Let's Call the Calling Off Off

Sometimes you listen to music that slowly moves across your spirit. You feel it working on the deepest parts of you, perhaps changing you in subtle ways, but you don't have the foggiest clue of how to describe it to your fellow humans. All I have before me at the moment is the cat, and it's hard to tell whether or not she's paying attention.

To wit: Nothing Ever Was, Anyway: Music of Annette Peacock, by Marilyn Crispell (piano); Gary Peacock (double-bass); Paul Motian(drums); Annette Peacock (voice). I've been intrigued by Marilyn Crispell ever since reading about her in Graham Lock's portrait of Anthony Braxton, Forces in Motion. I was impressed by her story of being dashed by a broken love affair and seeking spiritual solace in the music of John Coltrane. J.C. turned her life around, inspired her toward a deep commitment to music (no one was more committed to the music than 'Trane). Crispell is an integral part of some of Braxton's most inspired music. And yes, it's quite significant that she's a woman playing uncompromising, serious music. So, with all that in mind, it's doubly fascinating to listen to Crispell interpret the music of a serious female composer.

The intimate, introspective music that Crispell's trio plays may remind some of the classic Bill Evans trios (as the Penguin Jazz Guide mentions) or a classical chamber group. The spirits of Cecil Taylor and McCoy Tyner hover around her clear, introspective, sharp piano. Lovely, spirited, thoughtful music.

The singular, uncompromising visions of Marilyn Crispell and Annette Peacock reminds me to mention one of my favorite releases of the year, so far (and another CD "C") Vic Chestnutt's latest, Ghetto Bells. Although wobbly-voiced, Georgia-accented Vic is always recognizably Vic, he usually tries something different on his recordings. In this instance, it includes the collaborative talents of Bill Frisell on guitar and Van Dyke Parks on keyboards and one string arrangement (It's funny, listening to Van Dyke's Song Cycle--recorded in 1967--the other day, I realized how much it reminded me of Vic). Delicate, simpato layers of sound are the result. And that's a good thing when it comes to the word drunk songs of Mr. Chestnutt. I'm still absorbing this recording, and loving it.

Hey man, speaking of simpatico: how about Ella and Louis on vinyl? Over the past couple of days I've spun their version of Porgy & Bess and a collection of standards, Ella & Louis--both two-record sets. I find the Porgy & Bess to be quite moving--it sneaks up on you in its fashion. The orchestrations aren't that exciting, and Louis doesn't play much trumpet, but his mature, gravelly voice lends an autumnal sadness to Gershwin's dated folk-opera. Ella is at her peak, although I have a version of her doing "I Love's You Porgy" on a CD collection (we'll get there) that beats anything on this record. Still and all, it's a wonderful recording.

About the Ella & Louis record...how can you not love the two of them paired off on "Let's Do It"; "Cheek to Cheek"; "Stars Fell on Alababma," and so on? Makes you proud to be a human American.

I Get Along Without You Very Well

In the midst of my Ella Fitzgerald vinyl listening I realized that I'd forgotten to spin Eddie Fisher's Games That Lovers Play. Why, you might ask, do I own an Eddie Fisher album? Simple. Flip to the back cover. Beneath the legend: The Big Album The Big Eddie Fisher Version "Games That Lovers Play" are five "candid" snapshots, three of them featuring my dad, Eddy Samuels (although they misspell his name as "Eddie"), at the piano(the only photo I have of him behind his main axe) while Eddie F and Nelson Riddle (the album's arranger) peer over his shoulder.

For several years, my father was Eddie Fisher's musical director, pianist, and partying buddy. In Eddie F's first memoir, My Life, My Loves, he referred to my father as his "musical mentor."I'm pretty sure they were hanging out together when Eddie F left Debbie Reynolds for Elizabeth Taylor. Anyway, they were best buds for a while there, and when I was born, Eddie F became my godfather. If you know me, you know this story, I'm sure...

My father's been dead since 1986, so I can't ask him any questions about this record. Is that him I hear tinkling the ivories buried deep in the recording mix? Did he do any meaningful work with Nelson Riddle while the album was being prepared? Why is he featured on the back cover, if he wasn't on the recording? The copyright date on the back says 1966, which I believe is the year my parents divorced. I'm guessing this is the post-divorce version of my father on the back. He looks bloated from drinking and gorging himself on food. He appears to be about twenty pounds heavier than a couple of photographs I have of him from earlier that year. And what about the photo setting? Besides the piano, an adjoining table with stacks of records (including a copy of Revolver), drinks, a pack of Marlboros (my father's brand) and some some music sheet-stuffed shelving above the piano, the room seems barren. Whose crib was this? Eddie F's, Mr. Riddle's or my father's divorce pad?

I ponder the above question because I search for a personal subtext to this highly mediocre record. Dare I imagine that the songs that comprise side two--"Yesterday"; "How Insensitive"; "I Get Along Without You Very Well"; "Once I Loved"; "You're Devastating"--are in some way aimed at my mother? Eddie F had a couple of dramatic divorces under his belt at this point, so is it possible that he found inspiration in his musical mentor's misery.

Anyway, on to the music. Well, let's put it this way, you wanna know the difference between Sinatra and everyone else, spin his Nelson Riddle-arranged version of "I Get Along Without You Very Well" (it's on In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning) and compare it to Eddie F's version on Games. Eddie F gives it his best shot, but his Al Jolson-influenced pleasant baritone (?) doesn't come close to finding the subtleties in Hoagy Carmichael's lyrics. I mean, if you're not expecting Sinatra--despite the promise of the Riddle arrangements--and you like pleasant MOR pop that middle-aged white golfers or blue-haired Jewish grandmas were listening to in the mid-sixties, this is the record for you. I wonder what Paul McCartney would think of their version of "Yesterday," in which they take all the suspense out of the song by cutting out the familiar, "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away..." in favor of "Why she had to go I don't know..." (nice horn laden, cha cha arrangement, too). It's sort of like saying, "We'll show you how to construct a pop song, you little long-haired limey punks!"

