mjzee

Did she do any work on other leaders' dates?

Very, very sad news. Jimmy brought much joy into our lives, and man could he play!

This is from today's Wall St Journal: After 70 Years, The Village Vanguard Is Still in the Jazz Swing By ASHLEY KAHN February 8, 2005; Page D9 New York Try repeating it out loud: VIL-lage VAN-guard, VIL-lage VAN-guard. For 70 years, that alliterative name has swung in 4/4 time, marking the center of the known jazz universe to an international circle of musicians and music fans. To the uninitiated, the small club at the bottom of 15 well-trodden steps below street level may seem little more than a cramped, triangular-shaped room. But to a hip populace its where the ghosts of past jazz giants still play, where the best living jazz talent aspire to record, and where sound waves seem to reverberate in a manner unlike any other club, anywhere. "I call it the Carnegie Hall of jazz because most jazz clubs just don't have the sound that that place has," says pianist Jason Moran, whose last album was recorded at the Vanguard. "It's the place where Moses and Mohammed and Jesus walked!" Saxophonist Joe Lovano, whose most recent live album was also a Vanguard gig, agrees. "It might affect you to be sitting in that room, imagining, 'Oh, [Thelonious] Monk was here!' 'Man, Miles [Davis] and Hank Mobley played here, and Bill Evans's trio!' You're feeling the spirits. Well, that's how I feel when I record there -- we're calling the spirits." Other jazz venues once claimed that kind of primacy. "The corner of the jazz world" was the boast of the original Birdland at Broadway and 55th. But the Vanguard, seven decades old this Feb. 21 -- still at 178 Seventh Avenue South, still with a seating capacity of 123 -- has survived them all. [This historical photo of the building that houses the Village Vanguard (its entrance sign can be seen just below that of the Rialto Cleaners') was taken in the 1930s. The triangular shape of the building has been said to help project the sound.] "Years ago there was Birdland, the Five Spot, Cafe Society and the Royal Roost and all of 52nd Street. It's a shame that's all gone," says Lorraine Gordon, who inherited the basement room from her husband Max when he passed away in 1989. "Why did the Vanguard last? I mean Max was not a pretentious nightclub man. He just loved what he did and loved the people he booked." Gordon first opened the Vanguard in 1935 as a variety venue presenting sketch comedy, poetry and dinner. Since then, the club's tradition of left-leaning politics and irreverence -- Yiddish poets in the '30s, absurdists like Professor Irwin Corey in the '50s -- is reflected in the progressive jazz it still presents. "The club has followed a roadmap that began with the poets, to the folksingers like Pete Seeger, to vocalists like Harry Belafonte and finally to almost every phase of jazz," maintains Ms. Gordon. She sees the club today as a star landmark in a landmark neighborhood ("it's made the Village more important because it's been so steadfast") and the city agrees. Not for nothing does a street sign on the nearest corner read "Max Gordon Place." Of wiry build, Ms. Gordon is usually at the Vanguard six nights a week, overseeing the club with an energy unhindered by four-score years. She is "Lorraine" to all musicians, whom she first-names as well: the trumpeter Wynton (Marsalis), the saxophonist Sonny (Rollins), the singer Shirley (Horn, who chuckles: "Lorraine? I call her the Sergeant.") Ms. Gordon speaks in energetic bursts from her command post -- a desk in the club's former kitchen that continues to serve as the offstage area for generations of musicians. "I never had an office -- I wonder what that would feel like," she says with a laugh, noting that like any other club "the Vanguard has gone through all kinds of problems. We've had a flood, part of the ceiling's fallen down, but the walls are still filled with photos of great artists that are no longer with us, who are here in spirit." The Vanguard's enduring stature as the jazz mecca -- calling the faithful to hear, to play and to record there -- owes much to a half-century's worth of classic albums recorded