The irregular Rifftides series of posts inspired by moon sightings now continues. A half-hour ago, I glanced out the window at the harvest moon beginning its transit across the valley. It was framed by the branches of a huge fir tree, but clouds were beginning to move across its face. If I was going to get a shot, it had to be soon. I dashed downstairs, grabbed the el cheapo digital camera, bounded back up to the kitchen, removed the window screen, flung open the window and had time for two quick shots before clouds hid the moon. A proper camera with a long lens might have been ideal for sharpness and size, but it would not have produced the impressionist image that emerged with only a bit of editing manipulation.

All right, it’s not a great picture, but it’s an excuse to listen to Jimmy Rushing with Count Basie.

When I called this an irregular series, I wasn’t kidding. Click here for the previous installment.

Mort Weiss identified himself in a comment here as “the world’s greatest out-of-work Jewish bebop clarinet player.” That may be, but he found work one night not long ago at Steamers jazz club in the Los Angeles area. Weiss led a band with Sam Most, tenor sax and flute; Ron Eschete, guitar; Luther Hughes, bass; and Roy McCurdy, drums. The tune is Jerome Kern’s “I’m Old Fashioned” at a lovely, relaxed tempo. Most’s two tenor choruses channeling Lester Young are as enjoyable as watching him dig Eschete.

Here are a couple of anecdotes from Bill Crow’s “Band Room” column in the October Allegro, the New York Local 802 newspaper of the American Federation of Musicians.

Ron Mills, while fronting a combo at a dance in Chicago, was approached by a couple of dancers. The husband asked, with an earnest look, “Do you play a lot of songs in the key of F. That’s the key I dance best to.” The wife nodded in agreement. As the night progressed, Ron couldn’t see any difference in their dancing whether the band was in F or D-flat, but he scrupulously announced the key whenever they were in F, and the couple eagerly took the floor on those tunes.

I’d forgotten that I gave Bill this one.

Reminiscing with me via e-mail about the late Manny Albam, Doug Ramsey told me:

We met by chance one night at the Village Vanguard because the joint was full, and Max Gordon installed me at Manny’s table. I bought Manny a drink. Years later, in California, I wound up at a table with Manny, Bob Brookmeyer, Herb Geller, and their wives, and Bill Perkins. It had been at least 15 years since I’d seen Manny, but he remembered me. “You bought me a cognac,” he said. “I’ve never forgotten that. Nobody ever buys me a drink.”

For more from Bill’s “Band Room” columns, click here, then on “Allegro” for a drop-down menu.

Rifftides does not make it a practice to observe birthdays of jazz artists. That could be a full-time job. Once in a while we make an exception. This is one. Larry Young was born on October 7, 1940. He took the organ beyond Jimmy Smith’s earthy approach and Don Patterson’s piano-style into the use of modes. Young sometimes employed the instrument’s capacity for overtones to produce otherworldly effects. With Tony Williams Lifetime, Miles Davis on Bitches Brew and Jimi Hendrix on Nine to the Universe, Young was an experimenter with fusion. In this piece from Unity, an album that sells well 46 years after it was made, Young is experimental only in negotiating the challenging chords of Woody Shaw’s “The Moontrane.” Shaw is on trumpet, Joe Henderson on tenor saxophone, Elvin Jones on drums.

Larry Young died on March 3, 1978 of untreated pneumonia. I wish that this remarkable musician had taken better care of himself.

In 1963, Dick Gibson (1926-1998) threw a party in Denver, where he lived. An investment banker who expanded his fortune when he founded the Water Pik company, Gibson invited well-heeled friends to mingle with his favorite mainstream musicians and listen to them play. He ran his jazz parties for three decades and hired a cross section of artists that included James Moody, Al Cohn, Zoot Sims, Clark Terry, Ross Tompkins, Victor Feldman, Budd Johnson, Trummy Young and Cliff Leeman, to name a few. Gibson’s parties were so successful that they inspired similar events across the country, from Clearwater Beach, Florida, to Sun Valley, Idaho.