Now, back to Ella's place...I think my favorite songbook recording of hers (that I own) is The George & Ira Gershwin Songbook, arranged and conducted by our friend, Nelson Riddle. The most intelligent and tuneful Gershwins are given the class A treatment by Ella and Nelson. She really inhabits those wonderful songs, "The Man I Love"; "A Foggy Day"; "Nice Work If You Can Get It"; "Lorelei"; "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", etc. This record bubbles around my all-time top twenty, for sure. I think there's even more of this Gershwin material available than is
included on the two-record set that I own. Yeah, yeah, there's always more to acquire...

Today, I enjoyed Ella's trip through The Duke Ellington Songbook. I know there's more of their collaborations available (note to self: get it). But what's here is pretty terrif. I'm especially keen on the opening numbers, "Drop Me Off in Harlem"; "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good"; "I'm Beginning to See the Light"; "Day Dream." Some classy playing from Johnny Hodges and the rest of the band. Side Three features a lot of nice wordless Ella vocalizing, and leads nicely into Side Four's instrumental tribute to Miss F from the Duke and Billy Strayhorn, Portrait of Ella Fitzgerald. Not Duke's greatest work, but a sweet gesture all the same.

Upcoming: Ella's vinyl collaborations with Louis Armstrong; the conclusion of the CD "C's"; the International Week of Rock!

"C" CD Roundup

I began my "C" CD listening yesterday with John Coltrane's Stellar Regions, a hodgepodge collection of some of his final recordings. The Penguin Jazz Guide guys don't think too much of it, but I like it. Many of the songs have the spiritual feeel of Coltrane and Rashied Ali's Interstellar Space (mentioned in the previous entry). Was Coltrane intuitively preparing for death at this point or was he pondering his next earthly musical move? One thing about this collection and the other day's Live at The Village Vanguard Again session, I've sure grown to appreciate the freer feel of the late 'Trane group--especially the fluid piano of Alice Coltrane.

Continuing on the spiritual tip with the CD "C's" we moved to Heart of the Congos, by The Congos. Outside of his work with The Wailers, perhaps the finest production work of Lee "Scratch" Perry? On this recording he takes a pretty good vocal group (I believe it was originally a duo, but expanded to a trio by "Scratch") and turns them into biblical prophets. Straight outta his Black Ark studio, The Upsetter (he had a lot of nicknames) takes you on a deep sonic journey of riveting vocal harmonies, thunderous dubbed out echo, driving percussion, and what sounds like shofar blasts. If you're interested in delving into the reggae avant-garde, by all means investigate this recording. And get it on the Blood and Fire label for the great sound, extra disc of remixes, artistic packaging, and always informative notes.

Seguewaying from praise of Jah to Jelaluddin Rumi, I chilled out at work to A Meeting by the River, by Ry Cooder and V.M. Bhatt. A mingling of North Indian classical music and the Delta blues. With all due respect to the Buena Vista Social Club projects, I think A Meeting by the River and Talking Timbuktu, Ry's collaboration with Ali Farka Toure (we'll get to that when we hit the CD "T's") are very worthy Cooder recordings from the 1990's. Anyway, the songs on A Meeting are inspired by some Rumi verses. Ry on bottleneck guitar, V.M. Bhatt on a bottleneck guitar-like instrument--modified to play Indian scales--of his own invention called a mohan vindi. A little percussion, too. Seek it out.

It's all been soul music of one sort of another so far, so why stop now? Also at work last night I played Sam Cooke's transcendent compilation, The Rhythm and The Blues. Primarily drawing from three of Sam's studio albums, this is the adult and bluesy side of Mr. Cooke. Listening to this stuff makes me simultaneously exhilarated and depressed. Exhilarated because of "Get Yourself Another Fool"; "Driftin' Blues"; "Please Don't Drive Me Away"; "Little Red Rooster" and so on. Depressed because he died so young, could have accomplished so much more. I don't know if this collection is still in print, but Night Beat, the main source of this great material is.

Finally, we finish off with Elvis Costello's King of America. Probably his last solid record of the eighties (or would some of you say Blood and Chocolate?). A pretty successful attempt to mingle country and Elvis (C, that is--although he uses some of the King's collaborators on half of the songs). Why do critics always forget to mention this one when they mention seminal "alt.country" records? The CD version I have (dunno if this one's in print, either) features some extra tracks by The Coward Brothers, E.C.'s collaboration with T-Bone Burnett. Good stuff, man, but 20 tracks of clever wordplay and passionate E.C. vocals do wear a fella down...

Tomorrow: more Ella vinyl , and a special visit from Eddie Fisher.