in the basement room, from Sonny Rollins's "A Night at the Village Vanguard" in 1957 and John Coltrane's and Bill Evans's famed Vanguard titles, both from '61, to Art Pepper's "Thursday Night at..." in '77, Tommy Flanagan's "Nights at..." in '86 and Wynton Marsalis's voluminous seven-disc "Live at..." in '99. A dozen more in the past two years alone have brought the number of titles generated at the club to close to 150. "The words 'Live at the Village Vanguard' do have a direct and positive influence on an album's sales," claims Bruce Lundvall, head of Blue Note Records, a leading jazz label with over a dozen "Live at the Vanguard" titles in its catalog. A "Live at the Vanguard" album has become a rite of passage for modern jazz players, many of whom credit the room's unusual shape as the secret behind the club's complimentary acoustics. "The way the band can set up in that triangle-type corner, the sound really projects out," maintains Mr. Lovano. "It has a real opera house kind of a feeling -- there's nothing that goes behind you or on the sides." Kurt Lundvall, engineer on the recent Moran and Lovano sessions at the club, explains that "other clubs are like boxes, but in here, you have hardly any parallel or reflective surfaces, so the Vanguard is the best venue on the East Coast for recording jazz, period." The forces that originally shaped the Vanguard make for an interesting, "only in New York" story. In 1914, the City tore a nine-block swath through the upper heart of Greenwich Village, to add a subway link between Seventh Avenue and 12th Street and Varick Street. Entire blocks were razed and the corners of buildings were sheared off. By 1917, Village geometry had changed forever, leaving a number of unusual triangular lots along the newly created Seventh Avenue South. In 1921, developer Morris Weinstein hastily erected a thin, cake-slice building on the southern tip of one of those half-blocks and began renting space to various businesses, including a cleaner on street level and a speakeasy in the basement that was aptly named The Golden Triangle. After the repeal of Prohibition in 1933 the tavern closed, and a young Max Gordon discovered the room that for two years had been "closed for alterations," and offered all he needed: "two johns, two exits, two hundred feet away from a church or synagogue or school, and with rent under $100 a month," as he wrote in his 1980 autobiography. Though Ms. Gordon declined to disclose the Vanguard's current rent, she notes that in 70 years the club has never missed its monthly payment. Today, time and the eternal bottom line have distilled the Vanguard experience down to the essentials: music, drinks (no coffee or tea) and history. The angled walls display generation-old photographs and posters of those who once regularly played the room: Charles Mingus. Dexter Gordon. Elvin Jones. A battered tuba breaks the array, and an unusual double-belled euphonium (a gift from trumpeter Jabbo Smith, it turns out) hangs above the bar. It may seem so artfully minimal, but then jazz culture has always prized economy over embellishment. Still, Ms. Gordon feels that "this little old club deserves a birthday of its own. It's going to get a cake and a buffet: a real party for a 70-year-old grande dame." The celebration will last a full week, from Feb. 14 to 20, featuring a new or established Vanguard favorite headlining each night: trumpeter Roy Hargrove, the jazz-rock trio Bad Plus, guitarist Jim Hall, Philadelphia's famed Heath Brothers, and pianist Bill Charlap. "It's a very well-rounded group -- each one has their own incredible style," notes Ms. Gordon, who is reaching uptown for a little extra dazzle. "Wynton Marsalis I've invited as my guest -- and I'd be thrilled to have him. Who wouldn't be?" What of the club itself: Will there be any special banners, a big "7-0" out front? "You know those restaurants that are so chic they don't even put their name outside? I think the Vanguard has been chic for 70 years," Ms. Gordon chuckles. "But I will have the awning cleaned." Mr. Kahn is a music journalist and author of "A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album" (Viking, 2002).