One of the newer parties on the circuit is Jazz at Newport, held each fall since 2002 in its namesake, a town of 10,000 on the Oregon Coast. Newport’s long sandy beach, seen here, didn’t get much attention from the several hundred listeners who attended the mini-festival last weekend; a packed schedule kept them occupied. Presented by the Oregon Coast Council for the Arts, Jazz at Newport is booked, organized and straw-bossed by Holly Hofmann, who found time to play her flute only twice. She put together a roster of 23 musicians of various persuasions. Their mutual goal did not, for the most part, encompass complexity or freedom from harmony, rhythm and structure. Farthest out was the Sunday morning session by Weber Iago’s adventurous Chamber Jazz Project, and it had jazz time at its heart even as it verged on textures of modern classical music.

The festivities began on Friday evening with the first appearance by drummer Jeff Hamilton’s longtime trio with pianist Tamir Hendelman and bassist Christoph Luty. Their opening set established a standard of cohesion and hard swing, Hamilton astonishing the audience with the variety of his playing with wire brushes. In the mix-and-match spirit of the party, throughout the weekend the three would drift in and out of other combinations of players.

At a Saturday morning panel, an audience member asked how musicians who have never played together know what to do when they are combined in a spontaneous jam session.

“Jazz has a common language,” Hamilton said. “We agree on a tune, a key and a tempo. Experienced players usually adjust to one another more or less instantly.”

Allow me to expand on that with two passages from, coincidentally, the “Common Language” chapter of a book I wrote:

Pure improvisation born of absolution inspiration, a solo created out of whole cloth, is likely to be as remarkable as it is rare. Most solos are combinations of inspiration and spare parts. The creative process of improvisation is selective, and what is selected is influenced by a number of elements including the music’s harmonic structure, the tempo, rhythmic qualities, the musician’s fellow players, and his memory. His brain has a stockpile of musical knowledge, general and specific. The specifics include phrases from his own experience and that of others. They are pressed into service as quotations and worked into the new performance. Sometimes they are inserted piecemeal, sometimes merely alluded to.

Mutual access to a community body of knowledge makes possible successful and enjoyable collaboration among jazzmen of different generations and stylistic persuasions who have never before played together. It is not unusual at jazz festivals and jam sessions for musicians in their sixties and seventies to be teamed with others in their teens or twenties. In the best of such circumstances, the age barrier immediately falls.

If I had written that today rather than 20-odd years ago, the word “his” might not have popped up, especially if I’d written it after hearing Anat Cohen, Kristin Korb and Holly Hofmann at Newport. Cohen joined bassist Luty, guitarist Howard Alden and drummer Lewis Nash. Following a relaxed “Shiny Stockings,” they tore into “Limehouse Blues,” which featured a blistering soprano-guitar unison passage that Alden and Cohen had worked out in their New York encounters. Ellington’s “The Mooche” (clarinet) and Monk’s “Ask Me Now” (tenor) preceded one of the Brazilian choros (clarinet) that Cohen has been favoring lately. Riding on the energy of the rhythm section, she had remarkable power and command on all three horns. The common language principle was in full force among these four.

Pianist Monty Alexander’s first set reunited him with Hamilton, the drummer on Alexander’s celebrated 1976 live trio recording at the Montreux Jazz Festival. Hassan Shakur (formerly known as J.J. Wiggins) providing bass lines, they opened with the signature tune from Montreux, “Night Mist Blues.” It took them about three seconds to recapture their rapport and contagious swing and the audience about six seconds to roar their approval as they recognized the tune. The good feeling expanded through a six-tune set that included “Come Fly With Me” and “In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” recalling Alexander’s association with Frank Sinatra. Shakur’s bass solos captivated the audience, not for the last time during the weekend.

The first of two late-night jam sessions took place in a long, narrow restaurant at the Shilo Inn on the Newport waterfront. The sound system crashed, so the set went mostly acoustic except for some jury-rigged miking for Korb’s vocals. Her colleagues were Terell Stafford, trumpet; Howard Alden, guitar; and Lewis Nash, drums. They opened with “I’ll Close My Eyes,” then did Sonny Rollins’ “Pent-up House,” Stafford unleashing his first torrents of high notes that were to have the audience applauding and cheering him all weekend. The subtlety of his intriguing alternate harmonies on Ellington’s “Just Squeeze Me” got less reaction from the audience, but plenty from the musicians. Korb’s vocal on “Take The ‘A’ Train” featured her clever lyrics and on “My Romance,” her quick thinking. The illumination flickered and dimmed as she approached the part of the lyric that goes, “Nor a dance to a constantly surprising refrain,” so she instantly substituted “…surprising light change” and got a laugh. The session ended with Nash not only drumming but also scatting the blues as Alden and Korb provided propulsion. Alden and Stafford took it out with the classic “Walkin’.”