Another Interview with K$

Q: To get things started, tell us about your problem with the La Mediterranee Ella Fitzgerald
tape.
A: Okay. As you and my acquaintances probably know, I like to have a nice after work bevvy at their Fillmore Street location. They usually play various cassettes of worldish-type music as background/atmosphere sound wallpaper. For years all they seemed to play was a Django Rheinhardt tape.
Q: Good God, I remember that.
A: And I love Django, but kee-rist, it must have driven the employees crazy. Anyway, one of the tapes in their rotation is a compilation of Ella Fitzgerald's early recordings. It's young Ella, you can tell, because she sings in that cloying, little girl voice that's like fingernails on the blackboard of my soul. And that's not the worst part. The songs are atrocious. After she had a hit with "A- Tisket A-Tasket," her record company people kept feeding her horrible novelty songs in hopes of repeating the successful formula. Its most extremely obnoxious level is reached on the very creepy "My Heart Belongs to Daddy." Ugh.
Q: And you plead with the waitresses to take the tape off?
A: Yes, and they very nicely do so. It makes me feel a little bad because I happen to love Ella Fitzgerald--just not her infantile material.
Q: Which brings us to this morning's vinyl listen, The Best of Ella on Decca.
A: Yeah, except in no way is it the "Best" of Ella. Some of the best, perhaps...
Q: Duly noted. You had a point to make about this not-Best of Ella?
A: Yes. Side one, especially is a good example of my opinion about early Ella. That material, covering 1938 to 1945, shows E literally finding her voice. From the little girl-voiced Chick Webb days with "A-Tisket A-Tasket" and "Undecided" to the groovy 1945 version of "It's Only a Paper Moon," you can hear Ella becoming her own woman.
Q: And the other three sides?
A: They're okay, but again, not the "Best" of Ella. It's a strange mix of classic material (The Gershwins and Sammy Cahn) and novelty-writing nobodies. Just not the best choice of tunes.
Q: As opposed to what we're listening to right now: The Rodgers and Hart Songbook.
A: You got it, brother. Here's Ella in full command of her craft. Her warm throaty vibrato with its hint of womanly-girlishness on the edges, if that makes any sense.
Q: Kinda.
A: But it's the songs of course that give Ella something to sink her teeth into. Rodgers and Hart--"Everything I've Got"; "My Funny Valentine"; "Thou Swell." And so on.
Q: How about them arrangements?
A: Oh yeah. The Buddy Bregman Orchestra. I don't know anything about 'em, but they swing lightly on the uptempo numbers and provide a sensitive but not syrupy backing on the ballads.
Q: And this is the same orchestra that backed Ella on her Cole Porter Songbook--the first of these composer-themed albums?
A: Indeed. And now's a good as place as any to admit that, incredibly, this is the one Ella Songbook I don't own.
Q: Yeesh! How embarrassing!
A: I know. I see it at Amoeba all the time! I plan on getting it soon and will put it in the "F" listening annex.
Q: Okay. We'll hold you to that promise. Oh, and I see that you're consulting the Penguin Guide to Jazz?
A: Yes, it appears that the Buddy Bregman Orchestra was based in Hollywood and worked with Bing Crosby, among others...Oh, and I should mention, as the Psychedelic Eskimo reminded me, today is Ella Fitzgerald's birthday! Pretty cosmic, wouldn't you say?
Q: Pretty cosmic, alright. And speaking of cosmic, let's change the subject here and talk about your Coltrane CD listen of the day. Interstellar Space?
A: Nice segueway, pal. I don't need the record guides to tell me what an exciting listen this is. It's just Coltrane on tenor (and bells) accompanied by Rashied Ali on percussion. Recorded not quite five months before he died, it's one of his final spiritual statements, cutting right to the heart of things. It's ecstatic, driving music, recorded under the sign of Pisces (recording date: Feb 22, 1967).
Q: That's your sign, baby.
A: You know it. A pretty great day of listening. As Rock Photographer commented on the previous entry, listening to Ella and Coltrane is heaven.
Q: Before we close things, did you want to mention a mistake you made in the previous entry?
A: I did. In the previous entry I wrote that at one point in their rendition of "My Favorite Things"(on Live at the Village Vanguard Again), Coltrane plays a flute accompaniment to Pharoah Sanders' tenor sax. The CD info tells me that Sanders is playing flute. Coltrane might be playing tenor or even the bass clarinet(the CD booklet lists it as one of his instruments). It's hard to tell because he's blasting away so ferociously. It is interesting to note that Coltrane is playing flute and bass clarinet--two of Eric Dolphy's favorite axes. The spirit of Dolphy was definitely at the Vanguard that night!

Ethnically Excited!

Sure, I really dig the far out jazz (and we'll be getting to that shortly), but sometimes it's nice to spin a straight ahead, trad platter of...British jazz. More than a dog's age ago (or at least my cat's) a friend visited her homeland of England and brought me back a present: October Song by Wally Fawkes and Friends. One of these friends being Al Casey, an American guitarist, who first cut his teeth playing with Fats Waller in the mid-Thirties. Fawkes is (was?) a clarinetist and soprano saxophonist (and a famous newspaper cartoonist!) who I suppose owes a debt to the Sidney Bechet school of playing. Not surprising, considering that Bechet spent a good number of years living in Europe influencing the players there. Anyway, I haven't listened to this record for ever and ever, and was pleasantly surprised at how entertaining and relaxing it is--especially after spending the morning with a crippling headache and the dry heaves at work (you didn't need to know that).

And speaking of clarinets...As I was telling the Psychedelic Eskimo, I initially had a difficult time taking a nap this afternoon because I was so "ethnically excited" listening to The Incredible Clarinet by Giora Fiedman (It is Passover, after all). Fiedman is (or was) a klezmer clarinetist from Argentina (It's sort of creepily interesting to me that Argentina--the most European of South American countries-- became a refuge for both Eastern European Jewish and Nazi exiles). There isn't much info about the actual recording on the back of the album--I'm not even certain when it was made--but it has a different feel than the American-based klezmer recordings that make up the bulk of my collection (such as it is). Less of a jazz influence, more hard driving, almost a mingling of classical and Israeli-folkish-somethingorother (?). And am I mistaken or is he experimenting with "multiphonics," playing split notes a la John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders?

And speaking of John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders...My to- and from-work commute today consisted of a close, spiritual listen to John Coltrane's Live at The Village Vanguard Again on CD. At this point in Trane's career, the "classic quartet" has broken up--only Jimmy Garrison remains on bass--with Alice Coltrane at the piano, Pharoah Sanders going wild on additional saxophone, and Rashied Ali on drums. Although the classic Coltrane quartet with Elvin Jones on drums, McCoy Tyner on piano and Garrison on bass is the justly lauded one, the late 'Trane group is pretty exciting as well. Rhythmically free, colorful, and tonally adventurous, they take "Naima," and especially "My Favorite Things" into a deeper spiritual realm. Speaking of "My Favorite Things," dig Pharoah's wild saxophone multiphonics and Coltrane's accompanying flute on this tune as they vaporize all lingering images of the Van Trapp children. When it comes to 'Trane, why make a strict choice (Miles era; Monk era; Blue Trane era; Giant Steps era; My Favorite Things era; Dolphy era; A Love Supreme era; Ascension era) when you can listen to all phases of JC's thrilling career?

Over the next few days: More late Coltrane on CD, and a serious woodshed session with some Ella Fitzgerald vinyl.

From Now 'Till Bloomsday

I'll come out of the closet and admit it: I'm reading James Joyce's Ulysses. Since I'm three hundred pages into it I figure I'm not jinxing myself. I'm reading ten pages (more or less) every night, and if all goes well, I should be done with it by Bloomsday. Do I know what the hell's going on in the book? Of course not. And that's sort of my lead-in, if you will, to the Ulysses of avant-garde jazz recordings, John Coltrane's Ascension.

Holy man, how can you wrap your ears and mind around the forty minute sonic assault that is Ascension? Very carefully? In bits and pieces? Absorbing it through your headphones while walking around the City, as I did yesterday? As with Ulysses, you realize that you do best to dive into the material, forgetting about logic and sense and let it take you where it will. The CD version contains two versions of the performance, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, man. Listening to it yesterday, it occured to me how beautiful McCoy Tyner's piano was in the middle of all the holy noise. Dig it.