To add two really good ones: Positive Intensity (on Japanese CBS), with Ron Carter and Roy Haynes Let's (Play The Music of Thad Jones) (on Enja)

I've been using MusicMatch.

I don't recall the Hawkins. The original distribution was spotty (it wasn't a major label, and I don't think they even had a major indie distributor). There were alternate takes - the Mingus CDs have a track that wasn't on the original LP. The same label or owner or whatever later came out with other titles, like the Live at Bubba's that David Gitin and Dan Gould referred to. I have an 8-disk box set on the Pulse (Castle Music) label called "Black & White Box of Jazz" (no relation to the Black & White label) that has a lot of this material, arranged in a hodgepodge over the 8 disks. The box was extremely inexpensive ($30?). The haphazard order is frustrating, as are the many personnel errors. The music, though, is often very good. Besides the Hampton material and much of the Bubba's (including Wynton with Blakey), there's Getz from Cannes, Johnny Griffin, Paul Horn, Jimmy Hamilton, Pat Metheny with the Heath Brothers, and more, as well as some material they can't possibly have the rights to (Sonny Rollins playing "Everytime We Say Goodbye" with Sonny Clark, Percy Heath, and Roy Haynes, "date unknown" - obviously from the Riverside "Sound of Sonny" album). From this box set, here are the leaders of the Hampton-related dates: Dexter Gordon (w/Hamp, Hank Jones, Bucky Pizzarelli, George Duvivier, Oliver Jackson and Candido), Teddy Wilson (w/Gerry Fuller, Hamp, Teddy, Duvivier, Teddy Wilson Jr. on drums, and Sam Turner), Earl Hines (w/Hamp, Milt Hinton, Grady Tate and Sam Turner), Woody Herman (w/Hamp, Roland Hanna, Al Caiola, George Mraz, Richie Pratt and Candido), Gerry Mulligan (w/Hamp, Hank Jones, Bucky, Duvivier, Grady Tate and Candido), Charles Mingus (w/Bob Neloms, Dannie Richmond, Ricky Ford, Hamp, Mulligan, Paul Jeffrey, Jack Walrath, Woody Shaw and Peter Matt), Buddy Rich (w/Hamp, Barry Kiener, Tom Warrington, Candido, Steve Marcus, Gary Pribek and Paul Moen), and there was a Hamp-led date (w/Hank Jones, Milt Hinton, Grady Tate and Candido). The Italian Comet label has recently released some of these sessions; I have the Dexter Gordon. I think (but am not sure) that Comet is also releasing material originally on Vanguard.

I don't have the inside scoop, but as a shopper, what I surmise is that this series was on a label (probably partially) owned by Lionel Hampton. These sessions were all recorded digitally about the same one-month span in 1977, probably to honor Hampton's xx-anniversary in jazz (40th? 50th?). Most of the featured artists had some historical association with him, and he plays on every date. What I've heard from this series has been wonderful music, well-recorded with great arrangements. The Dex is fun (he plays soprano on some tracks), we get to hear Mingus's last date where he played bass, and there are others I've been itching to hear (the Mulligan, the Teddy Wilson). On the old BNBB, I floated an idea that a Mosaic be done from these sessions. The problem, as you've surmised, is that this material has been licensed to everyone, so there's probably no money to be made from it. Still, can you imagine if there are unreleased tracks?

I've just tried it. I signed up, downloaded Jimmy Raney's "A" and Art Farmer's "Farmer's Market," burned them to CD, then imported them into my iPod. Sound quality is OK. I'm impressed!

Another very good Japanese guitarist is Satoshi Inoue. He put out a CD a few years back with Larry Goldings that is very tasty.

He wasn't homeless. He dressed like a Nordic warrier. He had an apt in Manhattan and a small house in upstate NY.

There's a great Mosaic project: The Complete Jerry Newman Recordings. And, while we're at it, how about: The Complete Boris Rose Recordings.

Is this the same Rick Laird who later played in the Mahavishnu Orchestra?

One of my favorite albums is a Joe Turner date for Pablo, "The Midnight Special." One side is him singing standards, and the other side is two long blues. The band on the date is just excellent, playing energetic jazz blues and sympathetically comping behind him. But I haven't heard of any of them. I was wondering if someone knows about them: were they some city's local favorites, did they play together often, etc? The album was recorded May 27, 1976. The band: Jake Porter, trumpet Roy Brewster, baritone sax (probably alto, too) Curtis Kirk, harmonica Sylvester Scott, piano Cal Green, guitar Bobby Haynes, bass Washington Rucker, drums

On the general topic of '60's soul singles, I can heartily recommend the "Beg, Scream and Shout" box on Rhino. In many cases, they went back to the original singles - either the original mono single masters or the actual singles. It sounds great.