The Saturday morning panel of Hamilton, Korb and Stafford had Hofmann as moderator and participant. They tackled the perennial question: is there a young audience for jazz? “Yes,” Hamilton said, “but not here. They can’t afford it. You have the money to come here for a few days,” he told the audience, average age well above 50. “They don’t.” He said that the youngsters are listening in new clubs that cater to them. Stafford said he is encouraged by the numbers of young people attending festivals like Lionel Hampton in Idaho and Port Townsend in Washington. As for inner city kids, the consensus was that clinics and courses are available to them, but to learn about jazz, they have to want to learn, and they are fixated on hip-hop. If that’s a generalization, it’s not much of one.

The Saturday afternoon sets began with each of three musicians playing alone. Hendelman did a medley of tunes by Ray Noble that ended with a fleet “Cherokee.” Korb’s bass solo was on “Green Dolphin Street,” and so was her vocal; she accompanied herself, occasionally drifting into bass-voice unison lines. Hamilton, Alexander and Portland vibraharpist Mike Horsfall each played an unaccompanied solo. In the duo segment that followed, Alden and Cohen opened and closed with pieces from the 1920s. Cohen was on soprano for Duke Ellington’s “Jubilee Stomp” and Jelly Roll Morton’s “Shreveport Stomp.” The middle of their set included Django Reinhardt’s “Nuages,” the guitarist and the clarinetist floating through the famous melody as if on a cloud. Stafford and pianist Mike Wofford followed with “Taking a Chance on Love.” There was a lot of Clifford Brown in the beginning of Stafford’s solo, then growls and note bending by a trumpeter who makes judicious use of his flexibility and range on the horn. If his playing was often spectacular at Newport, the flash was never at the expense of taste or musicality. Wofford’s and Stafford’s counterpoint chorus and tag ending on “Close Your Eyes” stay in the mind, as does Wofford’s rich 16-bar solo on “Old Folks,” which led to a suspended ending complete with a “Country Gardens” quote from Stafford. Remember—spare parts are allowed.

In trio sets, Korb took Luty’s place in the Hamilton Trio, singing and playing and locking up nicely with the drummer and Hendelman. Luty then joined Howard Alden and Lewis Nash, opening with Bud Powell’s “Strictly Confidential.” Using brushes, Nash was flying through the breaks. Alden led the trio through two pieces by one of his guitar heroes, Barney Kessel. In a three-generation guitar continuum, Kessel’s “I Remember Django” honors one of his inspirations. Alden captured the spirit and sometimes the letter of both of his predecessors. On “64 Bars on Wilshire,” taken at warp speed, Alden simply wailed, powered by Luty’s and Nash’s teamwork.

The Rifftides staff thanks the veteran Newport photographer Nancy Jane Reid for letting us use her pictures of some of the sessions. There’s more coming about Jazz at Newport, but for now, I gotta get me some Zs (© Dave Frishberg).

Thanks to the dozens and dozens (and dozens) of Rifftides readers who sent birthday messages via Facebook and other social media. How the word got out, I have no idea, but you folks certainly know how to make a guy feel that maybe this blogging stuff is worth the effort.

“Schedule permitting” I wrote in the previous exhibit, “I hope to work in a bit of blogging.” The schedule did not permit. The Oregon expedition was a jam-packed (ahem) four days that allowed the Rifftides staff (plus one) time to sleep a little and to eat now and then, often on the run. It’s life on the road.

I hope tomorrow to bring you a compact account of the Jazz at Newport Festival on the Oregon coast. For now, let me tell you about Rebecca Kilgore and Dave Frishberg Thursday evening at the Touché in Portland. They performed two sets at the entrance end of that long, narrow restaurant. I have heard better pianos, but rarely better piano playing than Frishberg’s that night. I cannot recall Becky Kilgore in finer form, live or on record.

Their first set consisted of 18 songs from the stockpile of hundreds that the two have amassed in their 15 years or so of collaboration. A few highlights:

—The richness of Frishberg’s chord changes behind Kilgore on “A Fine Romance.”

—Kilgore’s blues inflections in her second chorus of “Easy Street” and the entirety of “Baby All the Time.”

—The relaxed swing phrasing of Kilgore’s chorus following Frishberg’s meaty piano solo in “You’re Getting to Be a Habit With Me,” with the counterpoint of her rhythmic shoulder hunches and Frishberg swaying gently on the bench.