Also on the Coltrane front, this morning I listened to one of my faves: First Meditations. As I wrote back when I was listening to the tumultuous Meditations on vinyl, I prefer the earlier, more structured versions of the songs found on F.M. The melodies are so beautiful and played with such power that I love the F. M. recordings almost as much as A Love Supreme. Check it out.

This morning I began the vinyl "F's" with Donald Fagen's 1982 solo debut, The Nightfly, on vinyl. It's no secret to those who know me well that Steely Dan is my favorite "group" of all time. I'll bore you to death with my Steely Dan love when we get to their place in the vinyl, but suffice to say, I think The Nightfly is a pretty keen record. With Fagen's voice and the sharp production it sounds like a record by the Dan, but it lacks the mordant humor and cynicism that Walter Becker brings to the Dan's records. Well, The Nightfly is supposed to be a somewhat nostalgic revisiting of young Mr. Fagan's nights of listening to the all-night jazz radio shows, and on that level it succeeds quite well. You might say it's Steely Dan before the Kennedy assassination. It contains two gleaming, catchy singles, "I.G.Y" and "New Frontier." The heart of Steely Dan without the guts.

Right at this moment we're tearing it up at The Blue Ark (Heather, literally, is clawing up the couch) with Tav Falco's Panther Burns Behind the Magnolia Curtain. Why do I prefer this crude and feverish Memphis mash to the Cramps' monsterbilly? I dunno. Maybe because these guys are real southerners? Like I'm any sort of expert on southern musical madness. Anyway, I love this crazy record. I highly recommend Robert Gordon's It Came from Memphis for an entertaining and informative portrait of the creative swamp from which this recording arose. Half-art project, half-the second coming of the Rock and Roll Trio. Excellent versions of "She's the One That Got It" and "Bourgeois Blues"(featuring a quote from Allen Ginsberg's Howl!).

For Today I Am A Boy

Possibly my favorite musical release of the year has been I Am a Bird Now by Antony and the Johnsons. A bit surprising, perhaps, considering that it doesn't feature guitars and southern twangs, and delves into the world of fluid gender identity and operatic-like drama. And other stuff, too, like a guest vocal from Rufus Wainwright (whose Want Two is another one of my this year's faves). Anyway, I find this record very moving and shot full of soul. So, I duly record it in my CD "A" annex.

I realized I had to mention this recording as I was listening to Crocodiles by Echo and the Bunnymen, which I forgot to spin when I was at the beginning of the "E" vinyl. I remember reading about these guys in Rolling Stone in '80 or '81 when I was living in the sticks (probably listening to Styx). I was intrigued but a little afraid. Wasn't "New Wave" a code word for "gay"? I was a pretty uptight teen, ever-vigilant to the accusation of "fag" and so forth. Even though I hardly felt like a super-masculine dude (and never will, for that matter), I was too afraid not to drop my hard-rocking front--despite the fact that I had grave doubts about the musical merits of April Wine and Triumph (an evolutionary rock and roll dead end, I innately realized). So, what if there had been an Alternaken, who put effort into checking out the new sounds from England and wore a long trench coat and one of those Ian McCulloch mushroom haircuts? I would have had the shit beaten out of me, that's what. Anyway, I eventually jumped on the New Wave bandwagon in my senior year of high school (when it hit the American Top 40) and thought I was being quite daring for listening to The Human League and Soft Cell. Then, when I went to college, there were Ian McCulloch clones everywhere. Ha, ha! Anyhow, a quarter century down the line, I dig listening to Echo and the Bunnymen and Thin Lizzy.

Back to the Everly Brothers on vinyl. Two records, made twenty years apart that display the EB's attempts to adapt to the prevailing pop music scenes: Wake Up Little Susie(re-recorded) and EB 84. On the cover of the Wake Up Little Susie record, Phil and Don look a little wary. Goddammit, their expressions seem to say, the Beatles are taking their thing and running with it! So, they try frantic Little Richard covers ("Lucille") and Hollywood pop ("Chloe"; "Jezebel") and so forth. Who was this record aimed toward? Young pop music buyers or late twenty-somethings nostalgic for their fifties youth? It's on Columbia's Harmony imprint, which reading between the lines of its promotional copy--"the Harmony label is your guarantee of superb artistry and quality at a price well within the means of every record collector"--sounds a lot like studio scraps to me.

EB 84 was a big label (Polygram), big budget comeback record for the brothers Everly. Produced by Dave Edmunds, with contributions from Paul McCartney and Jeff Lynne, it's a mostly successful attempt to "update" the Everly's sound. In 1984 terms that means, synthesizers! Not as obnoxiously obtrusive as I remembered, either. The McCartney tune, "On the Wings of a Nightingale," is dramatic and soaring. Did it chart? There's a pretty dull rearrangement of "Lay, Lady, Lay" (check out the Isley Brothers' ten minute version, if you want an interesting rearrangement of that song) and other glossy confections. Besides the McCartney song, my favorite is the album's closer, Don Everly's delicate, "Sleep." Not up to their classic levels, but worth picking up if you find it in the cheapo vinyl bins.

On CD's we've spun John Coltrane's Live at Birdland and Crescent. On these two discs we find Coltrane in a smoldering mode, nearing his volcanic last musical phase. Birdland is notable for "Afro Blue" and the intensely moving dirge, "Alabama"--'Trane's solemn prayer for the little girls who were killed in the church bombing in Birmingham.

Crescent is a lovely late night listen. There's something to be said for a powerful player like Coltrane reining in his power, hinting here and there at the force within him. Some lovely ballads. Recorded six months before A Love Supreme, it prepares the soul for the coming storm.

Tomorrow: we blast off with Ascension.

All I Have to Do Is Dream

It took me several days to get through the John Coltrane The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings CD box set. The music is passionate, molten, complex. Sometimes I feel I have a handle on it, at other times I feel completely flummoxed. If I had any sort of musical training, I could break it down structurally, but as "only" an enthusiastic fan all I have to do is dream...

