has promised patrons. It costs at least $35 to hear a set at the Vanguard ($25 cover; $10, minimum) -- which is, of course, ridiculous, but that's where the economics are at this point. The 75-minute set has become standard at the Vanguard and most of the marquee clubs in NY and that's what the large majority of folks expect. If you ask the staff how long the sets are, they'll tell you 75 minutes. So if you start giving people 60 minutes, most are going to feel cheated and they won't come back. I mean, it's already enough of a racket that the one thing a club can do to maintain a sense of value is deliver a full set of music -- that's the deal between patron and club. If we were still talking about a $10 cover and $5 minimum, then the club and the players could afford to be a lot looser, but not at current prices. I get the notion that the spirit of the moment can lead the the band organically to, say, a 60 minute set rather than 75 minutes, but professionalism dictates that it's the leader's responsiblity to create a framework and pacing for a set so that it all adds up correctly, musically and by the clock. Now, whether a 75- minute set is too long or whether you'd prefer 55 minutes of killin' music with an organic arc and sense of completeness rather than 75 minutes that feels disjointed or overstuffed -- those are separate arguments. As a coda, it's standard in symphony orchestras that every rehearsal and concert is meticulously timed and the requirements of the contract are strictly enforced literally to the minute. There's always an orchestra member who is in charge of watching the clock, and if a conductor keeps the players one minute over the allotted time, or at a performance, if the lights in the hall don't come up signaling that the players can leave the stage until one minute after ground zero (2 hours and 20 minutes since the the start of the concert I think is close to standard), the overtime rates kick in for the entire orchestra in 15 minutes intervals. In other words, miss by one minute and the players get 15 minutes worth of overtime -- which adds up to an aggregate of tens of thousands of dollars in no time. That kind of regimentation is perverse, and, though it evolved that way for justified reasons, remains symptomatic for many of the old-school labor mentality that's become an impediment to innovation and change in the orchestra world. But I digress.

I disagree. While the adaptations vary in success, the best of them -- especially the Mahler recordings -- are richly conceived and pulsate with possibilities. I heard the Mahler stuff in person and it was satisfying on every level -- emotionally, intellectually, formally, improvisationally, etc. Whatever flaws they may have, I would not describe them as "cute," though if that's how you hear it -- well, live and let live, yes? But perhaps we can agree on this: Your phraseology is reminiscent of this classic bit of television:

Amen.

http://freep.com/article/20100110/ENT04/1100336/1039/James-Moody-jazzman The link above takes you to the relatively short James Moody interview that was the impetus for the previous discography discussion that's here: Thanks to all for the input on the recordings. A short box includes a few recommendations, though as always I was limited by space and music that is either in print and/or readily available.

