tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40304512976206069502024-03-13T23:46:54.975-04:00Hello There, UniverseThoughts on music and records.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-23783265316520004522018-01-20T00:20:00.000-05:002018-01-20T12:21:52.471-05:00Johnny Reininger - New Orleans ClarinetI have such a large record collection that I occasionally get surprised by something I put on the turntable, even though it's a record that I have played before. A week or so ago I pulled an album called <i>New Orleans Dixieland Express</i> off the shelf. It's a collection of tracks by three traditional New Orleans bands, recorded and issued some time in the 1950s by Joe Mares' Southland label. (Southland started issuing 12" LPs in 1954, so around 1955 seems like a reasonable guess for the issue date of this one, catalog number 233.) <br />
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I was in the mood to hear some good New Orleans clarinet playing, and two of my favorite clarinetists are on this record. On the three tracks by trombonist Emile Christian's band, the very individual Raymond Burke is in the clarinet chair. Tony Almerico, a trumpeter who was very popular in New Orleans in the 1950s, gets four tracks; a young Pete Fountain is his clarinetist, and I've always loved Fountain's early, Irving Fazola-inspired work. That leaves three tracks led by guitarist Joe Capraro, and I remembered nothing about the clarinet playing on them, by one Johnny Reininger. Then I cued up the first track on side two....<br />
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It's a tune called "Blues from New Orleans," credited to Jess Stacy (presumably the renowned jazz pianist) and producer Joe Mares. And the clarinet playing knocked me out. After the short arranged introduction, Johnny Reininger plays two lovely blues choruses in the low and middle registers - with a beautiful, distinctive New Orleans sound. Then, after trumpet and piano solos, Reininger plays a searing high-register ensemble part that reminds me very much of Harry Shields, another of my favorite Crescent City clarinetists. The clarinet is also featured in the short coda, so we get another chance to enjoy Reininger's pretty sound.<br />
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Reininger doesn't solo on the next Capraro track, a "remake" of Lil Hardin Armstrong's "Sweet Loving Man" (recorded in 1923 by King Oliver), but his ensemble work is excellent. The final Capraro track, "Three Shades of Blues," is a guitar feature, without the wind instruments. <br />
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The excellent clarinet playing on "Blues from New Orleans" let me to wonder, "Who was Johnny Reininger, and what else did he record?" The answer to the second part of the question is, "Not much." Reininger apparently never recorded again after the Joe Capraro session, and was only in the studio once before that, as part of Ellis Stratakos' New Orleans dance band in 1929. (The fine cornet player Johnny Wiggs was also on that date.) Reininger played mostly alto sax in the Stratakos band, and there is a nice alto solo (basically a "hot" paraphrase of the melody) on "Weary River," but I have no way of knowing whether it's played by Reininger or Joe Loyacano, the other alto sax player on the date.<br />
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Johnny Reininger may be practically unknown to the jazz world at large, but he was well known to several generations of New Orleans nightclub patrons, dancers and radio listeners. Born in New Orleans in 1908, he lived an impressive 91 years, passing in 1999. After his stint with with Stratakos, he played with the Dawn Busters, who had a morning radio show on WWL. He then began a long career as a bandleader, with lengthy stints at L'Enfants Restaurant near City Park and the My-Oh-My, a pioneering drag club.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reininger rehearsing for a WDSU television program with Pete Lauderman on piano, Johnny Senac on bass, and announcer Fritz Paul. This picture is probably from the 1950s.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Because of Reininger's obscurity outside of New Orleans, here is his entry in <i>New Orleans Jazz: A Family Album</i> by Al Rose and Edmond Souchon:<br />
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<i><b>Reininger, Johnny</b> (s, cl) b. N.O., Aug. 19, 1908. Popular dance-band leader, he was one of the Dawn Busters on New Orleans radio station WWL for many years. During the early thirties, he played with Ellis Stratakos at the Jung roof, and frequently with with Leon Prima. Had house band at L'Enfant's during the early fifties. </i><br />
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And here is obituary in the Times-Picayune, September 17, 1999:<br />
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<i>Johnny Reininger was the band leader at the My-Oh-My Club on the Lakefront for more than 20 years. <br /><br />Mr. Reininger -- remembered, according to jazz historian Jack Stewart, as one of the city's truly great clarinet players... <br /><br />John
"Johnny" Reininger, a popular mid-century dance-band leader, clarinet
and alto saxophone player, died Tuesday of pneumonia at Memorial Medical
Center. He was 91. <br /><br />A lifelong resident of New Orleans, Mr.
Reininger gained early prominence in the 1930s playing with the Ellis
Stratakos band at the Jung Hotel Roof, a Canal Street establishment
popular with Gov. Huey Long. Long would give the band members $20 each
for playing "Every Man a King," his political slogan. <br /><br />Mr.
Reininger also played with the Dawnbusters Orchestra, whose morning show
on WWL Radio was remembered by former band member Margie O'Dair as an
"early 'Laugh In,'" with news, music and skits. <br /><br />In the late
1940s and early 1950s, Mr. Reininger fronted his own orchestra at
Lenfant's Seafood Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge on Canal Boulevard.
Tony Dalmado, who played trumpet in the band, recalled Mr. Reininger as
one of the best musicians and arrangers he knew. "One night a customer at
Lenfant's asked Johnny to play 'That's My Desire' by Frankie Lane, so
we played our version. But the customer said he wanted it just like on
the record, and during a 20- minute break Johnny writes an arrangement for the band straight out of his head, not using a piano. That takes talent." <br /><br />Mr. Reininger also was the band leader at the My-Oh-My Club on the Lakefront for more than 20 years. <br /><br />Mr.
Reininger -- remembered, according to jazz historian Jack Stewart, as
one of the city's truly great clarinet players -- was a member of the
American Federation of Musicians Local No.174-496. <br /><br />A master Mason, he was a member of George Washington Lodge No.065 for more than 50 years.</i><br />
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Johnny Reininger's playing on "Blues from New Orleans" was stunning to me the first time I really noticed it last week - possibly because he was such an unknown and surprising figure. On further spins of the record, I hear that, while it's solidly in the New Orleans clarinet tradition, it perhaps isn't as original or individual as I first thought. But it's excellent improvising, and makes me a little sad that Reininger didn't record more. Raise a glass to a fine New Orleans clarinetist and enjoy his best recorded moment by clicking below. <br />
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<a href="http://jeffcrompton.com/BluesFromNewOrleans.mp3" target="_blank">Blues from New Orleans</a><br />
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Joe Capraro <i>- </i>guitar<br />
Johnny Reininger - clarinet<br />
Mike Lala - trumpet<br />
Bubby Castigliola - trombone<br />
Mel Grant - piano<br />
Bob Coquille - bass<br />
Paul Edwards - drums<br />
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Recorded for Southland Records in New Orleans, c. 1955<br />
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Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-1478482772972443022015-04-09T12:59:00.004-04:002015-04-09T20:54:53.564-04:00Braxton in Alabama; February, 2015Anthony Braxton spent February 6 to 27 of this year in, of all places, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where he was in residency at the University of Alabama. The last eight nights of his residency featured concerts of his music - different ensembles every night. Tuscaloosa is just over three hours from my house by car, and I hadn't heard/seen him in person for about 20 years. Attending at least some of the concerts was an easy decision, and since the first two, on February 18 and 19, appealed to me musically and fit into my schedule, I made sure to be there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Percussion Ensemble plays Composition 174; Taylor Ho Bynum at the laptop.</td></tr>
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My Alabama trip was incredibly rewarding. Actually, "free-jazz pilgrimage" is a more apt description than "trip." Wednesday night's concert was a solo performance at the Bama Theater in downtown Tuscaloosa, and Braxton performed exclusively on alto saxophone, as is usual for his solo concerts. The audience seemed to be composed of music majors there for their concert quotas, curious newcomers to Braxton's world, and genuine Braxton enthusiasts. Wisely, probably, Braxton opened with a a lyrical, relatively accessible piece, followed by an overtly impressive virtuoso offering.. Only then did he venture into the more challenging elements of his sound world - multiphonics, vocalizing through his horn, extreme register changes, etc.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">University of Alabama big band</td></tr>
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Thursday night's concert featured the University of Alabama percussion ensemble and big band. I could have let myself be disappointed by the fact that Braxton didn't play a more active role, either as instrumentalist or conductor, but I wasn't disappointed at all, because the music was excellent. Taylor Ho Bynum, the trumpeter who has worked closely with Braxton for several years, was the main conductor; was joined by a second conductor on one piece and two others on another. The first piece was Braxton's Composition 174, for percussion ensemble and recorded voices. This was the piece I was least looking forward to, and the one that surprised me the most. The recorded narration could be interpreted as a dramatized visit to another planet, a commentary on the music, or both. The total effect was magical, much to my surprise. This is not the kind of thing I thought I would like, but I loved it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noffsinger and Braxton</td></tr>
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The big band then played a long collage piece that started out as Composition 134, and had large chunks of Composition 100 and bits of other pieces. It was long, complex, and kaleidoscopic, and the students played with energy and enthusiasm. But the final piece of the program just floored me: a glorious rendition of Composition 58, the twisted march which appeared on the Creative Orchestra Music 1976 album, by the big band, the percussion ensemble, and three saxophone soloists. Braxton making his first appearance of the evening, soloed on sopranino sax, U of A saxophone professor Jonathan Noffsinger played alto, and Andrew Raffo Dewar soloed on soprano. Dewar, who has collaborated with Braxton in the past, is also on the faculty at Alabama, and he largely made Braxton's residency happen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Braxton solos</td></tr>
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Anyway, it was a stunning ten minutes or so. The large percussion section, on all manner of marching percussion
instrument (including vintage field drums), gave the piece an impact
that the recording just couldn't match. I was giddy, and when I wandered
through the halls of the music building looking for a bathroom, it was
clear that the students were just as exhilarated.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Composition 58. Bynum conducting; Dewar, Noffsinger, and Braxton seated on left.</td></tr>
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But there was one more incident that turned my trip into a real free-jazz pilgrimage. On Thursday afternoon I was exploring an old cemetery in Vance, Alabama, halfway between Tuscaloosa and Birmingham. I was floored when I came across the grave of Sun Ra trumpeter and bassist Jothan Callins, out there in the middle of nowhere. It was an amazing and touching accidental discovery.<br />
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<br />Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-15241239437862484702014-10-21T00:24:00.001-04:002015-08-28T00:33:16.321-04:00St. Louis Cemetery #2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over a year since my last post.... No apologies or explanations, but I now feel like adding to this blog again.<br />
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New Orleans, with its history and its music, deeply fascinates me. I've visited 32 times since my first trip in 1990. On those visits, I've spent a good bit of time wandering through the amazing cemeteries there. New Orleans' cites of the dead are endlessly absorbing, and unlike the graveyards of any other city. Most of the city's burials are in above-ground tombs, since the water table is so high, and many of the vaults have generations of remains mixed together - the law states that after a burial, a vault must remain sealed for a year and a day. In the days before embalming, New Orleans' climate and humidity ensured that there would be little left of a body after that amount of time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgjdGYD_yr9uI7q0TNQJ1NJZOiDJHb68-Iwrqn49WsBL9G6ywHMCw-kc_cCNLmXUPk3IlMEz8w1pC49xMpmKxsncMCdt_6JwHw6seDnWG7nFiBEwQRzzwlAcSY0Rnju4v3K1G318IsUk/s1600/St+Louis+alley+and+highrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgjdGYD_yr9uI7q0TNQJ1NJZOiDJHb68-Iwrqn49WsBL9G6ywHMCw-kc_cCNLmXUPk3IlMEz8w1pC49xMpmKxsncMCdt_6JwHw6seDnWG7nFiBEwQRzzwlAcSY0Rnju4v3K1G318IsUk/s1600/St+Louis+alley+and+highrise.jpg" width="320" /></a>For most of my years of visiting, I was warned not to go to St. Louis Cemetery #2 except with an organized tour - and those tours were infrequent. This cemetery was, until recently, bordered on two sides by the crime-ridden Iberville Housing Project. Before my trip to the city earlier this month, I noticed (via the internet) that folks seem to be visiting St. Louis #2 fearlessly and frequently these days. All those years of warnings were hard to overcome, though, so I wrote to Save Our Cemeteries, the nonprofit group whose mission is just what its name suggests, asking if it was indeed safe to vist the cemetery. The answer was an emphatic "yes;" the Iberville Project has been torn down (for better or worse), and visiting St. Louis #2 is no different than visiting any other cemetery in the city.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKHycM0YPeYsmmUT8bhFiOvYwaMP3V1g6a-mb91TIBKoU61TAasr8c2qsPU4jRcS9wwCyICI4dC0pFjC7hk9hw1cJm_bZ-H4EQayOJHCJhnZ6STtALBmxxpbIVBg399691ImPhDpqdhFg/s1600/Claude+Treme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKHycM0YPeYsmmUT8bhFiOvYwaMP3V1g6a-mb91TIBKoU61TAasr8c2qsPU4jRcS9wwCyICI4dC0pFjC7hk9hw1cJm_bZ-H4EQayOJHCJhnZ6STtALBmxxpbIVBg399691ImPhDpqdhFg/s1600/Claude+Treme.jpg" width="240" /></a>So, with some residual trepidation, I finally walked through <br />
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this historic burying ground on the afternoon of Wednesday, October 8. I knew that several important New Orleans musicians were buried there, but I made several discoveries that surprised me.<br />
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One of the first tombs I came across was that of Claude Treme, who subdivided his plantation and sold the lots the formed the neighborhood which bears his name. But I was mostly looking for musicians' tombs, and I came across many. I was particularly interested in the Barbarin vault, with the earthly remains of the great jazz drummer Paul Barbarin (who played with King Oliver and Louis Armstrong, among others), along with his nephew, guitarist
Danny Barker (one of my heroes) and Danny's wife, blues singer Blue Lu
Barker.<br />
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I soon came across a vault, apparently donated by a
music lover, in which the R & B legends Ernie-K-Doe and Earl King
were both buried. Then I spotted the impressive Cagnolatti tomb, which holds the remains of trumpeter Ernie "Little Cag" Cagnolatti, probably best known for holding down the trumpet chair in Big Jim Robinson's bands over the years.<br />