The box set probably contains more music than the average listener needs. But if you're a worshipper of Coltrane and Eric Dolphy, it's a treasure trove of sounds. As I wrote when I was listening to vinyl Trane, his performance of "India" was life-changing to me. Along with Hank Williams's "I Saw the Light," I consider it one of my personal hymns. Well, on this box set you get four versions of the song. Also, you can dig deep into "Spiritual"; "Chasin' the Trane"; "Impressions." Imagine going to a nightclub (the Vanguard) on a cold November evening in 1961 and hearing that two bass drone of Jimmy Garrison and Reggie Workman, the thunderous drums of Elvin Jones, the harmonic color of McCoy Tyner on piano, and the soul-stirring tenor of John Coltrane and bass clarinet of Eric Dolphy. A joyful noise.

And speaking of all you have to do is dream...Over in Nashville, at about the same time that Coltrane and Co. are vaulting into inner and outer space, Phil and Don Everly are cutting a clutch of classic singles such as "Cathy's Clown"; "Love Hurts"; "Crying in the Rain." These songs and many other greats can be heard on a vinyl two-fer entitled The Everly Brothers--24 Original Classics.

Phil and Don Everly: they brought the country harmony of the Delmore and Louvin Brothers to teen pop. They could get right to the center of lonely--check out "Love Hurts"; "When Will I Be Loved"; "So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad)"; "Cryin' in the Rain".

One of the big ironies of their career is that while they were a profound influence on the Beatles and the Beach Boys, they were steamrolled by the success of those groups. Side four of the 24 Original Classics record covers their response to the growing "sophistication" of pop/rock music, with rockers such as "The Price of Love" and "Gone, Gone, Gone" and more melancholy later sixties fare such as "Bowling Green"; "Stories We Could Tell." Sensitive boys with great hair.

Yesterday found me playing a less troubled set of Everly songs--Rip It Up. Hear Phil and Don attempt to cover Little Richard "Rip It Up"; Gene Vincent "Be-Bop-A-Lula"; Fats Domino "Keep a Knockin'"with varying degrees of success. It does contain some of their hits such as "Problems" and "Poor Jenny" (a funny tale of a first date gone terribly wrong).

On Sunday, appropriately, I played a one-off late-eighties bluegrass gospel supergroup, Ever Call Ready. The group featured Chris Hillman (The Byrds) and Bernie Leadon (The Eagles) and some other dudes like bassist Jerry Scheff, who played with the King (Elvis, not Jesus). A very listenable, perhaps a bit too smooth collection of bluegrass/country gospel obscurities. I'm a fan of this genre, even if I'm not this sort of believer. I like the conviction of the songs. But I do have to wonder, were they doing a song like "Don't Let Them Take the Bible Out of Our Schoolroom" (it's gotta be heard to be believed) with completely serious intentions? Come on, Chris and Bernie, you were rock and roll sinners, but you don't have to take it this far, do you? On the other hand, you wouldn't want them to be doing the songs mockingly, either.

Upcoming: more Everlys, more Coltrane.

Evans and Coltrane vs. Sex Music

It's funny, over the years there have been times when I've swooned over the music of Bill Evans, and at other times felt a little lukewarm towards it. Over the past couple of days, as I've listened to four of his recordings on vinyl--Interplay; Everybody Digs Bill Evans; Portrait in Jazz; Explorations--I've been digging it quite a lot. It was a real pleasure to come home from facing the hordes today and listen to Explorations, Evans's lovely collaboration with Scott La Faro (bass) and Paul Motian (drums). This was the classic Evans trio (broken up after the tragic death of La Faro in a car accident, ten days after recording Live at the Village Vanguard. Hey, I used to own that! Who did I loan it to?). Dig them on Miles Davis's "Nardis."

Perhaps the most pleasant surprise from re-listening to these Evans records is Interplay, a quintet collaboration with Freddie Hubbard on trumpet; Jim Hall on guitar; Percy Heath on bass; Philly Joe Jones on drums; Evans on piano. The criticism from some (myself at times as well) is that Evans sometimes flounders in his own sound, isn't driving or swinging enough. The guys on this record really push him to move it, and so there is a nice mixture of the introspective Evans sound with a bit of forceful passion (although Evans was doubtless filled with too much bottled-up passion). Especially fine is Evans's title composition I'm going to spin this record some more.

Uh oh, my ceiling is shaking. My upstairs neighbor, Mr. Salsa, must be entertaining a lady visitor. Pretty early in the evening for him. I wonder if he enjoys my playing of Disc three from the Coltrane Village Vanguard box. Thanks to "Chasin' the Trane" and "Greensleeves" for masking the embarrassing noise (not to mention his sex music of choice, which usually seems to be Alicia Keys (sp?)). Titanic stuff (the Coltrane, I mean). Wowee, I wish I could have seen these shows with Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, Elvin Jones, McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and the other musicians. Spiritual music of the highest order, at least as far as I'm concerned. Too bad disc two skips on one of the tracks. Anyway, I'm going to close this entry as "Impressions" fights it out with the thumpedeethump of upstairs r&b and other "activities."

Microphone Fiend and All My Existentialists Live in Texas

Return with me back to the days of 1988 when Eric B & Rakim were considered part of the "New School" hip-hoppers. In my book, Rakim is the greatest rapper of all time--rap's Coltrane, as Jeff Chang calls him (by the way, I highly recommend his history of the hip-hop generation, Can't Stop, Won't Stop). I often seem to have fragments of a rap floating through my brain, and spinning the 12" this afternoon I remember that it's Eric B & Rakim's "Microphone Fiend."

Better yet, is my favorite rap of all time, "Follow the Leader." This is Rakim's true Coltrane moment. Perhaps the intervening years have brought us faster, louder, more poetic rappers, but to me, Rakim's journey of inner-/outervision is one of the most brilliant things ever laid down on wax. "In this journey, you're the journal, I'm the journalist/Am I eternal or an eternalist?" Or is it "internal/internalist"? It works both ways. Rakim cuts you down and rebuilds you, slays you and liberates you with his Five Percenter-lyrical knowledge.

Back at the honky tonk, we're enjoying Joe Ely's Honky Tonk Masquerade and Down on the Drag. Wonderful, literate, hard-driving country. Honky tonk music that smokes a little pot with its beer. So out of place and time (which is to say, timeless) during the Urban Cowboy era of "country" music, these two records didn't sell worth a damn. Probably why I got 'em out of the cut outbin. Anyway, I can't say enough about how terrific these records are--especially the flawless side one of Honky Tonk Masquerade--Joe's melancholy "Because of the Wind," a hard-driving interpretation of Butch Hancock's masterpiece of Western Texas poetry, "Boxcars," and Jimmie Dale Gilmore's broken-hearted-philosophical-spiritual quandary, "Tonight I think I'm Gonna Go Downtown."

