Leeway

Hey kh1958, glad you made it to the festival. I was wondering if you were at those sets. After the Lurie set, I headed over to Joe's Pizza for a slice, then to Judson for the improv sessions. The place was shadowy enough to suit Ran Blake. I walk in and there is Ab Baars playing passionately and as emotionally as I've heard him, in a duet with harpist Brandee Younger from her tribute group to Dorothy Ashby, AFRO HARPING. Each musician played for about 10-15 minutes, then another player would take their place. Ab Baars left and his place was taken by Myra Melford, whose duo with Younger was sterling. Then Mark Turner played with Melford. Ernst Glerum, ICP bassist, came on for a short trio, then Nasheet Waits replaced Younger and Turner. So it went. Oliver Lake and Nasheet Waits. Mary Oliver of ICP, playing with real attitude, and Oliver Lake. The improv set winded down about 3:00PM. A rather wonderful way to end the evening.

Johnny Rotten Bride of Frankenstein The Undead

Moms Mabley Hank Mobley MomsMobley

Ach, that's too bad. Sorry we couldn't connect. Friday was easy; just stay put. I didn't expect that would happen. Wait until I get to Saturday; now that was something of a zoo. But that is part of the festival vibe; can certainly be overwhelming the first time. Also helped i went to school down there eons ago, so the place still seems familiar. Everyone ends up fashioning their own version of the festival.

Beetle Bailey Bugsy Siegel Max Roach

Chim Chim Cher-ee Don Cherry Neneh Cherry

I managed to squeeze in the Matisse Cut-Outs show at MOMA while I was up in NYC for the Winter Jazz Fest. I absolutely loved it. It's amazing how far Matisse was able to exploit that vein of creation. One contemporary critic of Matisse called them, dismissively, "amusements," but what's wrong with that? Bringing art and play together is no easy thing (Robert Frost talked about this), but quite wonderful when it occurs. The cut-outs became ever more ambitious and refined. Remarkable. While I was waiting with my timed ticket to get in to the Matisse rooms, I took in a small exhibition in a nearby room, "The Forever Now." Found some quite interesting paintings. http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1498#media_player/34/1 I particularly liked the Mary Weatherford, Julie Mehretu, and Richard Aldrich works. Ars long, vita brevis.

Back from Winter Jazz Fest last night, exhilarated and dead tired too. An incredible amount of great music for a very reasonable sum. To get the most out of it, one needs a plan, then one needs to abandon that plan as necessity dictates and go with the moment. That's what happened Friday night. My plan for that night involved hopscotching from LPR to Minetta to Subculture. I did get to LPR then Minetta, but ended up parked there the rest of the night, due to timing, crowds and distance between Minetta and Subculture, the longest trek of the festival. The night started with the Donald Byrd Electric and Acoustic Sessions with Donald Harrison on sax, Duane Eubanks, trumpet (subbing for Nicholas Payton apparently), Max Moran, bass, Joe Dyson, drums, gorgeous Dominique Toney, electric keys and vocals. and Kevin Toney, electric and acoustic piano. Kevin Toney talked about how he studied with Donald Byrd at Howard University, and how this performance sought to give a sense of Byrd's development. The group was excellent, it captured Byrd's style, and It was fun to soak in a Blue Note feeling. One could even see some dancing feet. Went over to Minetta to catch David Murray Clarinet Summit, with Murray on bass clarinet, Hamiet Bluiett and David Krakauer on clarinet, and Don Byron on clarinet and bass clarinet. Jaribu Shahid (bass) and Nasheet Waits (drums) filled out the group in fine fashion. The one thing that was clear was that Murray was in top form and played beautifully and with energy. So did the rest of the group, with some amazing virtuosic performances from Krakauer and Byron, although I preferred Byron's for nuance and feeling. Bluiett's performance was wonderfully mature and crafted. This could have been any evening's highlight but it was just starting. It was clear that David Murray was on a roll, so we stayed at Minetta, and caught his set with Geri Allen and Terri Lynne Carrington. Murray was again in excellent form, and Allen and Carrington pushed the envelope more than I expected. I found it a very satisfying set. It just kept getting better: TRIO 3 with Oliver Lake, Reggie Workman, and Andrew Cyrille, with Vijay Iyer. They turned in an intense, interesting, and strongly played set. Envelopes were stretched, stamped and delivered. Lake hasn't seemed to back off an inch on his alto attack. Workman gets a huge sound out of what looked like a huge bass. Cyrille showed everybody what "out" but "swinging" drumming sounds like. And Iyer loves that million notes a minute, and he is fine at it, but sometime I wondered what he sounds like slowed down to human scale; still, he fit the group quite well and I enjoyed his playing. Staying at Minetta, it was time for Marc Ribot & The Young Philadelphians: Ribot (electric guitar), Jamaaladeen Tacuma (electric bass guitar), G. Calvin Weston (drums), Mary Halvorson (guitar), Christina Courtin (viola and vocals), Dana Lyn (violin), and Christopher Hoffman (cello). I'd seen Tacuma and Weston in Philadelphia last year, for the Ornette Celebration, and those guys bring the funk! Basically the set was Ribots version of three 1970s vintage disco songs. I recognized "Rollercoaster" by the Ohio Players, "Do The Hustle" by Van McCoy, and a third I can't quite place (maybe "Fly Robin Fly"). The first half hour was enormous fun, then the shallowness of the musical sources started to seep through; one wouldn't want to hear more than was heard that set. And Halvorson was not loud enough in the mix. In any event, I was properly funkified. Wait! There's more! The last set (12:30AM) was the music of John Laurie and the Lounge Lizards. I've seen enough Jim Jarmusch movies to have a sense of the music, but I've not seen John Lurie or the Lounge Lizards before. Well, John wasn't there but Alan Lurie was , as were the rest of the LL (as I was told by a LL fan). It turned out to be a nice way to wrap up the evening and slide into the early morning hours. The evening wasn't done. I headed over to Judson for the improv sessions. I'll tell that in another post, as well as Saturday's music.