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But the row of wall vaults along the Claiborne Avenue wall in the middle section of the cemetery overwhelmed me. In these (presumably) modestly-priced tombs, I came across many early jazz musicians who are legendary to me, although they're obscure to the public at large - even the most jazz fans. Below are captioned pictures; I won't try to go into detail about what each musician means to me, although finding A.J. Piron's grave made my jaw drop. I've included some pictures with no connection to New Orleans music as well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8l422GZMID0L9_Z8BqvaGSjM0jBaGYxT3nZBEtD6aF1e5F-w0kE8-PASRA8vazaT-7CZyCmxqfRGIM8vAxsL1Z2FVOia0PXmAwHgqt1DVSfgCtR8Wm-v5rYiJy6p9OM0BCXedm4RR5o/s1600/Barbarin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8l422GZMID0L9_Z8BqvaGSjM0jBaGYxT3nZBEtD6aF1e5F-w0kE8-PASRA8vazaT-7CZyCmxqfRGIM8vAxsL1Z2FVOia0PXmAwHgqt1DVSfgCtR8Wm-v5rYiJy6p9OM0BCXedm4RR5o/s1600/Barbarin.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbarin vault</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0BSUs5orzdi2WR-DThNTLszyYi9iHZ5RwJq7N4CwrldqihsOYQ-1lDJsabs15LSMERdKOROgxUniDm85OCr4kth01VBAGXh-KvUN7kUMeP1t5vTejUynVrULq-6vX5ON6q3E8_YKA30/s1600/Barbarin+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0BSUs5orzdi2WR-DThNTLszyYi9iHZ5RwJq7N4CwrldqihsOYQ-1lDJsabs15LSMERdKOROgxUniDm85OCr4kth01VBAGXh-KvUN7kUMeP1t5vTejUynVrULq-6vX5ON6q3E8_YKA30/s1600/Barbarin+2.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Barbarin, Danny Barker, & Blue Lu Barker</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-bcUsQUA8EQUTxaDc3Gk9zXahyhJMK45x1wKsOVBymdQ7C17IaJhcWU18anCNJYipBfnqk8_lmJNC-r90Opa3NB7jJneHJMOxZbJ5OFzzJWVDjpQpevkyhvnEFRwwtgcdJpptSHul8A/s1600/Ernie+K+Doe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-bcUsQUA8EQUTxaDc3Gk9zXahyhJMK45x1wKsOVBymdQ7C17IaJhcWU18anCNJYipBfnqk8_lmJNC-r90Opa3NB7jJneHJMOxZbJ5OFzzJWVDjpQpevkyhvnEFRwwtgcdJpptSHul8A/s1600/Ernie+K+Doe.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ernie K-Doe</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijISPtjcP8o36rIzzRRL1Esig2HamxWfs2dsR7v4GfsxkPPtyyU24BVQUYfPD648FfypNpWtVGwHb7zJYaJg09UuetV4e9Eb_o-iFtjQb5LbrJMQFZftgPg8jXkzYGq9wWnu_-sR_aQVM/s1600/Earl+King.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijISPtjcP8o36rIzzRRL1Esig2HamxWfs2dsR7v4GfsxkPPtyyU24BVQUYfPD648FfypNpWtVGwHb7zJYaJg09UuetV4e9Eb_o-iFtjQb5LbrJMQFZftgPg8jXkzYGq9wWnu_-sR_aQVM/s1600/Earl+King.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earl King</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PzM66zWGsi2VTIhQyVv1n4QkYfpJrt8qVitxvePgchETNcUoKea6_5NpYvSc9MnhzUvSnjey53Ip4dFyrNrSeAaQhqoMEEd6f5RAsk2j8n4Vmj8xOht21gk6R1OHnqtZYcb4OGJphGg/s1600/AJ+Piron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PzM66zWGsi2VTIhQyVv1n4QkYfpJrt8qVitxvePgchETNcUoKea6_5NpYvSc9MnhzUvSnjey53Ip4dFyrNrSeAaQhqoMEEd6f5RAsk2j8n4Vmj8xOht21gk6R1OHnqtZYcb4OGJphGg/s1600/AJ+Piron.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A.J. Piron, whose 1923 recording are some of my favorites.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSK7wAuOyFx-CN065U1sHPDDaInUeY6ktG2XDUfUVAUSiq6HaxQXctCkRnjkEfalHjzJ-OZmT5knpvvX09V8MhldrgNKRdTanILTjHanFPeDJS8aLOFIdlEguPzG6S2qZDw6Thwos0Nw/s1600/Cag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSK7wAuOyFx-CN065U1sHPDDaInUeY6ktG2XDUfUVAUSiq6HaxQXctCkRnjkEfalHjzJ-OZmT5knpvvX09V8MhldrgNKRdTanILTjHanFPeDJS8aLOFIdlEguPzG6S2qZDw6Thwos0Nw/s1600/Cag.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trumpeter Ernie Cagnolatti</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILCD2ASAngOk58Rl3iVm_LES5q4lFD7G8AQHHzlnEnhub6PWxRJ4sGkM3DD4BSMbbQUrNN-I-cdTk0JF3mV10NfuVOxzQgqteYKtGn4oi0_fRTE02QsiFfElKPQykIM4IwwQxvWre7Yw/s1600/Creole+George+Guesnon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILCD2ASAngOk58Rl3iVm_LES5q4lFD7G8AQHHzlnEnhub6PWxRJ4sGkM3DD4BSMbbQUrNN-I-cdTk0JF3mV10NfuVOxzQgqteYKtGn4oi0_fRTE02QsiFfElKPQykIM4IwwQxvWre7Yw/s1600/Creole+George+Guesnon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banjoist Creole George Guesnon</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxsRHqtNfTmHWBcWSWK1MoslC0PtkQYWD9NLb1s1tbVkMDqybollIZY7P74JMhaQGYgWZlRZYitcAx2SKW9K6EWS69dZS0fUWXGTMH9fxUrqP4y3qCkmlwN73UON05GkfL8zE2vFE-AA/s1600/Santiago.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJxsRHqtNfTmHWBcWSWK1MoslC0PtkQYWD9NLb1s1tbVkMDqybollIZY7P74JMhaQGYgWZlRZYitcAx2SKW9K6EWS69dZS0fUWXGTMH9fxUrqP4y3qCkmlwN73UON05GkfL8zE2vFE-AA/s1600/Santiago.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burnell (correct spelling) & Lester Santiago - two great pianists</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8FUFi12FLflCspRmXG4SmGsOgq0vpiK2TrTLtABIsgRkza4rgew3O7dW-QTnA9QWbrNYkhrj60zm_hS2gFN6syllqtMou1hqZ7Cx_RviD86-fwLboD_ebPy3Ynx9Qdl7qi5Hk3nnytL8/s1600/Emile+Knox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8FUFi12FLflCspRmXG4SmGsOgq0vpiK2TrTLtABIsgRkza4rgew3O7dW-QTnA9QWbrNYkhrj60zm_hS2gFN6syllqtMou1hqZ7Cx_RviD86-fwLboD_ebPy3Ynx9Qdl7qi5Hk3nnytL8/s1600/Emile+Knox.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emile Knox, bass drummer for the Young Tuxedo Brass Band</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ufd5kv19PeW9e2YK6FffWoS4oGSICe-mVQ7edHbM8dsNwy4KGVZN_Hs66P1Aq9p0CXqhg-N1SKncmzNRCYhTw7Iksu-8ihBIg6bbDOkkviBXtVCRQ-b6qMtiVoDbvXptUTOjPKBlWbE/s1600/Louis+Warnick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ufd5kv19PeW9e2YK6FffWoS4oGSICe-mVQ7edHbM8dsNwy4KGVZN_Hs66P1Aq9p0CXqhg-N1SKncmzNRCYhTw7Iksu-8ihBIg6bbDOkkviBXtVCRQ-b6qMtiVoDbvXptUTOjPKBlWbE/s1600/Louis+Warnick.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't prove it 100%, but I think that this is the Louis Warnick who played the wonderful alto sax on the great 1923 A.J. Piron recordings.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtvlbQ0h1jxm2A_dMoEAuaAgxRxc_NVr3rVXqn5-FlSwEXwMnQTqlpsRl124DnVVL8-AM_G5w7OY1pmB3-msrodc82sdAho-G8qAvLjlPayvjMPRBFRaSzPg3pAkZNOr_yIfuQv71yh4/s1600/Mary+Keppard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtvlbQ0h1jxm2A_dMoEAuaAgxRxc_NVr3rVXqn5-FlSwEXwMnQTqlpsRl124DnVVL8-AM_G5w7OY1pmB3-msrodc82sdAho-G8qAvLjlPayvjMPRBFRaSzPg3pAkZNOr_yIfuQv71yh4/s1600/Mary+Keppard.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure why this marker moved me so much - Mary was the sister of the great trumpet player Freddie Keppard, who found fame in Chicago, and of guitarist Louis Keppard, who stayed in New Orleans.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQzmDHOt-zX7sfgNGcVKRz9M6buC1z99ew3TJmas8Y57xsh7yZP-zFm1UZ20NF7F4uD1jl2Vd4AShJlpNb4kDmFWNdFXHWw0xks9GGD0QXiH-IJqqbdcTZgIcw-XPV0cKeWXymrDdxjc/s1600/Dooky+Chase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjQzmDHOt-zX7sfgNGcVKRz9M6buC1z99ew3TJmas8Y57xsh7yZP-zFm1UZ20NF7F4uD1jl2Vd4AShJlpNb4kDmFWNdFXHWw0xks9GGD0QXiH-IJqqbdcTZgIcw-XPV0cKeWXymrDdxjc/s1600/Dooky+Chase.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dooky Chase, founder of one of the most famous restaurants in Treme.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwft-gfgqozBIILtUm3kPVuxHOXA-kZCvBOptpD3cf9MKIAU89YoxH1CZtXZukjPeW9bgd_ElddKqLTwaC1XotLWfbHF0gEqt110ZJnHyimtdoSEf3fG7ADdZn6jGHp4ZYgg8hvKrx04k/s1600/Odd+gravestone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwft-gfgqozBIILtUm3kPVuxHOXA-kZCvBOptpD3cf9MKIAU89YoxH1CZtXZukjPeW9bgd_ElddKqLTwaC1XotLWfbHF0gEqt110ZJnHyimtdoSEf3fG7ADdZn6jGHp4ZYgg8hvKrx04k/s1600/Odd+gravestone.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not every family who buried a loved one in St. Louis #2 had money for a nice tomb.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbh6MVbjHE1ps0DYYS3tbKPXdLmdYqnZ1SQKwz0Z_6n43MNTU1IqNgq4aFhyphenhyphenVC3gyapUmjzhr48UfwBqOr1N13mz35nBEVm0Z2_QQ099R7-rVBUWNVOCd_2WdQM6S04MAy0GNzwHaj7M/s1600/Dilapidated+tombs.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitbh6MVbjHE1ps0DYYS3tbKPXdLmdYqnZ1SQKwz0Z_6n43MNTU1IqNgq4aFhyphenhyphenVC3gyapUmjzhr48UfwBqOr1N13mz35nBEVm0Z2_QQ099R7-rVBUWNVOCd_2WdQM6S04MAy0GNzwHaj7M/s1600/Dilapidated+tombs.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDKzDycrg4CmW8jfNg5q6wgyEPleWToZ_h9AoA5CeDJ5371b9zG8_SxWN7PVlqIK0U6F3SgK5IEgX9bneBvcPQyugHoxmukTPzg8nrS6up_L9uKQYFjj95xSCJL0mzTppk0-T0XITgGU/s1600/Nobody+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDKzDycrg4CmW8jfNg5q6wgyEPleWToZ_h9AoA5CeDJ5371b9zG8_SxWN7PVlqIK0U6F3SgK5IEgX9bneBvcPQyugHoxmukTPzg8nrS6up_L9uKQYFjj95xSCJL0mzTppk0-T0XITgGU/s1600/Nobody+home.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nobody home.</td></tr>
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<br />Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-6748854468399264182013-08-21T21:11:00.001-04:002013-08-21T21:11:46.643-04:00Marian McPartland, RIPI haven't felt compelled to add to this blog for some time. But Marian McPartland died yesterday, and I have to pay tribute.<br />
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We've lost a lot of jazz giants lately. Another great pianist, Cedar Walton, died just a day before Ms. McPartland; he was 79. But McPartland's contributions went much further than her piano playing; this is a loss which hits hard.<br />
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Many listeners knew McPartland best as the host of the NPR radio program <i>Piano Jazz</i>. From 1978 to 2011, she traded licks with everyone from Eubie Blake to Frank Zappa on the show, and always sounded like she was having the time of her life doing so.<br />
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Her range as a pianist was impressive; there are recordings of her playing dixieland standards with her husband Jimmy, playing bebop, and playing Ornette Coleman tunes. For most of McParland's career, there was a lightness to her music; it seldom touched me deeply,
although I always enjoyed it. One exception to that caveat is her 2007 album <i>Twilight World</i>.
There are a few moments of rhythmic uncertainty, but there is an
emotional depth to her playing that I seldom hear in her earlier work,
fine as it is.<br />
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She was part of Alec Wilder's "inner circle" - her taste and respect
for melody led Wilder to write pieces such as "Jazz Waltz for a Friend,"
"Homework," and, well, "Inner Circle" for her. This Alec Wilder fan is
grateful.<br />
<br />
We've lost a great pianist, composer, writer, and spokesperson for jazz. RIP, Marian.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-3459343383719360772013-02-19T13:53:00.000-05:002013-04-24T01:16:08.056-04:00Harlem Air ShaftI would not be able to single out any Duke Ellington recording as my favorite. But I could probably make a list of my favorites, and high on that list would be "Harlem Air Shaft." It's a piece that has long fascinated me for its seeming adherence to, and subversion of, the conventions of its time. At first hearing, it seems to be a typical big-band riff tune, like "In the Mood" or "Jumpin' at the Woodside." (A "riff," for those who aren't sure, is a short, repeated melodic snippet; think of the saxophone melody of "In the Mood," which is built on a riff repeated five times.) "Harlem Air Shaft," after the introduction, can be heard as nothing more than four riff-based choruses. But Ellington plays with the riff conventions in some inventive ways, and in the process came up with a minor masterpiece.<br />
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"Harlem Air Shaft" was recorded by the Ellington band on July 22, 1940, near the beginning of a period of unbelievable genius by Ellington. In the years of 1940 and 1941, it seemed as if every Ellington recording session produced at least two or three masterpieces. The July 22 session resulted in at least one more, "All Too Soon," and the equally brilliant "Sepia Panorama" was recorded two days later. "Harlem Air Shaft" and "Sepia Panorama" were released as two sides of a 78 RPM record - 50 cents well spent, for a record buyer in 1940!<br />
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Skip the introduction for a minute, and listen to the first chorus. Muted trumpets play a repeated two-measure riff in harmony, with a few alterations to fit the chord changes. In almost any other band, this trumpet riff would be answered or overlayed with riffs by the saxophone and/or trombone sections. But Ellington's counterpoint to the trumpet riff is not another riff; it's a long-lined unison melody by the saxophone section. The trumpet riff is catchy; the saxophone melody is striking and bluesy. At the bridge, there's a richly harmonized saxophone riff, with Tricky Sam Nanton's vocalized plunger-muted trombone counterpoint. <br />
<br />
The second chorus is a dialogue between the saxophones, riffing in harmony, and the solo trumpet of Cootie Williams. It could have been ordinary and predictable, but the three stop-time moments, where the rhythm section stops playing and the saxes sing out, are surprising and arresting. (What did the dancers do?) Ellington's sax riffs are more varied than was usual for the time, and of course, Cootie Williams at his peak is exciting to hear.<br />
<br />
There's a new, bluesy riff in the third chorus, played by the trombones in harmony. The saxophones, in unison, fill in the gaps between the trombone riffs with very inventive, constantly changing licks; it's easy to overlook them at first. The bridge has the brass playing irregular, accented chords, with the saxophones again murmuring below. Barney Bigard's clarinet soars over the entire chorus.<br />
<br />
The fourth chorus most closely follows standard big-band procedures of the time; volume drops and the brass and saxophones riff together in harmony for sixteen measure in harmony, with Cootie's tightly-muted trumpet dancing over the ensemble. But even here, Ellington is not content to settle for the ordinary - after a two-measure riff that is repeated, he has written a beautiful four-measure answer rather than repeating the riff two more times.<br />
<br />
At the bridge, Bigard once again takes over the solo role, playing humorous little near-glissando runs between appearances of a new ensemble riff. But wait - it's not new at all; we've heard it before. It's a harmonized version of what Tricky Sam played in the bridge back in the first chorus. The piece ends with a powerhouse, stabbing brass riff, the saxophones playing a contrasting, more melodic riff (similar to what they played in the third chorus), and Bigard's clarinet wailing above it all.<br />
<br />
Throughout all of this, the band plays great drive; the forward motion of "Harlem Air Shaft" is relentless and exciting. And the colors are constantly varied; instrumental combinations change frequently, and the way Ellington uses each section of the band is altered from chorus to chorus. The saxophones are, in some ways, the real stars of the performance; their harmonized sound is just delicious, and their unison riffs are played with great subtlety.<br />
<br />
But we skipped the introduction. It's brilliant, but it's only revealed to be so after we've heard the rest of "Harlem Air Shaft." The introduction is a mini-overture; in twelve measures it sums up the rest of the piece. For the first four measure, the saxophones play, over rich brass chords, what we later realize is a slight variation on the trumpet riff from the first chorus. The next four measures don't strictly "pre-echo" anything in the body of the piece, but the saxophone harmonies suggest links with several later spots, such as the saxophone melody in the stop-time portion of the second chorus. The last four measures of the intro begin with a single statement of the trombone riff from the third chorus, followed by a short transition to the first chorus.<br />
<br />
It's simple, but brilliant, and almost every detail of the piece is worth our attention. "Harlem Air Shaft" is a big-band riff tune, but a riff tune written by a composer of genius. Go listen to it.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-39390471791565486922012-10-30T15:29:00.000-04:002013-01-03T00:21:36.017-05:00Maurice Durand and a Chance Encounter With Jazz HistoryEvery time I visit New Orleans I find something remarkable, or at least interesting, just by wandering around. On my visit last week, <a href="http://www.geocaching.com/seek/cache_details.aspx?guid=6e9f907c-f471-477f-b2e8-c3677391f5e1" target="_blank">geocaching</a> took me to a spot on Burgundy Street in the Bywater neighborhood in the Ninth Ward - a spot I didn't know exsisted. It's a large arch, erected in in 1919 "by the people of this the Ninth Ward in honor of its citizens who were enlisted in combative service and in memory of those who made the supreme sacrifice in the triumph of right over might in the Great World War."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGjk6XkbNdimDxwELCNp15dRMz0zzpCbOuL_y1lajvw8c1QTBQ9tk0gKO1OGN3QdjmcV7g3Fm_2ZAV6zLnkwWIXsBW234DD3fnRdN-cFK3vTsbOSERsjwFh-RwKkF6A63kzZKxwPTIYM/s1600/Ninth+Ward+Arch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGjk6XkbNdimDxwELCNp15dRMz0zzpCbOuL_y1lajvw8c1QTBQ9tk0gKO1OGN3QdjmcV7g3Fm_2ZAV6zLnkwWIXsBW234DD3fnRdN-cFK3vTsbOSERsjwFh-RwKkF6A63kzZKxwPTIYM/s400/Ninth+Ward+Arch.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
The arch is pretty interesting and impressive in and of itself. I found a website on the monument and its history <a href="http://freepages.military.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~neworleans/" target="_blank">here</a>. I don't know how tall it is, but I'm almost six feet tall, and the top of my head only made it one-fourth of the way or so up the four large brass plaques on the arch. You can see two of the plaques in the picture to the left, the other two are on the other side of the arch. They list the names of all the men from the Ninth Ward who served in World War I. I was a little surprised, but shouldn't have been, to see that the names are divided by race; three of the plaques list the white soldiers who served, while one of the two on the back honors the "colored" men who served in the war.<br />
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As I was looking at the names of the African-American Ninth Warders who served, one name jumped out at me: that of Maurice Durand. I knew that Durand was an early jazz and brass band trumpet player from New Orleans, and it seemed to me that he would have been about the right age to have served in the first World War. But I wasn't sure whether or not this name represented the right Maurice Durand. When I got home, a little research revealed that, yes, this was Maurice Durand, the musician.<br />
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An early-eighties interview with saxophonist and bandleader Harold Dejan placed Durand in the correct part of New Orleans:<br />
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<i>Maurice Durand had his own little band too, so I played with
him too. Durand lived on Deslonde Street in the 9th Ward and used to get all
the jobs down St. Bernard Parish. During the day he worked at a broom factory.
He played on all the weddings and St. Joseph day parties. Maurice used to play
in the Alley Cabaret by the St. Bernard Market, that's on Claiborne and St.