Over on the CD player, we're beginning our five-disc journey through John Coltrane's The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings box set. A full assessment of this over the next few days.

Tennessee's Not The State I'm In

When I was a young lad of nineteen, earnestly buying blues and jazz records and reading books about said musical genres, I began my country music explorations with Joe Ely. I knew that he was somehow associated with my beloved, recently departed The Clash, and that Martha Hume, the author of You're So Cold, I'm Turnin' Blue, my first country music book, was a big promoter of him. She saw Joe as a literate savior of legitimate honky tonk music. So, I dutifully bought his records. Thus would begin a decade-long country music obsession, which, in recent years, has grown to lethal levels.

I'll tell you this: Joe's first three records are essential. We'll talk about his debut self-titled debut today. Joe Ely has all the elements of a terrific record: A hot band, featuring the great Lloyd Maines (father of Dixie Chick, Natalie) on steel guitar and Jesse Taylor on lead geetar. Also, there's the songs of his Flatlanders' bandmates--Butch Hancock ("She Never Spoke Spanish to Me"; "Tennessee Is Not the State I'm In"; "If You Were a Bluebird") and Jimmie Dale Gilmore ("Treat Me Like a Saturday Night"). And Joe's songs weren't too shabby either. Literate, soulful, swingin', rockin', and it's not even his best record. You can find it pretty easily in the dollar vinyl sections. It's also available on CD. I dug these songs in my twenties, but I didn't really get them until I had lived a country music life. More Joe tomorrow.

Let's shift gears quite a bit and discuss a couple of Coltrane CDs. Presently, I'm listening to a live recording of Coltrane with McCoy Tyner on piano, Reggie Workman on bass, Elvin Jones on drums and Eric Dolphy on alto sax, bass clarinet and flute (from a 1961 Stockholm gig). This collection finds the group expanding on such Trane greatest hits such as "My Favorite Things"; "Blue Train"; "Naima"; and "Impressions." It's exciting (for me, anyway) to hear Dolphy's flute on "My Favorite Things." I truly prefer his flute and bass clarinet playing to his frantic alto (although I like that, too). More soul, I think. Trane, of course, is expanding, expanding, following his destiny.

Also, on the Coltrane front, I listened to his Ole recording on CD. I think the standout track is the title number, a brooding Spanish-flavored song that features both Art Davis and Reggie Workman on bass. The dual basses create a hypnotic drone that will be further explored during the 1961 Village Vanguard recordings (we get started on those tomorrow). Trane plays the soprano sax, Dolphy is on flute, and Freddie Hubbard sits in on trumpet. Play it loud!

Ellingtones and Coltranes

Events have conspired to keep me away from this blog the past couple of days. I've barely had the time to give the music the proper attention it deserved. Anyway, we're back.

The other day I concluded my Duke Ellington vinyl with mixed feelings: it was a happy week of listening indeed, but I also felt ashamed by my lack of some crucial Ellington recordings. Why don't I own a decent collection of his small group recordings? What about the middle period suites such as Such Sweet Thunder, The Far East Suite (my sources say get the "Special Mix" on CD--I'll look for that next month), and A Drum Is a Woman? I will! I will! You must understand, Record Buying Id, that a recent reduction in my work hours is going to result in some serious music budgeting...Yeah, sure.

Be all that as it may, the final two vinyl Ellingtons currently in my possession are The Latin American Suite and The Ellington Suites, which contains three works: The Queen's Suite; The Goutelas Suite; The Uwis Suite (this one notable for an Ellington band attempt to play in the polka style). The Latin American Suite is the stronger of the two records. Ellington being Ellington, he takes his impressions of a few Latin American countries that he had toured and gives his Ellington music a bit of south of the border flavor--in other words they don't transform into a bossa nova band. It's always Ellingtonia, no matter what spices are thrown in. My favorite tunes are the opener, Oclupaca, and the closer, Brasilliance, which features a slithery Paul Gonsalves solo.

The Queen's Suite is the most interesting of the three pieces on the Ellington Suites record. The Duke's tribute to young Queen Elizabeth (recorded in1959) is perhaps highlighted by his solo performance of The Single Petal of a Rose--a classic Ellington/Strayhorn collaboration). More Ellington to come when we get to his spot in the CDs.

And speaking of CDs: It's now time to make our second sweep through the discography of John Coltrane. We begin with a couple of his Prestige recordings--Lush Life and Black Pearls. I've devoted so much time to the glories of Trane's music during his Atlantic and Impulse! periods, that I forget how enjoyable his "sheets of sound" phase can be. It's 1957-58 and arguably only Sonny Rollins is a bigger hotshot on the tenor sax. Trane is kicking his heroin habit, playing with Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk, chasing the sound that will take him far into the stratosphere during this last decade of his life. He'll make music you can base a church on (The Church of St. John Coltrane, based right here in S.F.).

So, lets appreciate Coltrane getting it together, attempting to find the the right backing musicians for his solo excursions. Of the two recordings, I'm more fond of Lush Life, especially Trane's interpretation of the Billy Strayhorn title composition. Of course, Trane will go on to record a devastating version of this tune with vocalist Johnny Hartman (discussed a few months ago when we were listening to Coltrane vinyl). As far as the uptempo numbers on both records, Trane's getting there, but he's not there yet.

Upcoming: Much more Coltrane on CD and a consideration of three great Joe Ely records.

Dancing In Your Head

Hey, wanna stir up your pets? Play them Ornette Coleman's Dancing In Your Head, his 1975 release featuring his harmolodic group, Prime Time, and the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Right at this moment as I'm playing this stimulating, unnerving ritual funk, Heather the cat has awoken from her late afternoon stupor and is rubbing her face against The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD. She meows at me, "This music makes me feel like I'm going to cough up a hairball-- or worse." "Do your worst, Princess," I reply. "You know I will," she says. Probably at six in the morning.