Just time to write a few notes on the ICP performance in Baltimore last night. They were LOUD (at times), funny, masterful, as bright as a shiny new penny, but I missed Misha Mengelberg's subversive wit, his deeper shadow. Misha was the counter-point to Han Bennink's manic force; without him, Bennink was reduced to banging louder, like someone talking to a foreigner in ever louder voice to make himself understood. The "star" of the show turned out to be cellistTristan Honsinger, whose odd wailings, singing and comic actions sometimes gave it the appearance of Monty Python. Good humor but no substitute for Misha's wit. ICP played some Misha compositions but it seemed the spirit of them was gone. YMMV of course, and maybe it did, let me know. It was a long night and now I'm off to NYC.

Rude Boy Rodan Mothra

OK, I'll keep an eye out for you . I also have the obligatory beard, and look rather like a decayed Al Pacino. I figure a rose in my lapel boutonniere might be too much, but I will have a (obligatory) black jacket on.

If she does ask her to post me one.....or even better bring the band over here Let's see what I can find out

Dick Tracy Miss Pimpelton Fearless Fosdick

Natty Bumppo Natty Boh Bol

The "Battle Pieces" disc is getting a lot of buzz. From what I heard live, "Electric Snakeoil" should be pretty good Looking forward to hearing Myra's "Snowy Egret" live this week; wonder if she'll have discs with her.

Yes Yes Man Yves St. Laurent

F.R. Leavis Leave It To Beaver Wally

Besides movie censorship and the quest for a PG-13 rating, probably also because they are dressed in their undertaker best. IIRC though, the original "Night of the Living Dead" by Romero, the zombies had mostly tattered clothes and a couple were nude (tattered skin maybe?). True story: My former brother-in-law once bought a box of really nice-looking white dress shirts that "fell off the truck." Got them home, took them out, found out they did not have any backs; they were for an undertaker's funeral home

Not to be confused with "ech"!