Bernard and in the back was the Alley Cabaret.</i></div>
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But did Durand serve in the military during WWI? Yes, he did, as it turns out. Discussing the famous Onward Brass Band and its members in his book <i>Fallen Heroes: A History of New Orleans Brass Bands</i>, Richard Knowles says that Durand played both clarinet and trumpet in the 816th Pioneer Regimental Brass Band, which spent time in both England and France during the war.</div>
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</xml><![endif]-->Durand, born just outside of New Orleans in 1893, was a student of the legendary Professor Jim Humphrey, who taught so many early jazzmen. He had a youthful band with Willie Humphrey, the Professor's grandson, and later became something of a protégé of Manuel Perez, the famous cornetist. Durand played with the Onward, Tuxedo, Imperial, and Terminal brass bands and played dance band jobs like the ones described by Harold Dejan above. According to the <a href="http://www.hurricanebrassband.nl/Musician%20maurice%20durand.htm" target="_blank">brass band history website</a> containing the quote from Dejan, Durand also gigged at the famous Pythian Temple Roof Garden uptown.</div>
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That same website states that Maurice Durand never recorded, and that's almost true. Fed up with the meager pay, he retired from music in 1933 and moved to San Francisco in 1944 - he died there in 1961. But jazz researcher Bill Russell tracked him down and recorded an interview with him in 1958. During the interview, Russell persuaded him to play a little trumpet, and on the CD which accompanies the <i>Fallen Heroes</i> book, you can hear Maurice Durand play 16 measures of "I'm Confessin'." His lip is obviously out of shape, but you can also tell that this is a man with a good command of the trumpet. </div>
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I'm not sure how interesting all of this is to anyone else, but my chance encounter with a little bit of jazz history fascinated me. I was glad to pay tribute to a jazz pioneer.</div>
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Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-35942143275439743802012-10-12T20:00:00.000-04:002012-10-12T20:02:50.250-04:001928 Victor "Race" Record Sleeve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A couple of years ago I bought a box of 78 RPM records, mostly early country music from the late 1920s and early 1930s. In the box was this 1928 record sleeve, which was intended for a Victor "race" record - that being the term used at the time for records aimed at an African-American audience. I was struck by the sleeve when I saw it; not only is it a beautiful example of one-color graphic design, but, unusually for its time, it portrays black artists with a certain amount of dignity and respect.<br />
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Blues researcher Jeff Titon devoted an entire chapter of his book <i>Early Downhome Blues</i> to the differences in record companies' portrayals of early country music and early blues in their advertising. Advertisements for early country records (or "old-time tunes") generally featured white rural Americans in peaceful, dignified settings - listening to the phonograph in the evening or dancing with their neighbors. "Race" record advertisements, on the other hand, were often filled with cartoonish caricatures of black culture. It was as if the record companies were so out of touch with black America that they didn't realize that they were offending the very people they were trying to sell records to.<br />
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This record sleeve is different, for the most part. There is a hint of blackface in the depiction of comedians Jones and Jones in the lower right-hand corner of the front, and the clarinetist in the upper left-hand corner is a little over the top, but otherwise, the illustrations are sympathetic. Each of the pictures corresponds to a Victor record listed on the back - and how amazing it would be to have original copies of all of these records! Clockwise from the upper left, the pictures represent clarinetist Douglas Williams, Rev. F.W. McGhee, blues singer Luke Jordan, Jelly Roll Morton's band, Jones and Jones, Johnny Dodds' Washboard Band, The Memphis Jug Band, and the Pace Jubilee Singers. <br />
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I have about half of this music on CD, but none of these 78s. I selected a Victor record from the same period to keep in this wonderful sleeve - "Get Low-Down Blues"/"Kansas City Breakdown:" by Bennie Moten's Kansas City Orchestra. I have quite a few early record sleeves, but this one is by far my favorite.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-33865363673536470412012-10-08T22:39:00.000-04:002012-10-08T22:42:49.839-04:00TchicaiJohn Tchicai died yesterday. The Danish saxophonist, most strongly associated with free jazz, avant-garde, or whatever you want to call the more adventurous side of jazz, was 76. From the first time I heard Tchicai's music, some 35 years ago, I was transfixed - I had never heard anything like it. The record was <i>Archie Shepp in Europe</i>, the Delmark label's U.S. issue of the album also known as <i>The New York Contemporary Five, Vol. 1</i>. Tchicai's contributions to the music of this important, but still underrated group stood apart from the improvisations of his fellow horn players, Don Cherry and Archie Shepp. Shepp was loquacious and Cherry quirky, but both of them indulged their imaginations fully, resulting in solos which were rambling (in a positive sense), full-bodied, and many-noted. Tchicai's alto saxophone improvisations, on the other hand, carried a mantle of reserve, of deliberation; they exhibited a sense of logical construction that was almost compositional. Yet his playing somehow managed to combine this careful construction with as much adventurousness as Cherry's or Shepp's. Amiri Baraka, then known as Leroi Jones, called Tchicai's early solos "metal poems."<br />
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And there was a freshness in Tchicai's playing; it was like nothing else in jazz. Based on his early style, I would guess that he had listened fairly extensively to Lee Konitz and Ornette Coleman, but he didn't sound like either of them. Early and late in his career, he sounded only like John Tchicai.<br />
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During his early stint in New York, from 1963 to 1966, Tchicai achievements were remarkable - as he put it later, "I managed to do a lot in a short time." Besides his contributions to the New York Contemporary Five, he was alto a member of the very important New York Art Quartet, with trombonist Roswell Rudd as the other horn. He played on Albert Ayler's <i>New York Eye and Ear Control</i>. And a jam with John Coltrane led to Tchicai's appearance on Coltrane's groundbreaking <i>Ascension</i> album.<br />
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He returned to Europe in 1966 and expanded his instrumental arsenal; he never abandoned the alto sax, but added tenor and soprano sax and bass clarinet. He formed the genre-bending big band Cadentia Nova Danica and played and recorded with Pierre Dorge's New Jungle Orchestra (I particularly like "Very Hot/Autobahn Tchicai" from the album <i>Even the Moon is Dancing</i>) and various Cecil Taylor large ensembles. In the 1990's, after he was awarded a lifetime grant from the Danish Ministry of Culture, he moved back to the U.S. - to California this time. After many more albums and collaborations, he moved to the south of France, where he died in the hospital yesterday.<br />
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Over the years Tchicai's instrumental "voice" deepened and expanded in expressive range, while remaining recognizable and unique. His discography is extensive, but my choices to pay tribute today were a very early album, <i>Rufus</i>, and a later one, <i>Love is Touching</i>. <i>Rufus</i> is by four-fifths of the New York Contemporary Five (Don Cherry is missing); it's from 1963, and is a wonderful example of his early style. <i>Love is Touching</i> was recorded in California over 30 years later with a very young backup band, the Archetypes. Tchicai is generous with solo space (I wish he had featured himself more) and utilizes electronics effectively.<br />
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If you want to hear John Tchicai, any of the albums by the New York Contemporary Five and the New York Art Quartet are recommended, as is <i>Afrodisiaca</i> by Candentia Nova Danica. I certainly haven't heard Tchicai's complete recorded output, but my favorites include <i>Timo's Message</i> on Black Saint, <i>Grandpa's Spells</i> on Storyville, <i>Life Overflowing</i> with Charlie Kohlhase on Nada, and <i>Witch's Scream</i> by Tchicai, Reggie Workman, and Andrew Cyrille on TUM, as well as the ones I've already mentioned.<br />
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I never heard Tchicai in person, but I came close. One my first visit Copenhagen, I missed him by one day. I regretted that then and I regret it now. So long, John Tchicai.<br />
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<br />Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-4925672402517219902012-03-18T22:57:00.002-04:002012-03-19T00:15:20.224-04:00The Legends of Jazz - Photos From an Album<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE4s_UUnMsTAYbV5Uf0Sl8PGE6ZA6vwBuBOyOUl2g09QvadbdmZFpHki4QJT6q1Go3SghO6bgkdUNMUWyUdzPD_Ei_NN5a3WREWRUBRY-G_i8V1h8jHLYrCEEo7t-YYmsKiF8qXEO1oc/s1600/Taking+the+stage+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE4s_UUnMsTAYbV5Uf0Sl8PGE6ZA6vwBuBOyOUl2g09QvadbdmZFpHki4QJT6q1Go3SghO6bgkdUNMUWyUdzPD_Ei_NN5a3WREWRUBRY-G_i8V1h8jHLYrCEEo7t-YYmsKiF8qXEO1oc/s400/Taking+the+stage+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721438287284790690" /></a><br />About a month ago I found a cheap copy of a 1973 LP by the Legends of Jazz, a (mostly) New Orleans traditional jazz band put together by drummer/producer Barry Martyn. The band consisted of Andrew Blakeney on trumpet, Louis Nelson on trombone, Joe Darensbourg on clarinet, Alton Purnell on piano, Ed Garland on bass, and Martyn on drums. Martyn was in his thirties at the time; the other musicians were all in their seventies or eighties. All were from New Orleans except for Martyn, a Brit, and Andrew Blakeney, who was born in Quitman, Mississippi, even though he is usually associated with traditional New Orleans style jazz.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYFyP7K0JabrVbg3_3oYDiSHdD8lzWK9uDd6jbRjPrex7hcMMTA7BuQXCoiPYdSlvwCZ9-UGDn39bBRqYrSlMdmBA323HVPDcdVboJMM46uNyDwhnjmKWWZbwaD3gdQsPInVQGIVa5vs/s1600/Legends+of+Jazz+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYFyP7K0JabrVbg3_3oYDiSHdD8lzWK9uDd6jbRjPrex7hcMMTA7BuQXCoiPYdSlvwCZ9-UGDn39bBRqYrSlMdmBA323HVPDcdVboJMM46uNyDwhnjmKWWZbwaD3gdQsPInVQGIVa5vs/s400/Legends+of+Jazz+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721433784801875970" /></a><br />The album, on the Crescent Jazz label, was in great condition, on nice red vinyl. (I have since learned that some copies were also pressed on green vinyl.) However, the name of the group seemed to be something of an exaggeration - the Solid Journeymen of One Style of Jazz would be more accurate. (To be fair, Louis Nelson is one of my favorite New Orleans trombonists, and Ed Garland was indeed something of a jazz legend.) In any event, I didn't listen to the album right away, and only put it on the turntable for the first time a couple of days ago. As expected, it was enjoyable without being spectacular. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcj2_FuqPAUwPxPp6FuNJA9HcsFDC5-mhbLF7w-n7rAjAAYHSnQnu8zBpO82QxomioUHEBiPTWtuPpO-2PM9uOgPV-9hreoXEhZFHbEmKEZ3lCmKtHylCTDYmR8bKWeJYU71sbgaHziXk/s1600/Legends+of+Jazz+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcj2_FuqPAUwPxPp6FuNJA9HcsFDC5-mhbLF7w-n7rAjAAYHSnQnu8zBpO82QxomioUHEBiPTWtuPpO-2PM9uOgPV-9hreoXEhZFHbEmKEZ3lCmKtHylCTDYmR8bKWeJYU71sbgaHziXk/s400/Legends+of+Jazz+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721434163284912882" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloR-vLHszeZtdzG29BNIuHE9kHk4WCNEm-NVdrmsL5V-xqkCHFKw5sAgw0tFegWSRBzl7gVzaq-76GcCmlLQSTb4QU-HMSu-FOwjt-UEUHr9CirSnZ_Y6NcJP66u-eiaOeCd037ix8Ic/s1600/Legends+of+Jazz+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloR-vLHszeZtdzG29BNIuHE9kHk4WCNEm-NVdrmsL5V-xqkCHFKw5sAgw0tFegWSRBzl7gVzaq-76GcCmlLQSTb4QU-HMSu-FOwjt-UEUHr9CirSnZ_Y6NcJP66u-eiaOeCd037ix8Ic/s400/Legends+of+Jazz+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721433933204475938" /></a><br />As I was listening and reading the liner notes on the back of the jacket, I realized that there was something still inside the record cover. I shook it, and much to my surprise, six photographs fell out. They were snapshots of the group in concert; obviously an unknown music lover attended a Legends of Jazz concert back in 1974, took some pictures, and bought the album as a souvenir (and had it signed by Nelson and Purnell). <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzRMaN0O54cVtMFAQKnorWiEzUWv8lXpZxLoeeGei667nSeEqqv3DPSGRjqkxbRJGsUPJTBKzwL6xPUWNz1YWMtNU85Pbh4BbDmfYtentkTDyyyFvLmIH6UcfCi6meDnA5ni58Wpmfdc/s1600/Louis+Nelson.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzRMaN0O54cVtMFAQKnorWiEzUWv8lXpZxLoeeGei667nSeEqqv3DPSGRjqkxbRJGsUPJTBKzwL6xPUWNz1YWMtNU85Pbh4BbDmfYtentkTDyyyFvLmIH6UcfCi6meDnA5ni58Wpmfdc/s400/Louis+Nelson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721434407176970610" /></a><br />The photographs were <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJuh7EXhoGNrYvBxigxtO-m0qSYzuv1cxMlLG-YRYNUWLSLW1kccZQIvrQeL5TFvpJuJyhddmN-YqsOitb0429S5xbeoGm5ElygEmRI5QtAE8MzX28ONCQcl0paL01T8hwi1nDfhV4Hs/s1600/Martyn%252C+Blakeney+and+Nelson.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuJuh7EXhoGNrYvBxigxtO-m0qSYzuv1cxMlLG-YRYNUWLSLW1kccZQIvrQeL5TFvpJuJyhddmN-YqsOitb0429S5xbeoGm5ElygEmRI5QtAE8MzX28ONCQcl0paL01T8hwi1nDfhV4Hs/s400/Martyn%252C+Blakeney+and+Nelson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721434580741090242" /></a> kind of washed out, but I scanned them, tweaked the color and contrast, and did some cropping to improve the layout of some. I thought they deserved to be seen, as presumably unpublished pictures of a group of jazzmen who, except for Barry Martyn, have all left us.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-75262003487876980762012-01-14T22:42:00.001-05:002013-01-03T00:23:17.009-05:00Deep RiversSam Rivers was born in 1923; he died on the day after Christmas, 2011. The death of an 88-year old can't really be said to be shocking or unexpected, but Rivers' passing caught me be surprise; it sometimes seemed as if he would live forever, creating incredible music for all time. <br />
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Sam Rivers was a saxophonist (tenor and soprano), flutist, pianist and composer; he also recorded on bass clarinet and synthesizer (and as a vocalist) on occasion. Jazz is often considered a young man's game, but Rivers was a late bloomer, at least in terms of making a mark in the larger jazz world. Although he had put in stints with Herb Pomeroy's Boston big band and T-Bone Walker and had recorded a Tadd Dameron session for Blue Note (not released until many years later), he was over 40 years old and practically unknown when he joined Miles Davis's quintet for a tour of Japan in 1964. <br />
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Recordings from that tour reveal a mature, imaginative, and very individualistic musician. He knows the tunes, knows the changes, and knows how to improvise over them. But he already seems to be somewhere else; his phrasing and note choices push against the confines of the songs. Musically speaking, Rivers wanted to be elsewhere, and his association with the Davis group ended when the Japanese tour was over. <br />
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But the floodgates had been opened; by the end of the year, Rivers had recorded Blue Note sessions with Tony Williams and Larry Young, followed by <span style="font-style: italic;">Fuchsia Swing Song</span>, his own first album. This seeming explosion of creativity marked the level of accomplishment that would last the rest of Rivers' life.<br />
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In 1970 he and his wife Beatrice opened Studio Rivbea in their Manhattan loft home. For most of the decade, audiences had the opportunity to walk through Rivers' living room to the performance space and hear some of the finest avant-garde jazz musicians in the world. Highlights from one week at Studio Rivbea were issued on five LPs - the <span style="font-style: italic;">Wildflower</span> series on Douglas, reissued on CD as <span style="font-style: italic;">The New York Jazz Loft Sessions</span>.<br />
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In 1991, he took a step in common with many Northern residents nearing 70 years of age - he moved to Florida. In Orlando, he found a large number of highly skilled musicians who were employed by Disney World, but were hungry to play some challenging, creative music. Rivers' name for his large ensembles was the RivBea Orchestra, and the Florida version of the big band was tight and impressive, even if some of the soloists could not match Rivers' own level of inspiration. <br />
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But for many listeners, Rivers was at his best in a trio setting, joining a bassist and drummer to play seamless sets of mostly-improvised music that flowed in and out of different keys and rhythms. His mid-70's trio, with Dave Holland and Barry Altschul, was almost telepathic in the musicians' responses to each other. His Florida trio, with Doug Mathews on bass and Anthony Cole on drums, was also excellent. Mathews doubled on bass clarinet and Cole on tenor sax, so they sometimes produced surprising all-woodwind textures. Personally, I feel cheated that the only recorded evidence of a really magnificent trio, Rivers, bassist Richard Davis, and percussionist Warren Smith, is six minutes from a 1972 concert released on Rivers' <span style="font-style: italic;">Hues</span> album.<br />
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I was lucky enough to hear Rivers perform three times. The first was at Tyrone's in Athens, Georgia, where he played a stunning duet performance with Dave Holland in 1979. He was back a week later with a quartet, but the Art Ensemble of Chicago had a concert a few blocks away the same night - what a choice to have to make! - and I went with the Art Ensemble. (As I write this, I'm listening to the two wonderful Rivers/Holland duo albums on the Improvising Artists label.)<br />
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I didn't hear Rivers in person again until 2002, when his trio with Mathews and Cole played in an old stone church with wonderful acoustics, just a few blocks from my house in Atlanta. About a year and a half later he drove up from Orlando (no limo or private jet - the jazz business ain't exactly big-time show biz) to play a concert with the Jason Moran Bandwagon trio at a concert hall south of Atlanta. One of the selections they played was Rivers' tune "Beatrice," from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Fuchsia Swing Song</span> album; this is the only one of Rivers' compositions that has become something of a jazz standard.<br />
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And now I am left with not only the memories of some wonderful concerts, but with regret. I always meant to make the eight-hour drive to Orlando to hear the RivBea Orchestra perform, but somehow never got around to it. I was excited to have a chance to redeem myself this Spring - I was planning to meet a friend in Sarasota for some shows Rivers had scheduled in March. Now, of course, that won't happen.<br />