—The verse of “You’re a Lucky Guy.” I’ve known the song since I first heard Louis Armstrong’s 1939 recording, but had no idea that it has a verse. “I love verses,” Frishberg said later. He and Kilgore have sensors that seek out rare verses. The one to “I’m Shooting High” is about singing in the shower—sample lyric: “I begin by making up my mind that it’s my lucky day”—an ideal vehicle for Kilgore’s essentially sunny performance disposition.

—The set ended with eight Irving Berlin songs, including some nearly forgotten, “After You Get What You Want, You Don’t Want What You Get,” for instance, and “Everybody Knew But Me,” which has a great verse and is not sunny. The Berlinfest also included “It’s Over,” “Lazy,” “Better Luck Next Time,” “The Best Thing for You” and “Russian Lullaby.” Berlin’s versatility and variety were amazing. What his songs have in common is that they have hardly anything in common. But that night they had Kilgore and Frishberg.

Without going into a play-by-play of the late set at the Touché, I’ll simply tell you that as good as the first set was, the second was better. Swing, phrasing, subtlety, mutual support and interaction, spontaneous key changes—everything worked. From Frishberg’s stompin’ solo and Kilgore’s vocalese riffs in “Stompin’ at The Savoy” through his Ellington references and her exquisite phrasing in “I’m Just a Lucky So and So” to the best “Detour Ahead” I’ve heard since Mary Ann McCall to their melodic variations in “My Ideal,” it was one of the most perfect performances I’ve ever heard from two people.

When it was over, I asked Kilgore if the set felt as good as it sounded out front. “Oh, yes,” she said, gazing into the distance with a dreamy look, as if she missed it already.

Tomorrow, the Rifftides staff plus one will hit the road to Oregon. The first stop is Portland, where we’ll hear Dave Frishberg and Rebecca Kilgore at the restaurant called Touché. In this album, they concentrated on Frank Loesser. Advance word is that at the Touché, they will tackle some of Irving Berlin’s more obscure songs.

Then, we head southwest to Newport, a coastal town of about 10,000 whose main occupations are in tourism, fishing and wood products. It is the home of the other Newport jazz festival, the small, intimate one. Among the musicians at Newport Jazz 2011 will be the Jeff Hamilton Trio, Terell Stafford, Holly Hofmann, Mike Wofford, Monty Alexander, Hassan Shakur, Anat Cohen, Howard Alden and Kristin Korb. To see the full list and schedule, go here. I look forward to again hearing the PDX Jazz Quintet, aka PDXV, and my first exposure to the Weber Iago/David Valdez Chamber Jazz Project. I’ve been asked to say a few words now and then in the course of the weekend. Schedule permitting, I hope to work in a bit of blogging.

There is confirmation that slightly more than a month after he celebrated his 90th birthday, trumpeter Uan Rasey died late last night. Heard on the sound tracks of dozens of motion pictures, Rasey was acclaimed as one of the most gifted trumpet artists of the twentieth century. André Previn, who was Rasey’s colleague in the MGM studio orchestra in the 1940s and ’50s, offered a birthday accolade typical of those who knew and worked with him:

He was not only the best trumpet player working at the film studios in Hollywood, but also a kind and good friend.

For a summary of Rasey’s career and to hear one of his most celebrated solos, go to this Rifftides piece posted on his birthday, when 40 trumpeters appeared outside Rasey’s house to serenade him with “Trumpeter’s Prayer.” His grandson, Tristan Verstraten, told me this evening that his grandfather died peacefully in his sleep at Woodland Hills Kaiser Hospital in Los Angeles, where he had been taken after his heart and kidney problems worsened. Three of his children were with him.

Recalling Rasey’s spirit and character, Mr. Verstraten told this story:

When he was 89 years old, he learned that his seven-year-old granddaughter Taylor had no way home from school because her mother had been delayed. Rather than let her wait, possibly for a long time, he called Access Paratransit. Blind and in his wheelchair, he got into the Access van and traveled three miles to the school. When he got there, he wheeled himself into the school, found Taylor and took her home in the van. Then, when they got to the house he fixed her a meal, and when Taylor’s mom got home, she found the two of them partying, having a great time.

There will be no funeral service, Mr. Verstraten said, but a celebration of life, “a shindig,” will be scheduled in a couple of weeks.