Wicked Witch of the East Wicked Witch of the West Samantha

I probably won't be in NYC on this date, but if you are, these would be good shows to see--Michael Moore! and Ches Smith Trio with Taborn on the Wurlitzer! (shades of Alice C!) New Revolution Arts 7 Stanhope Street Bushwick (Brooklyn) J/M/L Trains B38/B46 Buses $10 suggested donation Friday, January 16 7:30 -- Doors 8 pm -- Harris Eisenstadt/Michael Moore Duo Harris Eisenstadt (drums) Michael Moore (reeds) 9 pm -- Ches Smith Trio Ches Smith (drums) Mat Maneri (viola) Craig Taborn (Wurlitzer)

Kim Il Sung Helen Sung Margaret Sanger

Here's my show list. The schedules are far from perfect, just what I can make out of available options. There are some overlaps/tight time crunches, but if I like something I'll stay put, if not, I'll head for a back-up session. I plan to see ICP in Baltimore tomorrow night, before I come up to NYC, so they are not on the list. Time/Performance/Venue FRIDAY 6:30 – Donald Byrd Electric and Acoustic - LPR 7:30- David Murray Clarinet – Minetta 8:00 – Russ Johnson (Eric Dolphy) – Judson 9:15 – Dave Douglas – Judson 10:00 – Trio 3 w/Vijay Iyer – Minetta 11:00 – Kris Davis Infrasound –Subculture 12:15 – Uri Caine/Bennink – Subculture 1:00 - Improv Duets SATURDAY 6:30 – Myra Melford Snowy Egret -Zinc 7:45 – Mark Turner – Zinc 8:15 – Darius Jones – Players 9:30 – Fujiwara Hookup - _Players 10:00 – Mahanthappa Bird Calls 12:00 – Eivind Opsvik - Players

More on Fitzgerald, from a blog I happen to read occasionally. Meanwhile, I am firmly locked in Clarissa's embrace! "The problem that I’m having with Penelope Fitzgerald’s late novels is that their excellence, their extraordinary agility, is almost ephemeral, because the books are so short. It took no time at all to read The Gate of Angels, which I loved while I was reading it but now have trouble remembering, only a few hours later. I have trouble remembering why I liked it. I still remember why I liked — loved — Innocence: I was captured by its insouciant but quite genuine Italian quality; the novel deserves an entry in that catalogue, Sprezzatura. The Beginning of Spring did not appeal to anything like the same extent. I felt, not without chuckling amusement, as though Ivy Compton-Burnett were taking over the translation of a Russian classic from Constance Garnett. If Innocence struck me as echt, The Beginning of Spring felt pastiche. This distinction is simply a reflection of my very different regard for things Italian and Russian. To me, Russia is a version of the Wild-West United States that hasn’t got the sense to use the Latin alphabet. My dislike of the prelates of Orthodoxy is unsurpassed, at least by other dislikes. What did interest me about The Beginning of Spring was its strange echo of imperialism. The hero, Frank Reid, is British by background but Russian by birth. Frank was educated in Russia and speaks perfect Russian. Had the setting been India, this fluency would have been unlikely, as would have been the local education. The management of a printing works is an almost stereotypically imperial sort of business, but whatever its commercial activities might have been, Britain never subjected Russia to its yoke; on the contrary, Russia ran its own empire, and vied with Britain for mastery in Central Asia. All the clichés of empire — the alluring, the dangerous, the unintelligible, the backward — are present in The Beginning of Spring, but they are set in what in music would be called a remote key. With its English setting — London and Cambridge, also in 1912 — The Gate of Angelsis extremely familiar, more familiar than it might be if I hadn’t read all the mystery novels of Charles Todd last year. The fictional enterprise of creating a fictional Oxbridge college for the purposes of satire is as comfortable as my favorite napping blanket — and that’s a problem. This is where I think the novel undercuts itself: there is no need in this love story for the extremity of St Angelicus College, and the gratuitousness of the creation is highlighted at the finale, when Daisy Saunders, ever the capable conscientious nurse, violates the college’s male-only hygeine, explicitly likened to that of Mount Athos, in order to relieve the “syncope” of the blind master, whom she finds prostrate at the foot of the tiny quad’s solitary tree. The dons who cluck at her presence are ineffectual hens, and it turns out that Fred Fairly, the junior fellow whose passionate devotion to Daisy powers the plot, is not even on the premises. St Angelicus gives Fitzgerald the pretext for a delightful retelling of the synopsis of La Favorita, the opera about antipope Benedict XIII, only (tellingly) without the Favorite. But that’s about all it’s good for. The solidly stimulating writing about the (quite real) Cavendish Laboratory makes the imaginary college even flufflier. Now that I’ve dissed The Gate of Angels, I remember, and like, it better."