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Reading what I've written, I'm struck with what a shallow tribute this is. I've only scratched the surface; Sam Rivers deserves a book, not a little blog post. So long, Sam Rivers, and thanks for the endlessly creative music.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-60239595020986085672011-11-08T22:31:00.002-05:002011-11-08T22:55:33.270-05:00George HornsbyThis post is a rebuttal of sorts. As I write, I've got my copy of <span style="font-style:italic;">Bill Russell's American Music</span> by Mark Hazeldine open to page 100. This page represents the major source of information in print anywhere about Pittsburgh pianist George Hornsby. And I don't like what it says.<br /><br />William Russell's American Music label has long fascinated me. Russell started the label in 1944 to issue the recordings of New Orleans musicians he was making at the time. Some of the best recorded work by Bunk Johnson, George Lewis, Kid Shots Madison, and Wooden Joe Nicholas was issued on American Music. Russell issued 40 78 RPM records and 13 10" LPs before letting the label go dormant in the early 1950s. Some 20 years or so later, Russell began licensing American Music material to the Storyville label in Denmark and the Japanese Dan label, but in the intervening years, American Music recordings became legendary - not only for their musical quality, but because they were so scarce. Many collectors in those years first heard acetate dubs of the American Music 78s and albums before they ever saw the the actual records. The label is now owned by George Buck's Jazzology group, and most of the issuable music Russell recorded is available on CD.<br /><br />As I said, most of the music Russell recorded and issued was by traditional New Orleans musicians, but he did venture into related areas. He recorded the St. Louis ragtime pianist Charlie Thompson and the Mobile Strugglers, a black string band from Alabama that played blues and country ragtime. And in February or March, 1947, he took a gospel pianist he found in Pittsburgh, George Hornsby, into Phifer Recording Productions in that city and recorded ten selections, eventually releasing four of them on 78s. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYyDXIynDzPNf7B3CY1BiPcNLTtKzYWbiGHjw3tFamfLS5PfPqRhcUEVbgmeenh87NI499OqZFjj82vey8hoWOllrQ-qGDoSRhqmxvf-Q4csgpOV1I-awIZzcqVsiYrZ6J2CE7u_BM7g/s1600/I+Know+It+Was+the+Blood.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYyDXIynDzPNf7B3CY1BiPcNLTtKzYWbiGHjw3tFamfLS5PfPqRhcUEVbgmeenh87NI499OqZFjj82vey8hoWOllrQ-qGDoSRhqmxvf-Q4csgpOV1I-awIZzcqVsiYrZ6J2CE7u_BM7g/s320/I+Know+It+Was+the+Blood.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672832766367712082" /></a>The two George Hornsby 78s represent some of the very few American Music recordings that have not been reissued - not on American Music, not on Storyville or Dan, not even by any enterprising bootleggers anywhere in the world. So of course, I kept my eyes open for them. I found a copy of American Music 521, "Bye and Bye" backed with "Jesus Gave Me a Little Light," about a year and a half ago. And a month ago I finally tracked down American Music 522, "I Know It Was the Blood" and "My Soul Loves Jesus."<br /><br />George Hornsby is an elusive figure. According to Russell's biographical notes, he was born in Alabama in 1912, and in the 1930's had his own jazz band in Pittsburgh, the Fess Hornsby Orchestra. His name sometimes comes up in biographical discussions of Kenny Clarke - Clarke, a Pittsburgh native, played drums in Horsby's band. Russell indicates that Hornsby turned exclusively to religious music in 1939, and had a weekly radio show, "Modern Hymnology," in Pittsburgh.<br /><br />Why haven't Hornsby's recordings been reissued? Well, according to Hazeldine's book on the American Music label, Russell wasn't happy with the results of the recording session, although I guess he was initially satisfied enough to issue four of the sides. On page 100, we find this passage:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This was the least successful of all the American Music sessions and Bill Russell was always reluctant to discuss it. Having listened to all of the [Hornsby] masters I can confirm that the playing is of a poor standard and there are no plans to issue any of the above tracks in the AMCD series.</span><br /><br />Well, pardon my language, but this is bullshit. I haven't heard all ten recordings (plus alternate takes), as Hazeldine has, but the issued 78s are the work of an accomplished and excellent musician. There is nothing "of a poor standard" about these records.<br /><br />I feel that Hazeldine has adopted Russell's values in decrying these recordings. William Russell was conservative in his musical tastes - he didn't care for later jazz developments, or even for the saxophone, which he felt had no place in jazz. I suppose that at some point he realized that George Hornsby wasn't a "primitive" gospel pianist, but a knowledgeable, modern (for the time) musician. Hornsby had formidable technical abilites, and his approach to the piano had more in common with Earl Hines than with Cow Cow Davenport or Jimmy Yancey. This was not to Russell's liking, apparently. <br /><br />It's a shame that these excellent records have never been reissued, and probably won't be. So that interested listeners can hear them and make up their own minds, I've posted mp3's of the two issued George Hornsby 78s <a href="http://jeffcrompton.com/georgehornsby.htm">here</a>. I invoked the name of Earl Hines in the last paragraph, and these recordings may remind some listeners of what Hines might have sounded like if he had turned to gospel music.<br /><br />I don't know what happened to George Hornsby after his American Music session, or when he died, as he presumably has. But I'm unwilling to let the negative opinion expressed in the one readily available reference book mentioning him go unchallenged. I dig your music, Fess Hornsby!Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-71138036520926035392011-06-06T15:33:00.002-04:002012-08-15T22:38:28.795-04:00Steve and WatazumiTime for another post at least partially about Steve Lacy, one of my musical heroes.<br />
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Steve Lacy had a special relationship with Japan. He made twelve concert tours of the country between 1975 to 2000, and a thirteenth tour was planned for June, 2004. That tour never happened; Lacy died on June 4th. Lacy's playing, spare and deliberate, seemed tailored for Japanese culture and attitudes, and he had a strong affinity with Japanese musicians, especially the great percussionist Masahiko Togashi, with whom he recorded many times.<br />
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Lacy's Japanese tours gave him the opportunity to directly experience the culture that had fascinated him for so long. He was deeply interested in Zen and Taoism (his <span style="font-style: italic;">Tao Suite</span> was a cornerstone of his concerts from 1970). And on a couple of his trips, he took advantage of the opportunity to study with Watazumi Doso. <br />
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Watazumi Doso (海童 道祖 老師) (1910-1992) was a flutist and teacher of his own sect of Buddhism, <span style="font-style: italic;">Watazumido</span>, or "The Way of Watazumi." Watazumi was a somewhat mysterious figure, down to the elusive matter of his name. He seemed to be known as Itcho Human and/or Tanaka Masaru in his younger days; later, Roshi, or "Master" was appended to his name. He was also sometimes known as Watazumido Shuso, which means something like "Head Student of the Way of Watazumi."<br />
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Watazumi did not consider himself a musician as much as a Buddhist teacher and practitioner. He exercised daily with the Jo stick, a long hardwood pole, and stressed the importance of breathing to his students. Here is an excerpt from a lecture he gave at the Creative Music Studio in Woodstock, New York, in 1981 (translation by Chris Jay):<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">It's fine that you are all deep into music. But there's something deeper and if you would go deeper, if you go to the source of where the music is being made, you'll find something even more interesting. At the source, everyone's individual music is made. If you ask what the deep place is, it's your own life and it's knowing your own life, that own way that you live.</span><br />
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Watazumi played a variety of bamboo flutes known as hocchiku or hotchiku. They differ from the more familiar shakuhachi flute in that the bore is unlacquered and left in as natural state as possible. Hocchiku flutes are usually longer and heavier than shakuhachi, and the sound they produce is rawer and less tempered. <br />
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Steve Lacy called Watazumi "one of the greatest improvisers I've ever heard in my life, maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">the</span> greatest." Watazumi's music is certainly more startling, even avant-garde, than a passing familiarity with Japanese shakuhacki music would lead one to expect. It's full of sudden changes of timbre and volume, as well as notes which don't fit into any scale, Western or Eastern.<br />
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Lacy visited Watazumi during that first tour of Japan in 1975 for a lesson. He returned for another lesson ten years later, and, as he said, "I had made a lot of progress!"<br />
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What did he learn from Watazumi? In a 1997 <span style="font-style: italic;">Fresh Air</span> interview with Terri Gross, Lacy explained the lesson that he describes as a revelation: "That my own voice was my own ear was my own breath was my own sound; that it was all one - the conception that it's just one thing." Lacy's later music, from the last two decades of his life, provides plenty of evidence of lessons learned. His purity of tone is perfectly matched to the composed material and to the melodic conception of his improvisations. <br />
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Recordings of Watazumi Doso are difficult to find. The most accessible, at least in the United States, seems to be an LP with the somewhat unfortunate title <span style="font-style: italic;">The Mysterious Sounds of the Japanese Bamboo Flute</span>, which was issued by Everest in the late 1960's. Here is as <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56mogCaQRtY&feature=related">example of his playing</a> from that album. (I didn't post the video.)<br />
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I'll leave the last word on Watazumi to Steve Lacy. "He was the most modern improviser I've ever heard in my life. He surpassed anybody I could think of, including Braxton, or Derek Bailey. Doso, to me, was just... whew, outside all of that, really."<br />
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Steve Lacy quotes are from <span style="font-style: italic;">Fresh Air</span>, November 20, 1997 and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wire</span>, November, 2002.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-48634657455229090052011-04-19T00:31:00.002-04:002011-04-19T09:53:18.782-04:00The Last Watusi of The RadiatorsBig ones eat the little ones;<br />The little ones got to be fast.<br />That's the law of the fish now, mother - <br />You got to move your ass.<br /><br />-"Law of the Fish" by The Radiators<br /><br />Well, I'm late to the party, as usual. Last week I finally attended a show by The Radiators, the band that has forgotten more songs than most bands ever knew - exactly two months before their final performance at Tipitina's.<br /><br />I listen to jazz, blues, classical music, klezmer, African music - but not much rock. The last few years, the only rock CDs I pull off the shelves with any regularity are by The Allman Brothers, Darryl Rhoades, and especially The Radiators. I became aware of the great New Orleans rock band about 15 years ago when I bought an intriguing cassette compilation at the Louisiana Music Factory in New Orleans. The tape contained, among other great Louisiana music, a reissue of the Rad's first single, their 1978 anthem to crawfish, fellatio, or both, "Suck the Head (and Squeeze the Tip)." I loved the New Orleans groove and the sound of the band, but for some reason I didn't follow up and explore The Radiators' other recordings. <br /><br />But about five years ago, I came across a cheap copy of <span style="font-style:italic;">Law of the Fish</span>, the Rads' first major-label release. I loved about half of it right away, and the other half grew on me. I started checking out their albums, and was drawn further into the Radiators' world, until I became a full-fledged Fishhead, as Radiators fans are called.<br /><br />I visit New Orleans once a year, so I assumed that I would be able to hear them at Tip's or The Maple Leaf one of these days. But it never happened, and late last year Ed Volker, aka Zeke Fishhead, announced that he would be leaving the band this summer. Volker is the main songwriter for the band, one of its two lead singers, and the group's guiding light. It's a truism among Fishheads that you have to hear the band live to really appreciate them, so I looked at their schedule and found that their closest remaining show was in Orlando. I didn't mind the 400 mile drive at all.<br /><br />It was an exciting show. The Rads played for two hours and 15 minutes, performing a mixture of originals and a bewildering variety of cover tunes, including "I Walk on Gilded Splinters," "Paint It Black," "The Pusher," "St. James Infirmary," the old ballad "Little Sadie," several old blues and spirituals, and more. Their recordings feature songs by Bob Dylan, Clarence Carter, Muddy Waters, The Meters, etc. All these cover tunes support the Radiators reputation as the world's best bar band - a reputation that's kind of accurate, as far as it goes. <br /><br />But their originals, particularly Volker's, are the songs that get to me. Volker's songs are pretty conventional in terms of harmony and structure - they use the same three or four chords that have been used since the beginnings of rock and roll. But Volker writes catchy melodies and interesting lyrics. The latter are sometimes predictable, but more often enigmatic, and at times probably half-baked. In any case, I love "Doctor, Doctor" (yes, I know that Volker was not the first to use that title), "Hard Time Train," "Let's Radiate," "Crazy Mona," "Hard Rock Kid," "I Want to Go Where the Green Arrow Goes," etc.<br /><br />And then there's the band itself. If you imagine a triangle whose points are The Allman Brothers, The Grateful Dead, and The Meters, The Radiators are situated approximately in the middle. Most of what they play is infused with a dark, swampy flavor that sets them apart from any other rock band. They boast two virtuoso guitarists, Dave Malone and Camille Baudoin, and they can turn any song into a long, improvisatory journey. Volker's keyboard style is more restrained - he's kind of a stripped-down Professor Longhair at times - but what he plays is just perfect for every song. The rhythm section of Reggie Scanlan and Frank Bua on drums can play solid straight rock, but more often adds at least a touch of New Orleans second line rhythm to the music.<br /><br />For a few years in the 80's, the Radiators were signed to Epic Records, who didn't quite know what to make of them. Their three Epic albums are pretty good, if somewhat slicker than the Rads' usual sound. Except for those few years, the band has recorded for small labels or put out their own albums, and sustained itself by constant touring. During this period the band included percussionist Glenn Sears; except for his tenure, the band's personnel has remained unchanged for its entire life. More recently, The Radiators older audience has expanded - the younger "jam band" crowd has discovered them. <br /><br />A lot of people think of The Radiators strictly as a party band. I think there's more going on than that; much of their music has darker overtones. If I was going to try to sum up what The Radiators are about, it would go something like this: We're living in a dying world. The Law of the Fish applies, so you'd better keep your eyes open. But while we're here, we might as well have a good time. <br /><br />If you've never heard The Radiators, where should you start? The first Epic album, <span style="font-style:italic;">Law of the Fish</span>, is pretty good; it has some of the band's best songs, like "Doctor, Doctor" and "This Wagon's Gonna Roll." There are several good live albums; <span style="font-style:italic;">Bucket of Fish</span> is excellent. The Rads' 25th anniversary album, <span style="font-style:italic;">Earth Vs. The Radiators</span>, is a double CD (and DVD) recorded at Tipitina's - guests include the Bonerama trombone section. But maybe the best representation of the band is their 30th anniversary double CD, <span style="font-style:italic;">Wild and Free</span>. As long as you don't require audiophile quality on every track, you'll find it to be an amazing collection of live and studio recordings from the very beginning in 1978 through 2008. <br /><br />I love the story of the band's origin. In 1978, Volker invited the members of a couple of different bands to jam in his garage one afternoon. They ended up playing for five hours, and the next day they all quit their old bands. They've been at it for the 33 years since then, but the end of the line is near. So if you have a chance during the next two months, set 'em up for the Hard Rock Kid, let the red wine flow, and catch The Radiators.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-84279223396926613642011-04-09T17:00:00.005-04:002011-04-19T23:56:40.666-04:00Brown and Yellow (Tom Brown and Alcide Nuñez)<span style="font-style: italic;">Warning: more ramblings about Ancient Musick ahead</span>. Lately I've been fascinated by Alcide "Yellow" Nuñez, the early New Orleans clarinetist best known for his recordings with the Louisiana Five. As I explored Nuñez's music, I realized how much his career was entwined with that of trombonist Tom Brown, a fellow New Orleanian.<br /><br />History is usually more complicated than it first appears, and the history of jazz seems more and more like an onion the more you examine it; peel off one layer, and there is another just underneath, waiting to be explored. Years ago I "learned" that the Original Dixieland Jazz Band was the first New Orleans jazz band to travel north and expose the world outside of Louisiana to the complex, intriguing sounds of New Orleans jazz. (It was only later that I learned of Bill Johnson's Creole Band, which included Freddie Keppard and George Baquet, and their success on the national vaudeville circuit as early as 1914.) But Tom Brown actually beat the ODJB to Chicago, and he and Alcide Nuñez, with a little more luck, could have enjoyed the success and fame that came to the ODJB.<br /><br />Brown and Nuñez were part of the circle of white musicians centered around Jack "Papa" Laine, whose Reliance Brass Band was very popular in the early years of the 20th century in New Orleans. "Brown's Band From Dixieland," which included cornetist Ray Lopez and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaKRo044rQtnvionz_eT4D-w-xjdBhvgTQEi1HdS0083tqOH0YlM-nGjRX_pUXczmyduZitgzMVfOp5T_1YXnkpv_Ly1qrgCQQw35hP-fnUiOUwDToVSOsYvCpX9-jyuDeU63B0ioWyM/s1600/Alcide+Nunez.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaKRo044rQtnvionz_eT4D-w-xjdBhvgTQEi1HdS0083tqOH0YlM-nGjRX_pUXczmyduZitgzMVfOp5T_1YXnkpv_Ly1qrgCQQw35hP-fnUiOUwDToVSOsYvCpX9-jyuDeU63B0ioWyM/s320/Alcide+Nunez.