Earlier today, I pressed Heather's patience with Ornette's New York Is Now! It's Ornette and Dewey Redman plus the classic Coltrane rhythm section of Jimmy Garrison on bass and Elvin Jones on drums. Not a bad recording, but the quartet fails to really catch fire. Garrison and Jones don't lock in to Ornette the way they did with their recently departed leader (this recording was made in 1968). The rhythm section of Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins (or Ed Blackwell) is sorely missed. Still, an interesting experiment in gutbucket r&b free jazz.

I believe that Feline Americans, such as Heather, are inclined more toward the music of Duke Ellington than Ornette Coleman. It's hard to imagine any cat, dog or mouse not being fond of Ellington's tribute to his departed musical soulmate, Billy Strayhorn, ...and his mother called him Bill. Recorded in the summer and fall of 1967, not long after "Sweet Pea" had passed away, this is a swinging and moving testimony to the compositions of the man. The band sounds fully engaged, moved by the passions that Strayhorn stirred up in his rich compositions. The most devastating performance is Johnny Hodges' deeply-felt alto cries on Strayhorn's final composition, Blood Count (he was working right up until the end). It just kills you to listen to it. Also wonderful is Hodges' moody interpretation of Day-Dream, a personal tribute from the Rabbit, as this Strayhorn tune was designed especially for him back in '41.

This morning I rolled out of bed and put on Duke Ellington and John Coltrane's collaboration from 1962. Not quite as wild as the Money Jungle album, but a nice listen. Supposedly Trane was having trouble with his mouthpiece at the time, so he's not blowing like crazy. Not surprisingly then, the two best tunes are the ballads, In a Sentimental Mood and My Little Brown Book. As I recall, my oft-mentioned jazz teacher, Grover Sales, locked us in his classroom and made us stay late (with the lights off) so that we could listen to the moody majesty of Duke and Trane playing In a Sentimental Mood. It was breathtaking, and I was Brainwashed For Life.

Mr. Samuels's Planet

Perhaps it's fitting that on the day that Saul Bellow died I was listening to avant-garde jazz musician Anthony Coleman's Selfhaters (on John Zorn's Tzadik label), an examination of the tangled notions of Jewish self-hatred. Mother's milk for a self-reflexive Yid like me. In the wide-open America of self-invention, triumph and defeat (and triumph again), can a Jew even define his or her culture? And which Jewish culture, as Coleman asks in his liner notes: "Jerusalem, Belz, the Lower East Side or Rockland County? Or the culture of wandering, the culture of acquisitiveness, of having-no-voice-of-one's own, of mauschel-ing in any and all languages. Well, this disc doesn't purport to answer. Some say that's Jewish, too..."

Exactly. And that's why I find this mixture of melancholy wailing, introspective drones and even an interpretation of Duke Ellington's The Mooche (nice how that compliments our Ellington vinyl listening) so fascinating. You know the old joke: two Jews, three opinions. I don't know anything else about Anthony Coleman's work. I'll have to check it out.

And speaking of Canadian Jews (Bellow was born in Montreal), I listened to Leonard Cohen's The Best Of on CD. I'm embarrassed to admit that this is the only L.C. I own. I've always been meaning to spend more time with his canon, I just haven't gotten to it. This Best Of collection reminds me of my mother. She often played it around the house. A melancholy Jewess playing a melancholy Jew for her melancholy Jewish son. Well, maybe not for me. My ears just happened to be in the way, and my soul (assuming I have one) happened to get it, even if it took me a few years to realize that I had it.

Another CD I listened to was Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come. Longtime readers of this blog may remember I listened to some of Ornette's contemporary (to Shape) Atlantic recordings on vinyl a couple of months ago. There isn't much in music that I find more exciting than Charlie Haden's bass notes that lead to Ornette and Don Cherry's alto and trumpet cries to begin Lonely Woman, the opening track on the album. Bird and Diz for the new generation.

And speaking of Duke...This morning I listened to Money Jungle, his thrilling trio date with Charles Mingus on bass and Max Roach on drums. On the uptempo numbers, Money Jungle and Caravan, the pace is so frenetic that it almost seems out of control. Ellington's energetic piano playing on the title track seems to be driving Mingus a little mad (not a difficult thing to do). Quite a wild dialogue (or is it dueling monologues?) between the two of them. The ballad, Fleurette Africaine is simply lovely.

Yesterday's Ellington listen, Duke Ellington and His Orchestra Featuring Paul Gonsalves (1962) was a real surprise. I bought this record many years ago during my Ellingtonmania and just filed it away. So, in listening and relistening to it with pleasure over the past couple of days, it's like I just bought it. Gonsalves, as you may remember from my entry from a couple of days ago, was the tenor sax hero of Ellington's triumphant 1956 Newport appearance. In a sense, Gonsalves gave his boss a much-needed career jolt (due to the good press from that jazz festival, Ellington was "remembered" by the powers-that-be). Duke was ever-grateful to Gonsalves, and helped out the troubled, talented tenorist when he could. The story behind this album goes that Ellington had a pressing recording date but no new material, so he summoned the band and gave all the solos to Gonsalves in repayment for his loyalty and good work. Anyway, Gonsalves plays his ass off on this record--displaying a cool, breathy tone that is influenced by Ben Webster and maybe Sonny Rollins(?). A real classy slab o' wax.

27 Choruses

As I was saying in the previous entry, one could easily spend a year studying the work of Duke Ellington. My old jazz teacher Grover Sales used to shout at us: "One day, major universities will offer courses in Early, Middle and Late Ellington!"

Even though my Ellington collection numbers in the double digits, it's as if I own a mere smattering of his recordings. Which is true, actually.

Today's Ellington listening demonstrates the range of the man's music: Great Times!-- a collection of Duke's piano duets with longtime collaborator, Billy Strayhorn, and Ellington at Newport.

The Great Times! record is a fascinating because it's often difficult to separate which is Strayhorn and which is Ellington taking the solo--although at some points there's no mistaking Duke's rich splashy chords (wha?).