I liked Moondog as a person. I'd chat with him when I worked a few summers during my teens in Manhattan. If you're referring to the Columbia CD "Moondog," it actually has both his LP's on it. I've always loved "Moondog 2" (the last 26 tracks on the CD, those short rounds). I still listen to it. He styled himself as a classical composer, and Columbia marketed him that way (the LPs were on Masterworks). His classical tracks sound more like fragments to me, but you can hear the bebop influence. You might also like his final CD, "Sax Pax for a Sax" (Atlantic).

Another test.

Test to see if avatar appears.

How does the average sound quality compare to that of a CD? I understand that it won't be as good, but is it almost as good?

Guy, thanks for that exerpt from the Paul Tingen book; it was very interesting. In terms of the sonic quality of Rated X (and pretty much the entire "Get Up With It" lp), I think a lot has to do with the technical limitations of vinyl. Each side of "Get Up With It" approaches or exceeds 30 minutes, which is way beyond what was generally thought to be the maximum time to put on a side to preserve sonic excellence (Frank Zappa thought it was 18 minutes a side). Once you start exceeding 22 minutes or so, you have to start making compromises (unless there are enough quiet passages on the side so that the grooves can be thinner there, allowing more space for the louder passages, which isn't the case on "Get Up With It"). I kinda thought that Miles and Teo were perversely pushing the envelope, and actually degrading the sound quality, whether with compression or whatever, to contribute to the overall impact of the music. In short, I think one reason "Rated X" has such an impact is because of the murky sound quality - it really makes you strain your ears, asking "What's going on in there?" Other examples of these sonic games on "GUWI" include odd uses of echo (why so much echo on the organ, for example?) and extreme tape hiss (think of the break between the first and second sections of "Maiysha"). There were other such interesting sonic experiments with vinyl going on at that time. One example that jumps out is Lou Reed's "Metal Machine Music." Each side was exactly 16:01 (why?), except for side 4 which had no lead-out groove so it was either 16:01 or infinity, and the sound was extremely impenetrable, which made it sort of enjoyable.

I always liked "Rated X." I've only heard it on vinyl. It sounds mysterious, with the organ on top and murk underneath...and then it just stops, as if the background tape keeps getting shut off and on. Also, there's a lot of rhythm going on, but no beat. I think the Chambers book calls this musique concrete and points to the influence of Stockhausen, and I can see that. It's fun, but there's certainly more than enough music on the album if you'd prefer to ignore this track.

Good find, Aggie. Although I like Bill Stewart, I actually think Adam Nussbaum was a more supportive drummer, and a little more propulsive. Stewart's a little more decorative.

So there's no way to get album covers or liner notes?

Thanks for the tip, Chuck. I'll definitely look for the book the next time I'm at Borders or B&N. Amazon has the book, but I couldn't read much of it. I find business interesting, and the business of selling music has an interesting twist to it. That's why I expanded my musings to include label owners associated with other sorts of music, such as Asch and Holzman (although both Folkways and Elektra released some jazz, too). Some of the artists overlapped, too -- James P. Johnson recorded for both Blue Note and Folkways (or whatever it was called then). As an aside, there's an interesting mini-interview with Herbie Hancock in this month's issue of Playboy (p. 36 - a one-column Q & A). See if this doesn't sound like someone recognizable: PLAYBOY: What is wrong with music these days? HANCOCK: It seems so money-driven and not creation-driven. It hasn't always been like that. When I first came on the scene, there were people in the industry who were passionate about the music. They wanted to sell records, of course, but it wasn't the be-all and end-all. Music is supposed to serve a function, and that function isn't to put money in someone's pocket. That's what you get after you serve the function. The function is to serve humanity.

New York in the '40's and '50's was a hotbed of independent record labels. They were all small operations, so you have to assume the owners knew each other. Just curious: is there any indication whether Alfred Lion socialized with people like Moses Asch, Maynard Solomon, Jac Holzman, Bob Weinstock, etc., to discuss business or individual performers, or just to shoot the breeze? Seems to me these record label owners were all interesting people, and they definitely had a lot in common.

Doug Raney - Check out "You Go To My Head" (Steeplechase). Oh yeah, his father was pretty good, too.