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593683642064010898" border="0" /></a>clarinetist Gus Mueller, came to Chicago in May, 1915 to open at Lamb's Cafe. Their reception was lukewarm at first; the music seemed loud, shocking, and impossible to dance to. But people were curious, and soon Brown's band was an attraction; the line to get in Lamb's was often two blocks long. Around this time, the word "jazz" (or "jass") began to be applied to this unusual music from New Orleans.<br /><br />Clubowners and promoters suddenly wanted jazz bands, preferably from New Orleans. Drummer Johnny Stein brought his band up from the Crescent City and opened at the New Schiller Cafe. In addition to Stein, the group consisted of "Yellow" Nuñez and three future members of the ODJB: Eddie "Daddy Edwards on trombone, pianist Henry Ragas, and Nick LaRocca on cornet. By this time, Harry Shields had replaced Gus Mueller as the clarinetist in Tom Brown's band. Nuñez soon had a falling-out with LaRocca (not an unusual occurrence, apparently), and the two bands swapped clarinetists.<br /><br />When Lamb's Cafe closed, Brown's band hit the vaudeville trail, and were offered a job at Reisenweber's Restaurant in New York City. But Brown didn't think the money was good enough, and he declined. The job eventually went to LaRocca, who took over Stein's band, replacing him with Tony Sbarbaro. The ODJB became the talk of New York, and made records for Columbia and Victor; those 1917 records are now considered to be the first real jazz recordings.<br /><br />And what of Brown and Nuñez? After a few trips back and forth to New Orleans, they both ended up in New York for a few years before returning home for good. Brown apparently found that the life of a well-paid sideman made for a more secure existence than that of a bandleader, and made himself an indispensable part of the Yerkes dance band empire. Harry Yerkes was one of the most active bandlead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-Ergz0sG74A-sg1tQ9cueLEgqygK6CNvndjt0LmKmbfSX2fUoq87fyMkL-z-vDtspIiVcvJTpg5amTJ2ftW504-Ur7_jmaYEQ0Fm7qOVS-IPONth3mXbjXOhNGG5riHgKDVUGLHQGc0/s1600/The+Happy+Six.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-Ergz0sG74A-sg1tQ9cueLEgqygK6CNvndjt0LmKmbfSX2fUoq87fyMkL-z-vDtspIiVcvJTpg5amTJ2ftW504-Ur7_jmaYEQ0Fm7qOVS-IPONth3mXbjXOhNGG5riHgKDVUGLHQGc0/s320/The+Happy+Six.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593686036128768418" border="0" /></a>ers in New York from 1917 to 1924; he led (and recorded with) a bewildering variety of aggregations: Yerkes' Jazzarimba Orchestra (featuring xylophone and marimba as part of the instrumentation), Yerkes' Novelty Five, Yerkes' Saxophone Sextet, Yerkes' S.S. Flotilla Orchestra, The Happy Six, etc. Tom Brown was part of most of these groups from 1919 to at least 1923; he made scores of records with various Yerkes groups, as well as with the dance bands of Ray Miller, Russ Gorman, and the xylophone-playing Green Brothers.<br /><br />After Brown's band broke up, Yellow Nuñez formed a five-piece band, the Louisiana Five, with drummer Anton Lada. Nuñez's clarinet was the lead instrument; the only other horn was the trombone of Charlie Panelli, who later played with the Original Memphis Five. The Lousiana Five was at least a distant rival to the ODJB; they recorded over 40 sides, one of which, "Yelping Hound Blues," was pretty popular. (It's actually much better than the grim title would suggest.) The Louisiana Five recordings have been both praised and panned by jazz critics, but the best of them sound pretty good 90-something years later. Nuñez was a strong clarinetist; he played (on records, anyway) exclusively in the high register, allowing his lead to cut through the sound of the other instruments. He seldom strayed far from the melody, but often indulged in some mild improvisation as the tune progressed.<br /><br />When the Louisiana Five broke up, Nuñez also found a home with Yerkes; it is reasonable to assume that Tom Brown helped him secure a position with the bandleader. For whatever reason, the clarinetist didn't stay with Yerkes long; he only made a handful of records with Yerkes' groups, all from the years 1919 and 1920. Nuñez led a quartet for awhile, and returned to New Orleans in 1927. Until his death in 1934 he played with various groups, including a police band, but never recorded again. He passed down musical genes, apparently; his grandson, Robert Nunez, is now principal tubist with the New Orleans Philharmonic.<br /><br />Tom Brown also moved back home, and in 1924 and 1925 he appeared on a couple of fine Okeh records by trumpeter Johnny Bayersdorffer and pianist Norman Brownlee. The Bayersdorffer record ("Waffle Man's Call"/"I Wonder Where My Easy Rider's Riding Now") in particular is a great example of a New Orleans jazz band recorded in the city, and probably represents Brown's best recorded work. He recorded several times with trumpeter Johnny Wiggs in the 1950's (including an album under his own name), showing his brass-band derived style to be basically unchanged. Brown died in 1958.<br /><br />Unfortunately, one of the things musicians and observers remember about Brown is his virulent racism. Many of the early white New Orleans jazz musicians seemed to have had blinders on when it came to giving credit to African-Americans for creating jazz, but Brown's attitudes went beyond that. I decline to quote some of the statements attributed to him.<br /><br />Recordings by Nuñez are somewhat hard to find now, but most of the Louisiana Five sides have been reissued at various times, although often on small labels, and most of those collections are now out of print. There are several tracks by the Five in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Ragtime to Jazz</span> CD series on the Timeless label, and one track on Retrieval's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pioneer Recording Bands</span>. The Happy Six have their own collection, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dance-O-Mania</span>, on the Rivermont label; Nuñez plays on a couple of the tracks, and there's plenty of Tom Brown there, of course.<br /><br />Because these recordings are so hard to come by, I've posted several items from my 78 collection <a href="http://jeffcrompton.com/brownyellow.htm">here</a> in mp3 form. As far as I can tell, the Louisiana Five's Columbia record of "Yelping Hound Blues" and "Just Another Good Man Gone Wrong" has never been reissued, although I may have overlooked some obscure release. I also included a side by the Happy Six which doesn't appear on the Rivermont CD, "Who'll Be the Next One (To Cry Over You)." It's early-20's dance music, not jazz, but it's pretty good for what it is; you'll hear a "straight" trombone solo on the melody by Tom Brown. The virtuoso soprano sax work toward the end is probably by the great (non-jazz) saxophonist Rudy Wiedoeft, although it could be F. Wheeler Wadsworth. And finally, there's a track by Yerkes Southern Five which features both Nuñez and Brown, Lucky Roberts' "Railroad Blues." It has been reissued, on one of the Timeless <span style="font-style: italic;">Ragtime to Jazz</span> CDs, but it's so good that I couldn't resist posting it here; it may be the best recorded performance by Nuñez. In addition, you can download the Louisiana Five's Edison recording of "Clarinet Squawk" <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10405">here</a>; it's not their best work, though, in my opinion.<br /><br />I'll let the last word on Alcide Nuñez belong to Charles Ellsworth Russell, Jr. In 1918, long before Pee Wee Russell was the great jazz clarinetist he became, his father took him to an Elks Club event in St. Louis. The band was the Louisiana Five, and the twelve-year-old Pee Wee was surprised and amazed at what he heard from Nuñez's clarinet: "Nuñez played the melody and then he got hot and played jazz. That was something. How did he know where he was and where he was going?" If for no other reason, we should honor Alcide Nuñez for introducing Pee Wee Russell to the world of jazz.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Acknowledgments:</span> I referred to the following books in preparing this post:<br /><br />Robert Hilbert - <span style="font-style: italic;">Pee Wee Russell: the Life of a Jazzman</span><br />Al Rose and Edmond Souchon - <span style="font-style: italic;">New Orleans Jazz: A Family Album</span><br />Brian Rust - <span style="font-style: italic;">The American Dance Band Discography 1917-1942</span><br />Gunther Schuller - <span style="font-style: italic;">Early Jazz: Its Roots and Musical Development</span><br />Richard Sudhalter - <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost Chords: White Musicians and Their Contributions to Jazz, 1915-1945</span><br />Brian Wood - <span style="font-style: italic;">The Song for Me: A Glossary of New Orleans Musicians</span>.<br /><br />The Sudhalter book in particular was very helpful in sorting out the comings and goings of the early white New Orleans musicians in Chicago and New York.<br /><br />The first photograph is of Alcide Nuñez, from the Nuñez family archives. The second photograph is a rare shot of The Happy Six, with Tom Brown, from a 1922 Columbia Records Catalog in my collection.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-72848773212397743452011-03-18T19:30:00.002-04:002011-03-18T19:39:45.845-04:00Big Jack, The Oil ManWell, damn. I certainly didn't want to add another memorial post to this blog. But I've learned that Big Jack Johnson died of kidney failure a few days ago, on Monday, March 14. Big Jack, the Oil Man, the Last of the Jelly Roll Kings, the Fishin' Musician, is gone. He was 70.<br /><br />For years, I've been telling people that Big Jack was alive only due to my quick reflexes. I heard him play at the Sunflower River Blues Festival in Clarksdale in the mid 1990's - an afternoon show. Late that night I passed Red's Lounge, the famous Clarksdale juke joint, as I was driving back to my hotel. Johnson was hanging out in front, talking with a friend. As I approached, Big Jack was apparently overcome with mirth at his buddy's story, and staggered out into the middle of Sunflower Avenue, bent over with laughter. I hit my brakes and swerved, and Johnson was with us for 15 more years.<br /><br />Big Jack, who was simultaneously, and paradoxically, the most traditional and the most original of bluesmen, was born in Lambert, Mississippi, about ten miles from Clarksdale. His father played guitar, banjo, and fiddle, and passed on the basics to Jack. In the early 1960's, Johnson became a member of one of the greatest juke joint blues trios of all time. Frank Frost, Johnson, and Sam Carr played throughout Mississippi, Arkansas, and Tennessee as Frank Frost and The Nighthawks. The band hung together for 25 years or so, although they changed their name to The Jelly Roll Kings when they released their Earwig album <span style="font-style: italic;">Rockin' the Juke Joint Down</span> in 1979, since there was already a long-established blues/rock band called The Nighthawks. The Kings rocked hard, and consistently sounded like a larger group. In the early days Frank Frost took all the vocals, as well as playing guitar and harmonica. There was no bass, but Big Jack's guitar provided the bottom. In later years, Frost played keyboards (usually a cheap organ) rather than guitar, and the vocal duties were split between Johnson and Frost.<br /><br />Making a living at music was has always been difficult, and it's almost impossible in the Mississippi Delta. For years, Big Jack put food on the table by driving a heating oil truck, making deliveries all over the Delta. His day job led to his nickname, The Oil Man, and he called his band The Oilers. As he became a popular figure on the blues festival circuit, he left the Delta for periods in Chicago and Pennsylvania, but he finally moved back to Clarksdale, playing at Red's Lounge when he wasn't on the road. In recent years, Johnson was plagued by health problems; in fact, erroneous reports of his death circulated before the end came this week.<br /><br />One of the things I loved about Big Jack was that he had no taste. That may seem like a strange thing to say, but it speaks to the absolute honesty of Johnson's music; he played whatever he felt like playing, whether it was musically or politically correct or not. When I heard him in Clarksdale, he followed a tough blues shuffle with a bizarre rendition of "Tequila," during which he moved from the "A" section to the bridge more or less at random. The huge grin on his face throughout showed how much he enjoyed playing the tune, as strange as it seemed to the hard-core blues fans in the audience. He had a song called "Chinese Blues," in which he sang in "Chinese." And check out his melodramatic, overwrought original called "Daddy, When Is Momma Coming Home?," which he recorded several times. All of this is in bad taste, and also a lot of fun.<br /><br />But that same directness and honesty resulted in some incredible blues performances. On the last Jelly Roll Kings album, <span style="font-style: italic;">Look On Yonder Wall</span>, Big Jack sings a warning to Frank Frost, who was right there in the studio, behind the organ: "Frank Frost, you better lay that bottle down!" Johnson, in true Delta blues fashion, wasn't particularly concerned with counting measures to the next chord change - he moved to the next chord when it felt right, and the band had better be listening. The title song of his <span style="font-style: italic;">We Got to Stop This Killin'</span> album has choruses that are 13, 15, and 19 bars long, in addition to those that fit the standard 12-bar blues form.<br /><br />Big Jack's style was intense, with a sometimes extreme vibrato applied to both his guitar and voice. Perhaps his greatest recorded performances are those made for the film <span style="font-style: italic;">Deep Blues</span> in 1990. Johnson plays what is maybe the hottest version of the traditional "Catfish Blues" ever, weeps his way through "Daddy, When Is Momma Coming Home?," and winds up with the wonderful and bizarre "Big Boy Now," inspired by hearing country music on the radio as a child. Jack tells the tale of wanting to yodel "like those white folks on that radio," and follows the vocal with a twisted, shredded slide guitar solo that works its way higher and higher, until he is practically playing on the pickups. It's one of those performances that must be heard to be believed.<br /><br />Big Jack's gone now, but he left some excellent recordings behind. I would go so far as to say that anyone with the slightest interest in electric Delta blues needs to have The Jelly Roll Kings' <span style="font-style: italic;">Rockin' the Juke Juke Down</span> in their collection. I'm partial to Johnson's albums <span style="font-style: italic;">Roots Stew</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Memphis Barbecue Session</span>s, the latter a collaboration with harpist Kim Wilson of The Fabulous Thunderbirds. And of course, there's the amazing <span style="font-style: italic;">Deep Blues</span> soundtrack. Right now, sales of his albums at <a href="http://www.cdbaby.com/Search/YmlnIGphY2sgam9obnNvbg%3d%3d/0">CD Baby</a> will directly benefit his family. Do yourself a favor and treat yourself to some Big Jack Johnson. So long to the Last of The Jelly Roll Kings.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-46413854637062324802011-02-21T20:17:00.008-05:002011-02-21T21:58:11.396-05:00Two New CDsThere are two new CDs out that relate to previous posts of this blog, and which many folks may not hear about; these releases are unlikely to be featured in a "new releases" email from Amazon or iTunes. Neither will be found at your local Wal-mart, but they can both be had from CDBaby.com. Each of these CDs is a personal, contemporary look at a very old American musical tradition.<br /><br />When I was in Mississippi last month, I spent about an hour looking through the CDs and records at Cat Head Blues and Folk Art, a wonderful little store in Clarksdale. One of the finds I was most excited about was <span style="font-style: italic;">What Do I Do?</span>, a 2010 release by Sharde Thomas, whom I mentioned in my <a href="http://jeffcrompton.blogspot.com/2009/07/fifes-and-drums-from-hill-country.html">2009 post on Mississippi fife and drum music</a>. Miss Thomas, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1Xb_ViFlJexaQDcn6qWyGUwrNBTxIme7lwDEZCKgIZcqXY_43MyXlYODSVAK8BaSZEwPgrV0m-ZdgS2SubY56SBNSIRCv4hleucBQEOxUT-wVOdG2ppjm0FPnw4OuBCngwbMBHyOcno/s1600/sharde.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1Xb_ViFlJexaQDcn6qWyGUwrNBTxIme7lwDEZCKgIZcqXY_43MyXlYODSVAK8BaSZEwPgrV0m-ZdgS2SubY56SBNSIRCv4hleucBQEOxUT-wVOdG2ppjm0FPnw4OuBCngwbMBHyOcno/s400/sharde.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576243891756794162" border="0" /></a>who is billed simply as "Sharde" on the CD cover, is the granddaughter of Othar Turner, the late master of the Mississippi Hill Country fife and drum tradition. That tradition reaches back to antebellum times, although the music has undoubtedly changed greatly over the years.<br /><br />This CD was quite a surprise to me. I didn't know that Sharde had released a CD, and seeing the cover, with Miss Thomas and her fife, was a thrill. The second surprise was when I stuck the CD into my car's stereo: most of the album is R & B, not fife and drum music. The third surprise was that I liked all of it, even though much of it was not what I expected. Much of the success of the album is due to the production of Ricky Davis, who also plays guitar and drums on many of the tracks. He gives the proceedings a polished, professional sheen.<br /><br />It shouldn't have been a surprise that Sharde, who must be about 21 years old now, is not content to confine herself to the fife and drum tradition; hers is a very different world from the rural Mississippi, isolated and racist, in which her grandfather grew up. Sharde's R & B is sweet and engaging - there is nothing aggressive about it. She sings about her family, about having a good time, about being young and in love. Her voice is nothing like the American Idol divas that seem to dominate pop and R & B these days, and I'm glad about that. It's pleasant, sure, and (sorry to use this word again so soon) sweet. One of the most touching of the R & B songs is "O. T.," which, of course, is dedicated to her grandfather. The introduction uses a recording of Mr. Turner's voice; he says, "If anything happen to me, I get so I can't play, Sharde gonna be the one." And she pretty much is, now.<br /><br />There are also two blues on the album, one written by Sharde and one by her cousin, Aurbrey Turner, a musician who played drums behind Othar Turner. The blues songs manage to be as sunny and enjoyable as the R & B. Sharde plays piano on them, as she does on many of the R & B tracks.<br /><br />But for many listeners, the meat of the album will be the four fife and drum tracks. They are as tough and exciting as anyone who has heard Othar Turner's recordings would expect, but they don't "feel" like Turner's music - they have an urgent, contemporary feeling, even when Sharde is playing music as traditional as the Hill Country standard "Bounce Ball" or the old African-American game song "Sally Walker." Part of this feel is due to the addition of Aurbrey Turner's drum set to the stand-alone snare and bass drums. On the live version of "Shimmie She Wobble," Turner's set is also credited, but it doesn't seem to be actually present there. These four tracks are the most assured and mature recordings of Miss Thomas's fife playing yet.