When those men were in their prime(s), the sound of Hubbard, Gordon, Blakey, Rollins, Silver etc. wasn't a "traditional sound" in the sense you seem to mean. It was their sound, though it certainly didn't come from nowhere. What I want from any "in the tradition" player of today is the same sense of personal expression/my sound inventiveness that I used to get as a matter of course from the players mentioned above and many more. I don't hear a lot of them, but Grant Stewart is one who comes to mind. Otherwise, it is getting close to Jim Cullum time -- more or less a style, not so much a matter of personal expression/inventiveness. Also, wasn't the hard bop style built on the latter principle far more than a lot of earlier attractive jazz styles were? A nice re-creation of, say, the ensemble sound of the Hubbard-Shorter-Fuller edition of the Jazz Messengers without soloists of that quality and individuality (at least in terms of aspiration) would be kind of pointless IMO. As for Kevin's claim that Organissimo the band is "traditional" in the Jim Cullum sense -- that's not what I hear. A few related thoughts on this topic: I think Larry is exactly right that the issue is a matter of personal expression within a given language, though of course different folks can disagree about what qualifies. But my biggest beef with some critics -- especially those who champion free jazz and its offshoots or contemporary structuralists like Vijay Iyer or Jason Moran to the near or complete exclusion of the post-bop mainstream -- is that I often feel that as soon as they hear chord changes and swing rhythms they turn off their ears because to them it's all old-fashioned. Of course, everyone is entitled to their aesthetic preferences, but I think the issue in many cases is that they can't actually tell the difference between those players who really are stale recreations of the past and those who are playing freshly within the bebop to post-bop continuum -- whose individual tone, command of time, harmony, phrasing, melodic invention, taste and ability to tell a story gives their music a timeless expressiveness and in-the-moment glory. I say this, by the way, as a critic whose top 10 list this year was headed by Henry Threadgill and counted Roscoe Mitchell's "Congliptious" as one the top reissues of the year (thanks, Chuck). My top 10 also included Tom Harrell, John Hollenbeck, Grant Stewart and the Clayton Bros., and for the record, I have tremendous respect for Iyer. At this point, it's all history. Ornette hit the Five Spot just over 50 years. The seminal Art Ensemble records are now more than 40 years old. It's just as easy to for players working in freer or (intentionally) non-swinging idioms to sound as stale as a group playing out of Blakey's bag. Having said that, I do think that certain historical styles can atrophy and that as time goes on the mainstream shifts forward, assimilating more and more information. The older a particular idiom, perhaps, the more difficult it is to stay fresh within it. Players who work in a hard bop bag that excludes any development post-1962 now have a high hurdle to jump, and I suppose you could argue that at a certain point, the bar is so high that it doesn't even make sense to try. Certain stylistic calling cards can morph into tropes, but I don't think 4/4 time and chord changes on their own tip the balance or even come close. I would also say that while I'm not a big fan of One for All, I have enjoyed them in person because there is a certain thrill that comes across in hearing that music live when you can actually feel the depth of the groove and the air move in the room. Those qualities are mostly lost on the band's records. That's not uncommon. A lot of music sounds "older" or less fresh on record that it might live, because the recording medium itself creates a certain distance between the listener and the music that's not there in in a club and recordings also bring a particular set of expectations, sound world, references and comparisons. I think that's especially true of classic modern jazz (1955-70) because the talisman recordings from the era play such a large role in our collective unconscious. But back to Grant Stewart. He's so interesting to me because on one level, his playing is so steeped in Sonny Rollins circa 1957-8 that less favorable critics might call him a clone; yet I think he easily slips the noose. There is so much spontaneity in the way he manipulates the language that on a micro level, as in what is the next phrase going to say, I never know what he's going to play. There is also an inflection and intonation in his sound, and especially a command of rhythm, melodic invention, internal rhyme and connectivity in his phrasing that together it all communicates a sense of aliveness. When I hear Stewart, he gives the illusion of freedom, that he's not playing within a defined box. (But of course he is. All art is in some kind of box defined by the parameters and conventions of the craft and idiom, but the goal is to make the box appear to disappear. Some boxes are, of course, by definition bigger. Joe Henderson or Sonny Rollins might play anything at anytime., and I think it was Jackie McLean who refered to modal playing as the "the big room," but of course once you're in it for a while, its four walls begin to look like any other four walls.) While I respect Eric Alexander's craft and have heard him sound really good, his playing almost never moves me. When I hear him, I become overwhelmed by the ghost of George Coleman and I can predict what he's going to play. The reason, I think, is that Alexander is a "lick" or "system" player. I hear regular patterns and memorized figures in his solos in a way that I don't in Stewart's playing, and that combined with Alexander's more straight up and down approach to rhythm and phrasing make him sound rather stiff to me: I can see the box. It's interesting that Stewart's model (Rollins) is a true improviser in the sense of creating new material in the moment while Alexander's model (Coleman) is also a lick player, though an incredibly sophisticated one. Influences have an impact on how we perceive certain players, especially as you move further down the historical line. I don't mean to dis Coleman, by the way, who at his best - "Stella" on Miles' "My Funny Valentine" or "Sophisticated Lady" on the duet record with Tete Montoliu - tells remarkable stories. The more you can tell a story as an improviser, that is, construct compelling narrative filled with heart, intellect, humor, surprise and the whole of your humanity, the more your particular language or idiom disappears and the greater the impression of freedom -- whether you're playing 4/4 and changes or choosing not to. At that point, listeners don't hear "style," they hear "music." Coda: System players can reach levels of transcendence too in full "lickdom" too -- when Coleman is roaring through all kinds of harmonic substitutions it can have an irresistible gravitational pull. I don't care that he practiced them at home; to hear the ideas manipulated in real time and with so much passion and conviction can be exhilarating. Sonny Stitt was a lick player too. But he was a first generation lick player and that makes a lot -- perhaps all -- the difference, not to mention the personality of his sound. Even when I feel like I know what Stitt's going to play next, I don't care.

http://ronanguil.blogspot.com/2009/09/jim-mcneely-on-composition-interview.html Stumbled upon this long, fascinating interview with Jim McNeely speaking about composition and creative process. The interviewer is Ron Guilfoyle, who according to his blog profile is a jazz bassist, composer and teacher living in Dublin, Ireland. I am not familiar with him but he asks some very good questions of a composer I think is always intriguing and frequently brilliant. Underrated pianist, too. Addendum: Upon reflection, it was Guilfoyle who also penned a Defense of Jazz Education essay in the last year or two that I found insightful.

I found a citation for a Jazz Times "Before and After" from December 1996, but I don't have the magazine. (Anybody got this?) As far as Downbeat is concerned, I found the 1988 and '97 tests by by going through my store of back issues. I have all of 1993, but am missing half of 1992 (Jan., Feb., April-June, Aug.; I'm also missing Dec. 1991 but otherwise have that year complete). Perhaps there's a Moody test in one of the missing issues -- can anyone out there check conveniently? That would amount to three BTs in a 10-year span, which I think would be unusual frequency but perhaps not impossible. It may well be another magazine.

A trip to the used record store today landed Moody's "Homage," which I hadn't heard before. It came out on Savoy in 2004 but is already out of print. Pity. I'm only five tracks in to it so far, but Moody is playing his ass off (all tenor), and the high concept is working really well -- the tunes were written for Moody by Herbie, Chick, Zawinul, Kenny Barron, Horace Silver and others and arranged for ensembles of varying size by producer Bob Belden. Moody sounds very contemporary here, especially on the more modal material. A couple of the cuts so far would make great blindford test material, actually.