The Ellington at Newport (from 1956) record is famous of course for the incredible 27 chorus tenor sax solo that Paul Gonsalves plays on Diminuendo and Crescendo Blues. It's such an exciting solo, with the crowd getting into it and the band urging Gonsalves on, that I always get a little teary-eyed listening to it. I sure am becoming a sap in my old age. Anyway, there's also some other neat stuff on this record: Johnny Hodges' classy feature piece on Jeep's Blues (this performance actually closed out the Ellington band's set, but it's resequenced on the record so that the famous Gonsalves solo concludes the disc). Also, other great soloists such as Clark Terry and Cat Anderson are featured on some of the other numbers. And the sound is fantastic. This was the Duke Ellington "comeback" performance/album that kept his career on top for another twenty years.

On the portable CD player I listened to The Clash's London Calling. It's in my personal Top Ten album/song list. I remember when these guys performed songs from the album on the old late night comedy show Fridays. The band was tricked out in black leather, looking cool and greasy. They rushed through the songs sloppy, urgent, singing off-key. My friends were not impressed. "That band you like, The Clash? They suck!" Because they didn't sound like Boston, I guess.

We Love You Madly!

I feel like I should apologize to you, dear reader--not to mention The Psychedelic Eskimo--for my unwillingness to let go of the Gene Clark topic, but I wanted to mention one more thing. If you are seeking out a collection of his Byrds work, Raven has put a CD compilation of his work from 1964-1973 (there was an ill-fated Byrds reunion that year) called Gene Clark in the Byrds. In my Clarkian madness I thought about buying it at Amoeba the other day, even though I have almost all that material on various discs. I would be intrigued to hear his cover of Neil Young's "Cowgirl in the Sand"...

Okay, on to other things. From Gene Clark to Johnny Clarke. I played a couple of his CDs over the past few days: Dreader Dread (a comp on the Blood & Fire label) and Authorised Rockers (a collection of two of his Virgin records). As the titles might indicate, Johnny Clarke is a reggae singer. After Dennis Brown and Gregory Isaacs, Clarke was the most popular Dancehall singer in Jamaica. He had a sweet, soulful voice, although not as distinctive as Brown and Isaacs. His material is pretty good, although of the fairly standard Rasta platitudinal variety. The strength of these recordings, especially the Blood & Fire comp (sounding great as all their releases do), are the tough riddims of producer Bunny Lee and Clarke's ability as an interpreter of other's songs--specifically Peter Tosh's "I'm the Toughest" and Bob Marley's "Time Will Tell."

My commute CD for today was the Clash's first release--the UK version. As I mentioned when I played the American vinyl version which has different sequencing and classic singles like "Complete Control" and "White Man in Hammersmith Palais," I prefer that release (Although the UK version does have "Deny," which is a pretty cool song). Listening to "Remote Control"--featured on both versions--reminds me of a dream I had many years ago when I was unhappily married. It took place right around the time Kurt Cobain killed himself. I wasn't a big Cobain fan but I dreamed that he and a sort of all star group of Grunge rockers were recording a song in a studio for a charity We Are The World type of thing. My dream was framed like a making-of-the-song documentary. The song the group sang was "Remote Control. I probably hadn't heard it in over a decade at that point. I woke up with the word "Repression!"--the chant/refrain that is repeated at the end of the song--in my brain. After that, I knew that my subconscious wasn't going to let me rest until I got divorced. Nice musical memory, huh?

My Duke Ellington progress has been slow on vinyl. I intended to listen to a three-record set devoted to a 1943 Ellington band performance at Carnegie Hall. It includes Duke's premier performance of his extended work, Black, Brown and Beige. However, when I took the records out of the jacket, I remembered the sad truth: the discs are all warped. I recall buying this record in the midst of a hot Ellington obsession and I carelessly didn't check the condition of the discs. Also, a pretty unscrupulous move by a Haight Street record seller--who is no longer in business, by the way.

I had better luck with a two-disc set devoted to the 1947 version of Duke's orchestra, also performing at Carnegie Hall. This record finds the band about to make a transition from the old-timers like Johnny Hodges, Lawrence Brown and Sonny Greer to the youngblood modernists like Paul Gonsalves, Clark Terry, and Louis Bellson. Anyway this record has a hodgepodge of stuff from an extended piece called the Liberian Suite to a Johnny Hodges medley and a Theme Medley of the real old-time Ellington Orchestra numbers. The surreal vocalist Al Hibbler is featured on one of the Liberian Suite numbers. As always, Duke is a deep, rich pianist and a classy and amiable MC. I suppose I could spend a year just studying Ellington music.

Goodbye, Gene. Hello, more vinyl.

Yesterday The Psychedelic Eskimo and I went to Amoeba. It was a new month and I was eager to blow my self-imposed fifty dollar monthly spending limit. I started five bucks in the hole because I bought a copy of Thin Lizzy's Johnny the Fox in the waning days of March.
Anyway, I got out of Amoeba with two bucks to spare for the rest of April! Dollar bins, here I come!

I picked up four groovy records: Jimmy McGriff's organ jazz soul record, Let's Stay Together; Art Pepper's famous record with the Miles Davis rhythm section, Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section (according to Pepper in his autobiography, Straight Life, he was very strung out when the cover photo of him leaning against a tree with his sax was taken); Joe Tex's Soul Country, featuring the jolliest version of "Ode To Billie Joe" you'll ever hear--great groove but kind of missing the point of the lyrics; lastly, Emitt Rhodes's self-titled debut--as someone has likely written, the best Paul McCartney album not made by a person named Paul McCartney. I wanted to buy the new Nick Cave b sides and rarities two-disc set, but I'll have to wait for the merry month of May, I guess.

I only listened to one alphabetical entry today: Gene Clark and Carla Olson's So Rebellious a Lover. Recorded in the last years of Gene's life, it's his last brilliant work. Tell me if anyone in the alt.country, whatever you wanna call it world, has written a better song than "Gypsy Rider."

I've just gotten to the point in the Gene Clark biography, Mr. Tambourine Man, where he is entering his final, grim months. It's agony to read. What a waste, man.
The book's author, John Einarson, has confirmed what I've always believed(and bitched and moaned about, if you recall my entries about this on the other site--home.earthlink.net/~uncorrected): the 1991 Byrds box set is shite! Some of Gene Clark's best songs are ignored in favor of inferior Dylan covers all sung by Roger McGuinn. You'd never know Gene was the original lead singer by listening to this badly compiled set. Chris Hillman and David Crosby were pissed about the set, too. Hillman promises that there will be a better, more representative box set in the future. I'll keep my fingers crossed. Listen to Gene Clark!