<br /><br />In many ways, the most innovative track is the last one, "We Made It." It ties together all the threads of Sharde's music: she plays fife and piano, and the song has elements of blues, R & B, and the fife and drum tradition running through it. That night in Clarksdale, this is the track I cranked up, and I couldn't keep still.<br /><br />The other new CD was only released a week or two ago; it's <span style="font-style: italic;">17 Days</span> by the Panorama Brass Band, and it's one of the most original <a href="http://jeffcrompton.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-orleans-brass-bands.html">New Orleans brass band</a> albums I've heard. Ben Schenck's Panorama Brass Band is the marching offshoot of his <a href="http://jeffcrompton.blogspot.com/2009/09/panorama.html">Panorama Jazz Band</a>, one of my favorite New Orleans bands. Like the Panorama Jazz Band, the PBB plays traditional New Orleans tunes, klezmer, Caribbean tunes, Eastern European music, and more. The last two Panorama Jazz Band albums have each featured a few tracks by the brass band, but this is their first full album.<br /><br />The new CD, which was recorded last Mardi Gras season, opens with two pieces whi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16VMdsWVyGCTttRsz14QobvkOp0BOTTD23E49yxSRqOBxKoSP-7JA79trZD8NY5VF0cTH5Zgo-sU0eRXe-s41_kVDET-NJZD8gTu3iMpJtGen1cGpBE0sLFvaPtmujAgUwlsO_RTYkFI/s1600/panoramabrass.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16VMdsWVyGCTttRsz14QobvkOp0BOTTD23E49yxSRqOBxKoSP-7JA79trZD8NY5VF0cTH5Zgo-sU0eRXe-s41_kVDET-NJZD8gTu3iMpJtGen1cGpBE0sLFvaPtmujAgUwlsO_RTYkFI/s400/panoramabrass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576307186055302578" border="0" /></a>ch are strictly in the NOLA brass band tradition, "Nearer My God to Thee" and "Lily of the Valley." These should convince any skeptic that the Panorama is the real deal. "Lily" swings hard, and this might be my new favorite version of "Nearer My God to Thee," although there are recordings by the Olympia and the Onward that I love. Alto saxophonist Aurora Nealand's high harmony in the last four bars of the Panorama's "Nearer" is perfect and heartbreaking.<br /><br />From the third track on, though, it's obvious that this is a different kind of New Orleans brass band. That third track is Nealand's arrangement of Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman" (!), which in the hands of the Panorama BB becomes both ominous and funky. From there the band goes on to touch on reggae, Balkan brass band tunes, Jewish freylkhs and horas, calypso, and even Haydn, in Schenk's arrangement of "St. Anthony Chorale," a piece which Brahms also used as source material.<br /><br />Besides their atypical repertoire, the Panorama is unusual in terms of instrumentation. They use the old-style middle-register brass horns, alto and tenor horns, that all but died out in New Orleans around 75 years ago, when alto and tenor saxophones took over their function in the ensemble. The slightly nasal sonorities of the alto and tenor horns (two of the latter) give the band an unusual sound: full and slightly exotic. There are saxophones in the PBB, of course; besides the wonderful Aurora Nealand, Dan Oestricher's baritone sax helps hold down the bottom. There is only one trumpet; Jack Pritchett's performance is all the more heroic for that, since he usually carries the lead. Schenck hardly features himself at all; there are not more than one or two clarinet solos on the album, but his high countermelodies are excellent.<br /><br />The CD ends with a "Lagniappe track," a lo-fi version of "Grazin' in the Grass" (which has become a New Orleans brass band standard), recorded live on the street during Mardi Gras 2010. It captures the chaotic excitement of a New Orleans street parade perfectly, down to the passing of a police car. The title of the Panorama Brass Band's new album refers to the fact that the band only exists for 17 days each carnival season. I'm glad they gave us an hour of music that we can enjoy the other 348 days.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-4208824785854523022011-01-31T23:03:00.009-05:002011-09-11T22:29:47.616-04:00Delta Report<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9cJH8JrvSgcMQxY_ncoelT62iIjqE-SgUTKvgm2OPOV253CuB7KgIip1SDL0fpmyoBQa7TnkyBygSXx40bgiBsPas9Pwzp6G30J8y9EbuepJHzqDEKZDsRa1h05CHEm2jXXLPM2I2Xo/s1600/CIMG1926.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9cJH8JrvSgcMQxY_ncoelT62iIjqE-SgUTKvgm2OPOV253CuB7KgIip1SDL0fpmyoBQa7TnkyBygSXx40bgiBsPas9Pwzp6G30J8y9EbuepJHzqDEKZDsRa1h05CHEm2jXXLPM2I2Xo/s320/CIMG1926.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568556851812530194" border="0" /></a>For the first time in many years, I visited the blues country of the Mississippi Delta last week. I mean, I've driven through a couple of times in the past few years, but this was the first time I had spent more than a day there since about 1997. Even for a Southerner, the Delta is strange place, full of contradictions and mysteries.<br /><br />The area that Mississippians call the Delta is the northwestern slice of the state, between the Mississippi and Yazoo Rivers, extending northwards to Memphis. It's flat - almost totally devoid of hills, with some of the deepest and richest topsoil in the country. There are places where it seems like you can see forever. The area was practically wilderness until the late 19th century, when planters bought large tracts and cleared them for cotton plantations. Cotton was a labor-intensive crop until mechanization changed the cotton industry in the 1940's, so large numbers of workers, mostly African-American, were recruited for cheap labor. The Delta's population was soon majority black, as it still is. The white minority resorted to increasingly oppressive tactics in order to maintain social and political control. It's no wonder that the Delta is often considered the birthplace of the blues.<br /><br />On my trip, I stayed for two nights in Cleveland, in the very center of the Delta. I had wondered how this extremely poor region was faring during these economic hard times, and I must admit that Cleveland gave me a false impression. It appears to be a prosperous, bustling town; the downtown area is attractive and healthy. It only took a little driving around to other towns to discover that most of the area is not faring as well. Tutwiler, Glendora, Friars Point, Merigold - these towns are as shockingly poor as any places I have ever seen in the United States. Hirsberg's Drug Store in Friars Point has been around long enough for Robert Johnson to have played on the bench in front of the store, but it couldn't survive the current economic climate; they were having a going-out-of-business sale when I was there.<br /><br />My wife made a little bit of fun of me because I visited so many dead blues guys' graves. But often those graves are the only remaining physical locations that represent those pioneers' careers - their homes are long gone, for the most part, as are the places they played. If you want to pay homage in the form of a blues pilgrimage, you're left with visiting graves. In some cases, you are left with visiting someone's guess about where a grave is. There are three Robert Johnson graves around Greenwood. And while I visited Charley Patton's grave in Holly Ridge, there are some who believe that he's buried in the nearby Longswitch cemetery. And one of Patton's relatives says that he's buried underneath the burner of the cotton gin next to the cemetery.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGzqrJ5Hfo0Ft7XcsB3JFFfgexBfE28fLhHb0r-eTPUqm9dEliIGxGQHK0NRCjLMc2erLLL5xmQiXowPtNGFhYkPGvPwIBewUa4KVSxhlJclA4l6PJTrbHonL45uLNZBFd6nrrdDwPtU/s1600/Willie+Foster.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGzqrJ5Hfo0Ft7XcsB3JFFfgexBfE28fLhHb0r-eTPUqm9dEliIGxGQHK0NRCjLMc2erLLL5xmQiXowPtNGFhYkPGvPwIBewUa4KVSxhlJclA4l6PJTrbHonL45uLNZBFd6nrrdDwPtU/s320/Willie+Foster.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568558750872292850" border="0" /></a><br />But the Holly Ridge cemetery is a place I always visit when I'm in the Delta. Although there are houses across the road and a working cotton gin next door, this spot somehow always gives me an intensely desolate, isolated feeling. I don't think I've ever seen another human being while visiting the cemetery, and it feels like the middle of nowhere as much as anyplace I've visited.<br /><br />Digging a grave in the Holly Ridge cemetery must be a nightmare. I've never visited when the ground wasn't wet and spongy, with standing water scattered around. In addition to Patton, harmonica player Willie Foster (whom I heard in 1995) and Asie Payton, who had two stunning posthumous albums released, are buried there.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSnfAVSol43t1haB90-1GX0EHG0S318dzClk09869I3deIPBR0MyHTpTdDc3-lfBkIJybMNR2GTen0kaB-KjcpED1r0sUQS-tx_eiXd4vT3X4kwioPvaavqqD77gy69PlieS2LohNch0/s1600/CIMG1922.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSnfAVSol43t1haB90-1GX0EHG0S318dzClk09869I3deIPBR0MyHTpTdDc3-lfBkIJybMNR2GTen0kaB-KjcpED1r0sUQS-tx_eiXd4vT3X4kwioPvaavqqD77gy69PlieS2LohNch0/s320/CIMG1922.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568559577074192818" border="0" /></a><br />I also visited the grave of Sonny Boy Williamson (the second one) outside of Tutwiler, and Dockery Farms. Dockery, as much as any place on Earth, can reasonably lay claim to being the birthplace of the blues. Charley Patton lived there for some 30 years, and learned to play guitar there, inspired by an older musician, Henry Sloan.<br /><br />But I wanted to hear some music, so after a couple of days I moved my base of operations to Clarksdale, where I rented a wonderful, large apartment downtown for a couple of days. I was staying two doors down from where W. C. Handy lived for awhile, and just steps from the depot where Muddy Waters caught the Illinois Central train to Chicago. Weekends are about the only time to hear music in the Delta, so on Friday night I went to hear Terry "Big T" Williams at Ground Zero, Morgan Freeman's blues club in Clarksdale. I had been impressed with Big T on recordings, but his live show was kind of disappointing - a pretty slick presentation of predictable blues covers by Albert King, B. B. King, etc.<br /><br />But the next night was something else. Clarksdale once had numerous juke joints - informal bars with a jukebox and live music on the weekends. They're pretty much all gone now except for Red's. Red's frankly looks like an abandoned, boarded-up building. But on Friday and Saturday nights, it's anything but. The crowd was fairly small on the Saturday night I was there, but the music was just what I was looking for. Big A (I only learned his real name, Anthony Sherrod, later) and his three-piece blues band played with soul, humor, and intensity. They played some of the same cover tunes I had heard the night before, but Big A and his cheap-ass guitar (I never did figure out what brand it was) turned every song into a raw, strong, immediate experience. His rhythm section played with that perfect blend of drive and relaxation that's found in the best blues. I couldn't keep still.<br /><br />There was more to my trip which would probably only interest someone as geeky as me. I loved the little moments when I encountered a trace or remnant of blues history, like the tile floor that's only thing left of Sonny Boy Williamson's house in Helena, Arkansas, or the trestle of the Yazoo Delta (Yellow Dog) rail line I unexpectedly came across in Boyle. A lot has changed in the Delta, but many things remain the same. I can't decide if that's good or bad.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-72374190919343602532010-12-08T11:36:00.006-05:002011-06-23T21:02:10.856-04:00Council Spur Blues - Robert Curtis Smith, RIPI've been wanting to write something about the great, if obscure, bluesman Robert Curtis Smith. Now it seems as though this post must serve as a memorial. Smith was not famous enough for his passing to be noted in the press, but word has reached the blues community through his family that he died in Chicago in November. Smith deserves to be remembered by the world at large, if for no other reason than because he recorded one of the best blues albums of the LP era.<br /><br />R.C. Smith was an elusive figure. He was born in or around Cruger, Mississippi, at the edge of the Delta region, around 1930. For the first 38 years or so of his life he seemed to alternate between attempting to survive the poverty and oppression of life in Mississippi and attempting to escape it. He left the Delta for Chicago and Texas at various times, but apparently found little relief, since he always returned to Mississippi. In an early-1960's interview with Paul Oliver, he described the conditions in which black sharecroppers found themselves in Mississippi:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">You work from the time right sun-up until sundown. Other words in choppin'</span> (cotton) <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">it's three dollars a day, and it's hard to make enough money to practically do anything, because, during the week you got to live and you go to the store and take up a little groceries to carry you that week but when you paid off you owe almost half of that. So there ain't anything you can do with the little change you has got, but stay here, because you can't leave here unless you do leave walkin'.</span><br /><br />It would be nice to report that Smith's fortunes changed when he walked into Wade Walton's barbershop in Clarksdale on the day in 1960 when Paul Oliver and Chris Strachwitz were there, searching for unknown and long-lost blues musicians. Oliver and Strachwitz recognized his talent right away, and Smith made several recordings in 1960 and 1961, including one of the most remarkable blues albums ever. <span style="font-style:italic;">Clarksdale Blues: The Blues of Robert Curtis Smith</span> was released on the Bluesville subsidiary of Prestige records; it made absolutely no impact and sunk without a trace, never to be reissued. But for those of us lucky enough to have a copy, it's a treasure. <br /><br />Smith's music shows an awareness of the blues tradition; he "covers" songs by Memphis Minnie and Big Bill Broonzy, as well as the traditional "Catfish Blues." But the really striking songs are his originals. Their power comes largely from his melodic gift (not every bluesman can create memorable, beautiful melodies) and the structures of his songs - most are based on the standard 12-bar blues pattern, but are altered or extended in very interesting and original ways. One song, "Council Spur Blues," describes conditions on Roy Flowers' plantation in great detail, mentioning Flowers and his overseer, Mr. Walker, by name. This was a brave gesture for a black man in Mississippi in 1961.<br /><br />Smith finally escaped Mississippi around 1968, spending the rest of his life in Chicago. He played the blues up north for awhile, and even auditioned for a spot in Willie Dixon's band. At some point, he had the religious conversion experience he later recounted in "Lye Water Conversion" on the album <span style="font-style:italic;">From Mississippi to Chicago</span>, and only performed gospel music after that. Most people in the blues community knew nothing of all this for years; it seemed as if this talented musician had just disappeared from the face of the earth. For a long time Jim O'Neal, owner of the Rooster Blues record label, had a picture of Smith posted in his Stackhouse record store in Clarksdale; the caption read, "Do you know this man?"<br /><br />Eventually Wade Walton became aware of Smith's whereabouts; this led to his appearance at the 1997 Sunflower River Blues Festival in Clarksdale, where I was lucky enough to hear him. It was clear that this was Smith's first performance ever in a concert setting; he was uncomfortable and unsure of what to do or say on stage. But the music (all gospel songs, of course) was passionate and powerful, and over all too soon.<br /><br />And now there won't be any more music by this remarkable musician. But you can still hear his recordings, if you can find them. A comprehensive discography of Smith's records has been put together by Stefan Wirz, and can be found <a href="http://www.wirz.de/music/smircfrm.htm">here</a>. It looks like a lot of records, but most of the issues are drawn from the same few recording sessions. The most easily available CD featuring Smith is <span style="font-style:italic;">I Have to Paint My Face: Mississippi Blues 1960</span>, an anthology on the Arhoolie label; Smith's four solo selections are excellent, and there's a fun example of Wade Walton's infectious, rhythmic playing of his razor and strop to Smith's guitar accompaniment. <span style="font-style:italic;">From Mississippi to Chicago</span>, mentioned above, features several of Smith's later gospel songs and is still in print. <span style="font-style:italic;">Clarksdale Blues</span>, his masterpiece, is long out of print and very difficult to find, but for those who know their way around the internet, can be found for download. <br /><br />I'm glad I got to hear R.C. Smith perform that afternoon in Clarksdale. So long to a talented man who overcame a lot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuzaoXTj5kL-YqFdh4imna-NwROqqJVajrGQohXRcw_x3Kjm58J3aihkdGe3d8FhAiqXL6qxevanJEcpVJlrC-ydRl_VxOlfPSPOsaUAfXNmlzq_0XimaQ0b9093TkruBAh5IjI8sT2E/s1600/Robert+Curtis+Smith+Clarksdale+Blues.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuzaoXTj5kL-YqFdh4imna-NwROqqJVajrGQohXRcw_x3Kjm58J3aihkdGe3d8FhAiqXL6qxevanJEcpVJlrC-ydRl_VxOlfPSPOsaUAfXNmlzq_0XimaQ0b9093TkruBAh5IjI8sT2E/s400/Robert+Curtis+Smith+Clarksdale+Blues.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548348736381363122" /></a>Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-40602272373686510272010-12-04T21:40:00.010-05:002011-02-01T23:51:29.625-05:00Revisiting Ma and Fletcher(I apologize in advance for the appearance/layout of this post. I tried to insert the photos in such a way that would look good on the screen, but found that I have very little control over how it may end up looking on any individual computer screen. On the plus side, you can click on any photo for a larger view.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rvqbDxu6q70x4OmJoT6owFX9EllFJlOVzINKbZIGBbb_Z3wK8NBA8gxJ4lQiZW2L4ZY1OFe8HlpsBWRhQMb-2lNUaHUa7u5sxaDrFR40NBQrAuC0Yv15Oeb3DUWaXLSMAQ_qLjXLG3o/s1600/Ma+Rainey+marker.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rvqbDxu6q70x4OmJoT6owFX9EllFJlOVzINKbZIGBbb_Z3wK8NBA8gxJ4lQiZW2L4ZY1OFe8HlpsBWRhQMb-2lNUaHUa7u5sxaDrFR40NBQrAuC0Yv15Oeb3DUWaXLSMAQ_qLjXLG3o/s320/Ma+Rainey+marker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547006656021558626" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxKMkWsTkAfVaExu1BUW7TcfyQIEa1KPFTEEZ_6t_Vq6ES0jkOcMoNmPGFg6E4MjUhdmqIxrSc2LA4g7ggTwaW3UA_WhtRgimfXPEYrY_yi8gUaABffTi9yUzD7_ZLbSwcqa62g_Ks0k/s1600/Ma+Rainey+house.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxKMkWsTkAfVaExu1BUW7TcfyQIEa1KPFTEEZ_6t_Vq6ES0jkOcMoNmPGFg6E4MjUhdmqIxrSc2LA4g7ggTwaW3UA_WhtRgimfXPEYrY_yi8gUaABffTi9yUzD7_ZLbSwcqa62g_Ks0k/s320/Ma+Rainey+house.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546844759033067458" border="0" /></a> Yesterday I headed south again, armed with a camera this time, to revisit the Ma Rainey house and grave that I stumbled on by chance last month. (See my <a href="http://jeffcrompton.blogspot.com/2010/11/chance-encounter-with-ma-rainey.html">November 10 post.</a>) The door of the Rainey house was locked when I tried it, but the woman working there had seen me walk up, so she let me in after determining that I was there to visit the museum, not for any nefarious purpose. She obviously had been trained in Rainey lore, but in some way she didn't seem to "get" it - a lot of the things she said were close to being right, not not quite. I would have preferred to be left alone to wander around by myself, but that didn't seem to be an option. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWAxbDAhz-2HOP6q9Em22uv-AiZFQ00YchKualtBUF57aFSjO-ZLu3o-WI6959Yej5k2u4X5mePxbtuDerVn-5-IgwEmF9WIuu_V9z11V_401Z4nmZMF-ZBd_Aelw8aKe-X9SMiUlXwA/s1600/Ma+Rainey+bed.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWAxbDAhz-2HOP6q9Em22uv-AiZFQ00YchKualtBUF57aFSjO-ZLu3o-WI6959Yej5k2u4X5mePxbtuDerVn-5-IgwEmF9WIuu_V9z11V_401Z4nmZMF-ZBd_Aelw8aKe-X9SMiUlXwA/s320/Ma+Rainey+bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546845954545794034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAUqwzQGVWL4wXPFN-MSORj7NfhuSAEBJfiozInSBxgcgQpk6nwSMNmskkpCQhLvyq9Zcb0eFaQkJjJSjZIY8PfrPgIS1mjpA1GO5J_VtIJ30aIfSCFGhhJmuy6ZGRwBc1Pt3Ut19MtU/s1600/Ma+Rainey+piano.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAUqwzQGVWL4wXPFN-MSORj7NfhuSAEBJfiozInSBxgcgQpk6nwSMNmskkpCQhLvyq9Zcb0eFaQkJjJSjZIY8PfrPgIS1mjpA1GO5J_VtIJ30aIfSCFGhhJmuy6ZGRwBc1Pt3Ut19MtU/s320/Ma+Rainey+piano.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546847080651460082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The house, as pictures attest, was in pretty bad shape a few years back, but it's been restored nicely. Much of Ma's original furniture is intact, including the piano, which has been stripped of the green paint that someone applied at some point. There are some Paramount records on display that made me drool. Otherwise, the displays were pretty generic, providing information about Rainey and the blues. But for me, the whole point was just being in Ma Rainey's house.<br /><br />One of my assumption in my previous Rainey post was wrong, I think. Ma had such a large house built not so that she could take in boarders, but so that her parents (and sister, I think) could live with her. I was fascinated to see that she had her father's name inscribed in the concrete before the door.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzboj7iFm7sCmuANzgHDEkQueaILmG70J7mDPaD4WtSUflr1fR9_XquvpgYDxD2OeZLDcbvWYiCRSuWKZcvtvJpVGGTC4RjFwye1yzdgMf2aOW2NQzAJUVzx2rz3bb7Wsay6w-ikvfSBQ/s1600/Ma+Rainey+entrance.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzboj7iFm7sCmuANzgHDEkQueaILmG70J7mDPaD4WtSUflr1fR9_XquvpgYDxD2OeZLDcbvWYiCRSuWKZcvtvJpVGGTC4RjFwye1yzdgMf2aOW2NQzAJUVzx2rz3bb7Wsay6w-ikvfSBQ/s320/Ma+Rainey+entrance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546850191418656034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was also wrong in assuming that the Pridgetts buried on either side of Ma Rainey in Porterdale Cemetery were sisters. Edna, her mother, is on one side, and I think that (based on the dates) that Edna's sister is buried on the other side.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKSAuU_A1poDkvZX4xPKHrXaJ1pom4pmsQBSZNCrUlAphxw3v4EJPwgSMhBnl63BQmj8l5FfPOsE4DIg_E1mRCl-auEwFejYKKLaoqZ_iD9s5btcNQB6iacSOuDyYr7fzWTCVQb9JmP8/s1600/Ma+Rainey+grave+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKSAuU_A1poDkvZX4xPKHrXaJ1pom4pmsQBSZNCrUlAphxw3v4EJPwgSMhBnl63BQmj8l5FfPOsE4DIg_E1mRCl-auEwFejYKKLaoqZ_iD9s5btcNQB6iacSOuDyYr7fzWTCVQb9JmP8/s320/Ma+Rainey+grave+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547008503820326994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />While in the cemetery I took also took pictures of an interesting-shaped tombstone, and the stone marking the grave of Jenny, Kizzie's baby, that I wrote about in that earlier post. Notice that Jenny's stone is marble, and professionally carved. Many, if not most, of the monuments in Porterdale cemetery are concrete, and are much rougher (and cheaper) in appearance. Who paid for the the stone over Jenny's grave? Was Kizzie the maid of a privileged daughter? Could Jenny's father have been the slavemaster?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLRlDTTQ66hLTm6UB6CyZuv5d8B-VRFB0FuWAi1dyA8w7YvHg2vMRafQJ_jrWA3kjrKv4xpZTjs2jnKDzLNfmxvdEUpvZcQWjnS3XlN339ItOyAlea3NfovJ8aQZU1N_RQE74xk_tcOs/s1600/Unusual+grave.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvLRlDTTQ66hLTm6UB6CyZuv5d8B-VRFB0FuWAi1dyA8w7YvHg2vMRafQJ_jrWA3kjrKv4xpZTjs2jnKDzLNfmxvdEUpvZcQWjnS3XlN339ItOyAlea3NfovJ8aQZU1N_RQE74xk_tcOs/s320/Unusual+grave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547010509247626866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRGIZa8yVrrrwKVBJQzIMHBbnMvulpKedd2kyxMYSY7p8NHOhev6_mMNLC8rlXtSuQltpfoB-SIF1b6jJiXZTe-z_E0H0RdetbPYM12U0BOdaFT276d9Y8Oea7BFkDqnx5PpVAFvCJUc/s1600/Jenny+and+Kizzie+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRGIZa8yVrrrwKVBJQzIMHBbnMvulpKedd2kyxMYSY7p8NHOhev6_mMNLC8rlXtSuQltpfoB-SIF1b6jJiXZTe-z_E0H0RdetbPYM12U0BOdaFT276d9Y8Oea7BFkDqnx5PpVAFvCJUc/s320/Jenny+and+Kizzie+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547011151844907586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After paying my respects at Porterdale, I headed 60 miles further south, to the little town of Cuthbert, Georgia. Cuthbert was the birthplace of the great Fletcher Henderson, who practically invented the big band swing style. Henderson spent most of his life in New York or on the road, but he's buried in his hometown. While Ma Rainey was buried in a segregated cemetery, Henderson's grave is in the town's main, mostly white, graveyard. I don't think this had anything to do with his fame as a musician; it was probably due to the respect in which his father was held. Fletcher Henderson, Sr. was principal of the African-American school in Cuthbert for decades.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis5MmQo4FtXLZ4vvMMQkeUaBbO3tSnACsrSxMwV-SjkJH0orZPTSg_jtOMCbYU2sR7zdb3u5cbOX_mZ9Ssi7h8SKRhYzgydpamKgB39gKkXco9h0rodXsKMN4t4b_5w3dYh_2v-QOpaI/s1600/Henderson+plot+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis5MmQo4FtXLZ4vvMMQkeUaBbO3tSnACsrSxMwV-SjkJH0orZPTSg_jtOMCbYU2sR7zdb3u5cbOX_mZ9Ssi7h8SKRhYzgydpamKgB39gKkXco9h0rodXsKMN4t4b_5w3dYh_2v-QOpaI/s320/Henderson+plot+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547013663621065666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ19vM1YhSXztd4XV4pOnT1wp9ocBHrIyFZbi0pxfsL9QmwQ7n47jz4EULdqOSqmypQ8BwyVHl9lGbaMapOqwsON5vmkbXO9O7dKYDUOZH0fvnVDnFlhdBmOGazyuVqjD57xxn1q1Nq8A/s1600/Fletcher+Henderson+grave.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ19vM1YhSXztd4XV4pOnT1wp9ocBHrIyFZbi0pxfsL9QmwQ7n47jz4EULdqOSqmypQ8BwyVHl9lGbaMapOqwsON5vmkbXO9O7dKYDUOZH0fvnVDnFlhdBmOGazyuVqjD57xxn1q1Nq8A/s320/Fletcher+Henderson+grave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547014534132852066" border="0" /></a> I last visited Cuthbert and Fletcher's grave about 15 years ago. At that time, there was nothing at the gravesite to indicate that a brilliant and widely influential musician was buried there. Since that time, Chet Kruly, who played with Henderson's band in the late 1940's, sponsored a marker which at least mentions that Henderson had a band.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJ5U0EtJw1XHVL_4kEBkxJivIE2QmqgdXVFU1OXn-UQmy7eVqxjwhe_TqjlBRoNQn_I_xiS8L8CrET98OLRqSlksMkz0TSl_CzFYcenFBz8ojugv8bQyLJPj4zLug_wScR-hQQ-GTP70/s1600/Henderson+plot+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJ5U0EtJw1XHVL_4kEBkxJivIE2QmqgdXVFU1OXn-UQmy7eVqxjwhe_TqjlBRoNQn_I_xiS8L8CrET98OLRqSlksMkz0TSl_CzFYcenFBz8ojugv8bQyLJPj4zLug_wScR-hQQ-GTP70/s320/Henderson+plot+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547016335376978626" border="0" /></a><br />I'm glad I got to pay my respects to these two great Georgia musicians.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-13271761381712801852010-11-26T10:45:00.004-05:002010-11-26T10:53:59.186-05:00Audio Glimpses of the PastI spend a good bit of time in antique stores these days, searching for 78s. A couple of months ago, I visited an Atlanta antique store which had an interesting-looking box. It looked like it might have records in it, and it did - not 78s, but 40 or 50 home-recorded discs. They were 12" discs; some were marked as 33 1/3, and some were labeled with song titles or rudimentary information about the radio programs they were recorded from. I bought three of the most promising-looking of the records, took them home, and found them to be easily playable on my turntable. Moreover, they were quite well-recorded, for the most part. A couple of the sides were pretty disappointing - they proved to be nothing more than recordings of disc jockeys playing records, but several of the sides were intriguing and musically rewarding enough to get me pretty excited.<br /><br />Radio was once a more interesting and creative medium than it is these days. Bands of all types commonly broadcast live from clubs and ballrooms, their sounds carried over the various radio networks to listeners across the country. These broadcasts were sometimes recorded by hobbyists with home recording equipment, which until the late 1940's meant a disc recorder of some kind. The person who recorded the stash of discs I found labeled some with his name, and even with information about the equipment he used.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRtOvlJQpfWhyphenhyphenTxjbTcoUtqsjT2HMnMb0kJv_c49k5ZDPlPXnP3YYR2nGs4TQdUAdSCSBdPR2Klj5nD6I-q3q9yekaeME-uQyr8-Od3JcRkwxHcPu1kbGe3LfDBzEh4XW5kFsvUVe4FM/s1600/Presto+Model-Y.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRtOvlJQpfWhyphenhyphenTxjbTcoUtqsjT2HMnMb0kJv_c49k5ZDPlPXnP3YYR2nGs4TQdUAdSCSBdPR2Klj5nD6I-q3q9yekaeME-uQyr8-Od3JcRkwxHcPu1kbGe3LfDBzEh4XW5kFsvUVe4FM/s320/Presto+Model-Y.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543696246934821042" /></a>Our recordist was named J.M. Keith, apparently from Atlanta, since most of the radio stations he recorded from were Atlanta stations like WSB and WAGA. On a couple of discs he engraved the make, model, and serial number of the recorders he used. The earlier records were made with a Presto Model Y, serial #4111. The Model Y paired one of Presto's cheaper recorders with an amplifier and speaker. Later, Mr. Keith upgraded to a Presto 6N, serial #1891. The 6N was a high-quality machine, used by many radio stations. And it wasn't cheap. The price for 6N was $735 in 1950; it probably wasn't much less in 1948, when Keith seemed to have acquired his. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gxWYOifaqrZdq13o2ujFT33ZfvMRCwnkpmmagqzQvaaKGgHj1xh18fKNAOm5ufcuhu9inqRueQ-kHqMQb6BkOIM-xGi7qQqkrS-yvYox8GJR3N-KUR5vSoj9Y-5fnRBoaEiMJihQBZk/s1600/Presto+Model-6N.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gxWYOifaqrZdq13o2ujFT33ZfvMRCwnkpmmagqzQvaaKGgHj1xh18fKNAOm5ufcuhu9inqRueQ-kHqMQb6BkOIM-xGi7qQqkrS-yvYox8GJR3N-KUR5vSoj9Y-5fnRBoaEiMJihQBZk/s320/Presto+Model-6N.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543688839763402962" /></a><br /><br />Our friend J.M. Keith had somewhat eclectic tastes; he recorded all kinds of music. There's a really horrible "lounge" quartet from a club in New York, several disc jockey shows, and lots of recordings from the semi-classical Bell Telephone Hour. Listening to those first three discs and examining the labels and sleeves gave me some insight into Mr. Keith's labeling system, though, so I went back to the antique store and bought all of the records that I though might contain worthwhile music. I ended up with a dozen discs. They all seem to be have been recorded in 1947 or 1948. I played them all one evening, one after another, and it was like a trip back in time - like listening to a couple of hours of late-forties radio, dialing to different stations every twelve minutes or so. Most of the discs are quite well-recorded, although in a few cases, the surfaces have deteriorated a little bit. And Mr. Keith would occasionally record with the gain set too high, resulting in some distortion.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQ0P-Iun_RlG8uw2NgSwvLyBt3PXSdf3JwrSx2zLAGP96N-I0emsAv-EkkrhVP4n7x7fB1m06JMUyVcpM8QGw3IenENpwmDY_uHvS8bLPoZwPzVAwwaAV9FPPwC2vvQf7aUJGRti3sv8/s1600/Barn+Dance+disc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQ0P-Iun_RlG8uw2NgSwvLyBt3PXSdf3JwrSx2zLAGP96N-I0emsAv-EkkrhVP4n7x7fB1m06JMUyVcpM8QGw3IenENpwmDY_uHvS8bLPoZwPzVAwwaAV9FPPwC2vvQf7aUJGRti3sv8/s320/Barn+Dance+disc.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543883136634485154" /></a><br /><br />There ended up being six sides of music that were interesting enough to digitize and preserve: <br /><br />Three tunes by the Ray McKinley big band from the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans, August, 1947. One of these is Eddie Sauter's amazingly forward-looking "Sand Storm," which the band had recorded in the studio a year and a half earlier.<br /><br />Three selections by a very different big band, that of Noro Morales. "Caramba Bebop" from this broadcast is a very hot piece of Latin jazz, with an oddly wonderful piano solo by Morales.<br /><br />A broadcast by the Adrian Rollini Trio. Rollini was the first great bass saxophonist in jazz, but by 1947 he was playing vibes and doubling on chimes. These are the only hot jazz chimes solos I've ever heard. <br /><br />A side split between Rollini's trio and the Mary Osborne Trio. Osborne was an excellent Charlie Christian-inspired guitarist, but she's featured mostly as a vocalist here.<br /><br />Twelve or so minutes from an August, 1948 broadcast of the Grand Ole Opry. This is an interesting broadcast, but I was surprised at how lame most of the music was. The other side of this disc is much better:<br /><br />Part of the WSB Barn Dance program that followed the Grand Ole Opry. Barn Dance was similar to the Opry, but the music (and comedy) is more "down home."<br /><br />I have uploaded selections from all of these broadcasts (except the Grand Ole Opry) <a href="http://jeffcrompton.com/index_files/KeithBroadcasts.htm">here</a>. Once on the page with the links, you can click to listen or right-click to download. I hope you enjoy these audio glimpses of the past. And thank you, J.M. Keith.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-89543402942118486832010-11-17T23:22:00.005-05:002010-11-17T23:33:33.230-05:00Blues Poetry IIAs I was cleaning out my file cabinet a few days ago, I came upon a folder of transcriptions of blues lyrics that I did about 15 years ago. Once again, I was stuck with what beautiful poetry blues lyrics can be. Here are four of my favorites from that old stash of transcriptions, plus one more (the Percy Mayfield song) that I transcribed tonight.<br /><br />Transcribing blues lyrics can be a challenge. Thick Mississippi accents, idiosyncratic pronunciation, archaic turns of phrase, poor recordings with worn surfaces - all of these conspire against an accurate hearing of the lyrics. Comparing different published transcriptions of the same song might reveal very different hearings. But I reviewed all of these tonight, and I'm satisfied with their accuracy. Being Southern helps, as does experience with listening to the blues. <br /><br />And as wonderful as some of these lyrics are, they are greatly enhanced by hearing them in context, sung by these brilliant musicians. The interaction of the lyrics, the singing, and the instruments is what creates the complete picture. I've listed the original issue, place and date of recording after each song. Punctuation and line breaks are, of course, my own.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mama, “Tain’t Long for Day</span><br />Blind Willie McTell<br /><br />Wake up, mama, don’t you sleep so hard.<br />Wake up, mama, don’t you sleep so hard.<br />Boy, it’s these old blues walkin’ all over your yard.<br /><br />I’ve got these blues, reason I’m not satisfied.<br />I’ve got these blues; I’m not satisfied.<br />That’s the reason why I stole away and cried.<br /><br />Blues grabbed me at midnight, didn’t turn me loose ‘til day.<br />Blues grabbed me at midnight, didn’t turn me loose ‘til day.<br />I didn’t have no mama to drive these blues away.<br /><br />The big star fallin’, mama, it ain’t long for day.<br />The big star fallin’, mama, ‘tain’t long for day.<br />Maybe the sunshine will drive these blues away.<br /><br /> (Oh, come here quick.<br /> Come on mama,<br /> You know I gotcha.)<br /><br />Mm – mm.<br /> Mm – mm.<br /> Mm – mm.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Victor 21474<br />Atlanta, Georgia; October 18, 1927</span><br /><br /><br />Son House is one of my favorite bluesmen, and one who really paid attention to the quality of his lyrics. "Pony Blues" is traditionally about sexual prowess; House's version seems to be about more than that. Everyone will have his or her own interpretation, but to me, House's pony is himself - his soul.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Pony Blues</span><br />Son House<br /><br />Why don’t you catch my pony; now saddle up my black mare.<br />Oh, my pony; saddle up, up my black mare.<br />You know I’m gonna find my baby, well, in the world somewhere.<br /><br />You know, he’s a travelin’ horse, and he’s too black bad.<br />He’s a travelin’ pony; I declare, he’s too black bad.<br />You know he got a gait, now, no Shetland ain’t, ain’t never had.<br /><br />You know, I take him by the reins and I led him around and round.<br />I said I take him by the reins and I, I led him around and round.<br />You know, he ain’t the best in the world, but he’s the best ever been in this town.<br /><br />You know, he’s a travelin’ horse and he don’t deny his name.<br />He’s a travelin’ pony and he don’t deny his name.<br />You know, the way he can travel is a lowdown, oh, dirty shame.<br /><br />Why don’t you come up here, pony; now come on, please, let’s us go.<br />I said, come up, get up now; please, pony, now let’s us go.<br />Let’s we saddle on down on the Gulf of, of Mexico.<br /><br />You know, the horse that I’m riding, he can foxtrot, he can lope and pace.<br />I said the pony I’m ridin’, he can foxtrot, he can lope and pace.<br />You know, a horse with that many gaits, you know, I’m bound to win that race.<br /><br />Mm, he’s a travelin’ horse and he don’t deny his name.<br />He’s a travelin’ pony; he don’t deny his name.<br />You know, the way he can travel is a lowdown, oh, dirty shame.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Library of Congress 92401<br />Robinsonville, Mississippi; July 17, 1942</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sad Days, Lonely Nights</span><br />Junior Kimbrough<br /><br />My mama told me – <br />I was a child.<br />She said, “Son,<br />Gonna have hard days.”<br /><br />My daddy told me, too.<br />He said, “Son,<br />Gonna have sad days,<br />Lonely nights;<br /><br />Sittin’ alone;<br />Head hung down,<br />Tears runnin’ down.”<br /><br /><br />Done got old – <br />Sad days,<br />Lonely nights<br />Done overtaken me.<br /><br />Sometimes I sit alone;<br />I wonder ‘bout the things<br />My mama and daddy told me.<br /><br />Sad days,<br />Lonely nights<br />Done overtaken me.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Fat Possum 1006<br />Holly Springs, Mississippi; April, 1994</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Memory Pain</span><br />Percy Mayfield<br /><br />Every time I see a woman, it makes me think about mine.<br />Every time I see a woman, it make me think of mine.<br />And the way she used to treat me, boys, I just can’t keep from cryin’.<br /><br />I used to come home in the evenin’; that woman would be gone.<br />When I would come home in the evenin’, my woman would be gone.<br />And when I would get up in the mornin’, boys, she’d just be coming home.<br /><br />I don’t see well, and I’m absent-minded,<br />And I hardly sleep at all.<br />My past has put me on a habit<br />Of nicotine and alcohol.<br />It serve me right to suffer; serve me right to be alone.<br />Seems I’m still livin’ with the memory of the days that’s past and gone.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Specialty 2126<br />Hollywood, California; April 23, 1952</span><br /><br /><br />This Joe Callicott song was later recorded by Ry Cooder as "France Chance." Callicott's reference to "great news" means "big news," not "good news."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Love Me Baby Blues</span><br />Joe Callicott<br /><br />Drop down, baby, just like showers of rain;<br /> Hate to hear my fair brown call my name.