I looked this up and while I found no Moody Blindfold Test from 1993 I did find one from 1997. So, assuming this is the test you are refering to, I don't agree at all with the characterization that he put-down nearly everybody -- or that he seems oblivious to cultural changes, crotchety or blind to the fact that his current style would be impossible but not for younger players pushing ahead in new directions. He's opinionated and has some sharp criticisms at times, but he also says positive things and his descriptions of what he's hearing do not necessarily appear inaccurate. Given the records put in front of him, and the way they do or don't relate to the contemporary currents most relevant to his own aesthetic, it all seams reasonable. And, in fact, in his response to the final record (GRP All-Star Band) he addresses the issue of the generation gap between older and younger musicians head on and generously sides with the younger cats! I've scanned the test but, unfortunately, don't know how to insert it into this post. But here's a summary: He's played six records by Jane Bunnett, Jesse Davis & James Carter, Either/Orchestra, Lucky Thompson, Mario Bauza and GRP All-Star Band. Let's leave aside Thompson and Bauza since those are older players and he's certainly positive about what he's played. Otherwise, I'd say he's positive about GRP, negative about Either, mixed-positive about Davis-Carter and mixed-negative about Bunnett. 1. Bunnett's "Pannonica." From "The Water is Wide" (Bunnett on flute, with pianist Don Pullen, bassist Kieran Overs): "I've got mixed emotions. For a hot minute I thought it might be Frank Wess because of the vibrato and sound, then it changed. I don't think Frank would put that thing on the end. And then, damn, I thought it was Elise Woods. One thing for sure, I know it wasn't Hubert (Laws) and it wasn't James Newton. I have mixed emotions about this group. I have to say 2-1/2 stars or 3 stars. 2. Davis (alto) and Carter (tenor). "Moten Swing" from "Kansas City": "Whoever the alto player was, he likes Phil Woods and somebody like Bob Wilber. At one point, the tenor player sounded like Buddy Tate, but then he went off somehwere else. In the last part, the vibrato sounded like Zoot Sims." (Moody is asked if the record sounds like an old recording or a new one.) "It sounded old to me, like when Zoot and Al played, but it could some young guys just playing like that. For the alto player, the way he was playing 3 or 3-1/2 stars. He was swinging, playing what he was feeling. The band thing didn't move me at all. The tenor player was OK. You can tell he wanted to play more when he growled like that. I guess he wasn't finished, but what can you do when you only have eight bars?" 3. Either/Orchestra. "The Brunt" composed by Curtis Hasselbring with Russ Gershon, tenor; Charlie Kohlase, baritone sax; Chris Taylor, keyboards: "Sounds like somebody that just likes (scats even, unswinging tones), that rhythm and the major scale (scats). Like something from a movie, something very chaotic. You can't sit down and listen to that and feel mellowed out, tranquil. It's like jumping from one language to another: a little French, a little German, a little Italian. I give this guy credit to noate the thing to get the sound that he wanted, but the sound isn't killing me -- maybe it is. I'll give them 1 for putting it down. That takes a lot of work." 4. GRP All-Star Band. "Some Other Blues." Soloists are Chuck Findley, trumpet; Bob Mintzer, tenor sax; Nelson Rangel, flute; Russell Ferrante., paino. Tom Scott, arranger. "That's a Coltrane composition. I don't know who the tenor player was, but he sounded beautiful. This sounded like one of those school bands but with professional soloists. It sounded good, man, really good. 5 stars. The flute on top, that's nice. "I don't care who you are, musicians feel things differently. OK, the younger musician will feel something different than the older one. Not saying it's not good, because it is. I remember when I was coming up, I heard older people saying these young guys, they play too many notes. I don't think anyone has license to say how many notes a person should play. Because if a young person can play fleetingly and he can play and then has to do that, let him do that. As he grows he will change and do what he has to do. I said when I get older, I'm never going to tell a young kid, you play too many notes. No, you play as many notes as you want, because that is your way of growing. You don't tell a young colt, don't run and jump around and run into the fence. He does that. After that, he becomes a champion. See what I mean?" Addendum: I've now located a previous Blindfold Test by Moody from 1988 in which he was played tracks by Scott Hamilton/Buddy Tate, newer Sonny Rollins, World Saxophone Quartet ("Take the 'A' Train"), Branford Marsalis and David Sanborn ("Straight to the Heart"). Moody identifies every artist save Hamilton (whom he clearly recognizes but can't place his name right away) and the WSQ, which he misidentifies as the "New York Saxophone Quartet." He gives 5 stars to Sonny, Branford and Sanborn and 3-1/2 to Hamilton/Tate. The WSQ track is the only thing he doesn't like at all but is so tactful about it that Leonard Feather literally has to push him to admit that he got nothing out of it. Moody ends by saying, "I'm not saying you have to stay within the boundaries ... you have to express what you feel, and different people feel different things. That's what makes the world go round. I don't want to rate it."