<br />Yeah, I hate to hear my fair brown call my name;<br />Well, she calls so loud and the poor girl calls so plain.<br /><br />Walked to the station, tears runnin’ down;<br /> I got news my baby done left town.<br />Yeah, I got news my baby, well, she done blowed this town.<br />Well, I got great news – my baby done blowed this town.<br /><br />Rooster crowed in England; heard ‘im in France.<br /> Look like the other guy won’t ‘low me no chance.<br />Yeah, look like the mmm…, ah, they won’t ‘low me no chance.<br />Ah, look like to me I can’t get a possible chance.<br /><br />I knows my doggie when I hear him bark;<br /> I know my baby if I feel her in the dark.<br />Yeah, I know my baby… I feel her in the….<br /><br />Ah, tell me woman, how can you be so mean?<br /> Give all of my money out on the brand new stream.<br />Baby, oh tell me, woman, how can you be so…?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Arhoolie 1042<br />Nesbit, Mississippi; August, 1967</span>Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-60166404279850144952010-11-10T17:20:00.000-05:002010-11-10T17:26:22.142-05:00A Chance Encounter With Ma RaineyI'll begin this post as so many bloggers have over the years: It's been a long time since my last post. I'll try not to let that happen again. Now, on to business:<br /><br />Yesterday I drove the 90 miles or so from Atlanta to Columbus, Georgia to hunt for 78s and do some geocaching. Columbus in a nice little city; the downtown area is pretty healthy, mostly due to the large number of Columbus State University students spending their money, I imagine. After looking around downtown for awhile, I drove down 5th Avenue and was surprised to see a historical marker proclaiming "Ma Rainey Home."<br /><br />Ma Rainey was one of the seminal blues performers and recording artists, although "seminal" seems like an odd adjective to apply to a woman. She was born Gertrude Pridgett in Columbus in 1886 - earlier, notice, than either Charley Patton or Blind Lemon Jefferson. She was singing the blues on tours throughout the South by the time she was 20, and was one of the first Southern blues singers to record - although Bessie Smith beat her to the studios by ten months. Rainey recorded 111 released sides (including alternate takes); unfortunately, her entire recording career was for Paramount Records, famous for the poor quality of their recordings and pressings. But enough of her voice comes through the lousy sound to make it clear that she was the real deal - a strong, earthy singer who sounds like she grew up with the blues.<br /><br />I had forgotten that this great woman was from Columbus. By the time my brain had processed what I had just seen, I had passed the house. I quickly backed up, pulled over and got out of the car. I read the marker several times, and stared at the house for awhile. It's a large house - I suspect Rainey rented out rooms - and it's painted yellow, as it apparently was when Rainey lived there between her retirement in 1935 and death in 1939. The house is now a museum, but I didn't know that - there was nothing to indicate that it was open to the public. So I just stared.<br /><br />The marker indicated that Porterdale Cemetery, where Rainey is buried, was nearby. I found the cemetery about a half mile away. Three guys were digging a grave near the entrance, so I pulled over and asked where Ma Rainey's grave was, and one of them showed me. Rainey is buried between two of her Pridgett sisters; each has a concrete slab over her grave. Ma's just reads "Gertrude Rainey" and the date of her death, but she also has a nice new headstone proclaiming her status as "Mother of the Blues."<br /><br />After visiting the grave, I had the urge to drive back by the house while playing some Ma Rainey music. This was all unplanned, so I didn't have any Rainey CDs with me, but I had brought Allen Lowe's idiosyncratic blues history box set <span style="font-style:italic;">Really the Blues?</span> as road music, so I found "Don't Fish in My Sea" and cranked it up.<br /><br />It was very cool to run across Rainey's house more or less by chance, and to be led to her gravesite by the plaque. I'm planning to go back before too long, actually visit the museum and take some pictures.<br /><br />At the cemetery, I had a gut-wrenching moment not directly related to Ma Rainey. Porterdale Cemetery was a burying ground for the black residents of Columbus - for most of the South's history, segregation didn't end with death. Near Rainey's grave was the grave of an infant. The headstone was inscribed with the child's given name (which I don't remember), the date of her death (1858) and "Kizzie's Baby." No last names. I thought it was odd, until it hit me - Kizzie and her child didn't have last names. They were slaves. You can't live down here without frequently thinking about the terrible history of the region, but it was a powerful experience to unexpectedly come across the raw evidence of human slavery - not in a museum, not in a book, but while just wandering around.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-13191777654736331632010-09-04T11:30:00.003-04:002010-09-12T00:28:24.331-04:00So Long, Donna'sMusic has been a part of life on New Orleans' Rampart Street at least since the beginnings of jazz. On South Rampart one could hear Bunk Johnson and Sidney Bechet playing at the Eagle Saloon or young Louis Armstrong holding forth at the Red Onion. (Both of these buildings are still standing.) The ballroom of the Astoria Hotel was a popular spot in the 1920s and 30s; you could catch Lee Collins and David Jones with their Astoria Hot Eight. Heading downtown to North Rampart, Luis Russell led the band at the Cadillac before moving north to Chicago. The Boswell Sisters were "discovered" while singing at the New Orleans Athletic Club. Cosimo Matassa opened his first recording studio at the corner of North Rampart and Dumaine, the corner immortalized in Professor Longhair's "Go To the Mardi Gras." In the 1970s, Lu & Charlie's featured Ellis Marsalis, Alvin Batiste, and James Booker. More recently, Big Sam Williams' Funky Butt was one of the best places in the city to hear music, but the club never reopened after Katrina hit. And now an era has ended: a couple of weeks ago Donna's, the last music club on North Rampart, closed its doors for the last time.<br /><br />Music clubs come and go all the time; none of them last forever - although it looks like the Village Vanguard has a shot at immortality. So why does the closing of Donna's affect me so much?<br /><br />From the time that it opened in the early 1990s (I don't remember the exact year), Donna's was something special. Even to an introvert like me, who mostly just wants to be left alone, Donna's was warm and welcoming. It's kind of a cliche, but you felt like family as soon as you walked in the door.<br /><br />And, of course, the music was often amazing. In the early days, Donna featured brass bands; there weren't really any other clubs featuring this amazing New Orleans hybrid music at the time. The bands would stand at one end of the room, and if you wanted to use the restroom, you had to walk through the band. The first time I heard a New Orleans brass band in the flesh was in Jackson Square, where the young Rebirth Brass Band was playing for tips, but my second exposure to this incredible sound was at Donna's, where I heard the Algiers Brass Band. It was such a stunning experience that I went back a couple of nights later to hear the Pin Stripe BB. I was also fortunate enough to catch Tuba Fats' Chosen Few, the Mahogany, Treme, Hurricane (from Holland), and Hot 8 Brass Bands there.<br /><br />Later, of course, they built a bandstand against the windows facing Rampart. And expanding from brass bands, Donna booked a variety of New Orleans music (mostly jazz) into the club.<br /><br />Memories from Donna's: <br /><br />The Tom McDermott Quartet had just played a version of "Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gave to Me" which took all sorts of unexpected and unusual turns. I remember one passage in which drummer Shannon Powell was playing in a different, but related, tempo than the rest of the group. As they played the last note, a police car zoomed down North Rampart, sirens blaring. Bassist Matt Perrine laughed and said, "Oh, no - the trad police!"<br /><br />Uncle Lionel Batiste coming into the club, dressed as sharp as a tack, and dancing with all the young ladies to whatever band was playing.<br /><br />Speaking of Mr. Batiste - standing near him as the Treme Brass Band was playing and realizing just how interesting and creative his bass drumming is.<br /><br />Hearing Kermit Ruffins and the Barbecue Swingers' dark, spooky version of "Light Up." One young man took the message of the song to heart and lit up a joint in the middle of the floor. Donna, who was sensitive to illegal shenanigans in her club, came over the bar like some sort of action hero and had the guy out the door in seconds.<br /><br />The sitters-in: you never knew who was going to show up to play - Leroy Jones, Nicholas Payton, David Torkanowsky, Kermit, visiting musicians from Europe or Japan. One night Tom McDermott was playing with the young band Loose Marbles when veteran trumpeter Jack Fine came in and sat at the bar. He stayed there all night with his horn on the bar, and whenever he felt like it, he'd pick up the trumpet and join in from his barstool. <br /><br />And on a couple of occasions, Donna's was where I experienced some of the best music I have ever heard in my life. I can think of at least two evenings when Evan Christopher and Tom McDermott, playing either with a quartet or as a duo, "lifted the bandstand," as Thelonious Monk put it - they played music that transcended "good music" and touched another level.<br /><br />Donna's husband Charlie manned the kitchen. I still think his barbecue ribs were the best I ever had.<br /><br />Donna and Charlie decided to close the club for a variety of reasons. Charlie has had health problems, and Donna has been commuting to and from Florida, where she has a teaching job. But the primary reason seems to be the condition of the building; the landlord has been unwilling to make repairs, and the building has been slowly falling apart. Incidentally, this was one of the reasons for the demise of the Funky Butt - and that building was owned by the same landlord.<br /><br />I don't live in New Orleans; I was a couple-of-times-a-year visitor to Donna's. I doubt anyone associated with the club would remember me. But I owe some of my most cherished memories to that little club on the corner of North Rampart and St. Ann. So long, Donna's - I'll miss you.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-41585928844257733262010-07-09T22:12:00.000-04:002010-07-09T22:15:08.483-04:00Wonder and Madness at 78 Revolutions per MinuteMy record collecting has been out of hand for years. My wife just shakes her head when I come home with more recorded music. But until fairly recently, I could tell her, "Well, at least I don't collect 78s." Those who have read this blog regularly know that I can no longer make that claim.<br /><br />Record collectors are a little nuts anyway, but collecting 78 RPM records is just over the top. In an age when an iPod can hold 1000 hours of music, filling your home with highly breakable pieces of shellac which hold six minutes of music is just ridiculous. And they will fill your home - 78s take up a lot of room. I'm up to seven boxes.<br /><br />So why bother? Well, the reason I got into 78s is that there is still some music which can't be heard any other way. Not much, these days, with some exhaustive CD reissue programs around the world, but there are still 78s that have not been reissued in any other form. The Boyce Brown record on the Collector's Item label (discussed in an earlier post) is a prime example. I've got more than a few very cool records which are unavailable in any other form.<br /><br />And even though most of the stuff is available in other formats, there is still something kind of magical about hearing the music as the musicians expected it to be heard at the time. I'm not saying that they wouldn't have preferred more advanced technology if it had been available, but most of the music issued on 78s was conceived to be issued in that form. <br /><br />And a well-made 78 in good condition can sound wonderful. There is always some surface noise present, but the ears quickly adjust to that. Many LP and CD reissues of material from 78s filter out the surface noise, which also takes out frequencies of the music, removing some of the "life" from the sound. I never had any complaint about the sound quality of my CD reissue of the 1923 recordings by A. J. Piron's New Orleans Orchestra - until I found one of the original records in excellent condition. The 78 sounds much better than the CD. There are certain records in my collection that I cherish for their sound - I can hear Louis Armstrong's breath through his horn and hear Eddie South's bow on the strings of his violin.<br /><br />There's more to my love of these old records - something less tangible. They are artifacts from the past - windows to a forgotten world. As I hold or play a 78, I often speculate on who originally owned the record - why did they buy this particular record - did they enjoy it? I recently bought a box of records from an antique dealer in Chattanooga. There were a few records in the box which "didn't belong" - they obviously came from another source. But most of the box seemed to be from a single collection. Whose records were they?<br /><br />Well, the original owner was probably from the country, presumably somewhere in East Tennessee or North Georgia. The vast majority of the records are what we would now call country music, but the style was usually called "hillbilly" at the time. Most of the records come from a ten-year period starting in 1924; the earliest record is a real gem from that year - an Okeh record by Henry Whitter, the first "hillbilly" artist to record. The record buyer's tastes leaned, for the most part, toward the more commercial side of country music - Carson Robison is the most-represented artist, and his music was slicker and more "citified" than the more down-home hillbilly musicians. But there were plenty of amazing "real-deal" records in the box, too, by groups like the West Virginia Night Owls, the North Carolina Ramblers, and the Carter Family.<br /><br />The person (or family) who accumulated this collection was probably fairly religious - there are quite a few "white gospel" discs in the stack. He (or they) was probably Irish, and not too many generations removed from the Emerald Isle. There are Irish songs performed in country style (like a Conqueror record by Mac and Bob), but there is one straight-up record of Irish dance tunes by the Four Provinces Orchestra, an Irish band out of Philadelphia.<br /><br />My precursor's record buying tailed off around 1934, but there were a few later records in the stack, like the bizarre gospel song "Television in the Sky," recorded in 1939 by the West Virginia trio of Cap, Andy and Flip. The most recent record is a 1942 Roy Acuff.<br /><br />I owe this mysterious person a debt for bringing together this fascinating collection of early country music. And I'll keep buying those ten- and twelve-inch shellac discs until I totally run out of room.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4030451297620606950.post-44627993425512117282010-06-25T20:49:00.005-04:002010-06-25T21:45:59.275-04:00Goodbye to Two GiantsI haven't posted here in awhile, and it gives me no pleasure that this post is a memorial. Two giants of avant-garde jazz (for lack of a better term) have died in the past few days. Trumpeter/composer Bill Dixon passed last week at the age of 84. And tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson, 81, left us yesterday. <br /><br />For much of their careers, these two men were, to an extent, outsiders - even by the already marginalized standards of avant-garde improvised music. Both were founding members of organizations whose purpose was to encourage and promote the somewhat challenging music created by their members; Dixon was the primary mover behind the Jazz Composers Guild, which grew out of the October Revolution in Jazz, a week-long series of concerts he set up in 1964. Anderson was a founding member of the AACM (Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians), the Chicago organization that gave a forum to Roscoe Mitchell, Muhal Richard Abrams, Joseph Jarman, George Lewis, and many others. The Jazz Composers Guild soon fell apart, split by the differing aims of its members, but the AACM is still going strong.<br /><br />On his first recording, a 1962 album by the Bill Dixon/Archie Shepp Quartet, Dixon sounds like a fairly conventional free-jazz trumpet player, if that's not too much of a contradiction in terms. It was soon apparent that his music went beyond Jazz with a capital J, however. His magnificent 1966 record <span style="font-style:italic;">Intents and Purposes</span> sounds like it has at least one foot in the realm of contemporary classical music. And his trumpet style developed into one of the most distinctive and unusual in jazz - he used smears, spaces, squeezed notes, blats, sounds that were more air that pitch, and multiphonics. And it all worked; when a Dixon solo was over, it felt like a unified statement, not like a series of effects.<br /><br />Bill Dixon was, by many accounts, a difficult figure to deal with. I suspect that he would have responded to such a statement by saying that he was uncompromising. He became a professor at Bennington College at Vermont in the late 1960s, and remained there for many years. Dixon recorded infrequently in the seventies and eighties, but recordings became more frequent during the last two decades of his life. His solo on "With (Exit)," from Cecil Taylor's 1966 <span style="font-style:italic;">Conquistador!</span> album, is still one of the most striking passages in recorded music. Just as the piano, basses, and drums begin to get more agitated, Dixon enters with long, ethereal notes separated by spaces, the intervals carefully chosen. It's a beautiful moment.<br /><br />For many years, Fred Anderson was even more obscure than Bill Dixon, at least to the world outside of Chicago. He made strong contributions to Joseph Jarman's first two albums in 1966 and 1968, then didn't record again for a decade. When I was a young man learning about jazz, I knew Anderson as a somewhat legendary figure who had contributed to the Chicago avant-garde scene of the the sixties, but I had no idea if he had ever recorded again. Somewhere along the way, he became something of a father figure to younger Chicago musicians such as Hamid Drake and Ken Vandermark. Recordings became more frequent, and he developed a strong reputation in the avant-garde jazz world.<br /><br />His tenor sound was filled with history; you could hear Coleman Hawkins and Gene Ammons in his playing, although his influences were so well internalized that he never sounded like anyone except himself. While Dixon went into academia, Anderson became a saloon owner - his Velvet Lounge on the Near South Side of Chicago became a mecca for musicians and fans. For those of us who never had the chance to hear him there, there are several live albums from the Velvet Lounge, including an 80th birthday tribute CD and DVD.<br /><br />Recordings by Dixon and Anderson are easier to find now than in the past, although there are still plenty of gaps in what is available. Hear them on record, since we can't hear them in person anymore. Every year, every month, fewer giants walk the earth. We've just lost two.Jeff Cromptonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08914434563244476687noreply@blogger.com1