Wednesday, October 15: Having seen Ernestine Anderson falter and appear confused in a performance a few years ago, I was concerned about this festival appearance. She was now a couple of weeks short of her eightieth birthday. She had just been through a crisis in which she came close to being evicted from her house. Looking frail, she made her way slowly and uncertainly on stage, sat on a chair, took a while to get ready, and gave one of the great concerts of her life. By the end of the first song, “This Can’t Be Love,” thirty years had dropped away. She brought a Piaf-like intensity to “Skylark” and so much passion and note-bending to “Falling in Love with Love” that she made it a virtual blues. In a single chorus, she defined “Wonder Why.”

Time, intonation, concentration and control were perfect on every tune. Anderson was
sustaining notes with the lung power of an eighteen-year-old. “Yeah, I can’t figure that out either,” she said afterward. “I get winded walking up two steps.” She had the audience erupting in cheers, giving her a standing ovation not at the end of her program but during it. She repeatedly thanked her trio — and with good reason. Pianist John Hansen, bassist Jon Hamar and drummer Greg Williamson sustained the energy Anderson thrived on. Each of them soloed with creativity and vigor that matched hers. Boogieing in her chair toward the end of the concert, she delivered “Down Home Blues,” then “Never Make Your Move Too Soon,” enlisting the audience as a chorus riffing the first four bars of the melody of Neal Hefti’s “Lil’ Darlin’.” She left them happily agitated and demanding an encore. They didn’t get one, but people didn’t seem to mind. She had created euphoria in the room.

Ernestine Anderson: eighty going on thirty-five.

Thursday, October 16: Jovino Santos Neto preceded his quinteto’s concert with a demonstration-lecture tracing the development of Brazilian music. It amounted to a tour through significant parts of the history of Portugal and Brazil with samples of African and Caribbean influences on the music of his native land. If you have a chance to catch the
educational aspect of this dynamic man’s performance, I urge you not to miss it. That
advice also obtains to his band. The cutting-edge music Santos Neto has developed beyond the bossa nova grows in part out of his experience with Hermeto Pascoal and other advanced Brazilian musicians, but also out of his dynamic musical imagination. At the piano or playing flute — he did both simultaneously at one point — he was concentrated energy, enthusiasm and rhythm.

The quinteto includes bassist Chuck Deardorf, drummer Mark Ivester, percussionsist Jeff Busch and Bay Area saxophonist and clarinetist Harvey Wainapel (pronounced WINE-apple). Santos Neto set up each choro, baião, forró or xote with an explanation of the form and rhythm. His “Amoreira,” dedicated to percussion guru Airto Moreira, was a highlight. Wainapel, whom I had somehow managed to miss until this night, was a revelation, inventive on all of his instruments, immersed in the Brazilian tradition, fully a complement to Santos Neto’s conception of adventurous modern music.

Friday, October 17: Jerry Gonzalez and the Fort Apache Band threw the audience into momentary shock with the opening blasts of Thelonious Monk’s “Little Rootie Tootie.” Powered by the overamplified bass of young Luques Curtis and the drumming of Steve Berrios, who had no choice but to compensate, the band was too loud for the hall, by half. The Seasons’ exquisite natural acoustics were rendered meaningless by volume suitable for a stadium. Nonetheless, the music was so captivating that the audience stayed with it, except for a couple of defections, and seemed to adjust to the sound level. Fort Apache followed with a long treatment of Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints,” notable for an alto saxophone solo by Joe Ford that assulted the aural cavity but penetrated deeper, to the emotions.

Gonzalez shone on congas, trumpet and fluegelhorn. His impassioned fluegel solo on “In a
 
Sentimental Mood” was a memorable moment of this memorable festival. Curtis soloed with an acute sense of the harmonic possibilities in “Obsesión,” the Pedro Flores Puerto Rican classic. Pianist Fred Hoadley came next with a solo that was hypnotically, and effectively, repetitive. Hoadley rushed across the mountains from Seattle at the last minute to substitute for Larry Willis, who cancelled following the death of a relative. Gonzalez wrapped up the set with Monk’s “Evidence,” taken at a fast clip and — what else? — top volume. The evening ended with ears ringing and faces smiling.

Saturday, October 18: Every time I hear the Tierney Sutton Band, they have developed more bandness. After more than a decade, seven CDs and hundreds of gigs together, their musicality and shared goals have melded them into the antithesis of chick singer with rhythm section. It’s a thinking man’s, and woman’s, band that knows how to have, and show an audience, a good time. Sutton opened with Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do?” at a drastically slow tempo in keeping with the heart-breaking nature of the song. In the care of a less cohesive group, the time might have puddled. “It’s All Right With Me” was at the other end of the metronome and full of tricky time changes, which Sutton negotiated flawlessly.

Following a masterly solo by pianist Christian Jacob on “Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea,” Sutton said, “I think he took private lessons,” no doubt a stock line, delivered deadpan with perfect timing. Bassist Kevin Axt played the concert with two fingers of his right hand in a cast. He broke them in a motorcycle accident. Anyone listening blindfolded to his intricate solos would never have known that. Ray Brinker’s drumming went from thunderous on some pieces to barely perceptible on others. If there are awards for soft, quiet swinging with wire brushes, Brinker is a major competitor. He was particularly effective with brushes as Axt took a rest and Sutton, Jacob and Brinker gave Berlin’s “Cheek to Cheek” a ride that was enough to make you almost forget Fred Astaire.

Sutton sang sixteen songs from her repertoire of more than one hundred arrangements written jointly by her and the band. Toward the end, she called out the Toppenish High School chorus, which had opened the evening with a couple of songs. Together, the rhythm section and the kids did “Ja Da” while Sutton stood by smiling. The chorus ended up swinging a little, and Sutton smiled more broadly. As they filed out, she returned to the stage for a blistering “I Get a Kick Out of You” and a langorous encore, “You Are My Sunshine.” She announced that the band’s eighth CD will be out in the spring. It will include “What’ll I Do?” I’m looking forward to hearing that again.

It is a rare jazz festival that can run more than a week without a few flaws — a performance dud or two. Somehow, even the Fort Apache amplification sow’s ear turned into a silk purse. This festival worked from beginning to end, on stage and in the schools. That’s quite an achievement for an arts organization in a town of 90,000 in the hinterlands of apple and wine country.

The Seasons Fall Festival ended on Saturday night — nine days of concerts interspersed with music education for young people. Visiting world-class artists conducted clinics and workshops for more than 1,200 school children from grade school through college. Subtitled “Side-by-Side,” the festival brought together jazz, classical and Latin music in The Seasons Performance Hall and the Capitol Theatre in Yakima, Washington. Here are a few brief impressions.

Friday, October 10: Eric Alexander opened the festival with “Blues for David,” his tribute to fellow tenor saxophonist David “Fathead” Newman. Alexander’s regular pianist David Hazeltine and bassist John Webber were aboard. Seattle’s Matt Jorgensen subbed on drums for Joe Farnsworth, a duty he was also to perform in Bill Mays’ trio and in a chamber concert later in the festival. The highlight of the first set was the cadenza Alexander invented at the end of “Easy Living.” He told me in a post-intermission conversation it was a tune he had rarely played; “I just wanted to explore those harmonies and see what I could do with them.” What he did with them brought out the Coltrane in him. The cadenza was fascinating, and it lasted a good five minutes. Hazeltine and Alexander tied for the peak moment of the second half. The pianist was superb in Ahmad Jamal’s “Night Blues.” In the same piece, Alexander started simply and built complexity through several choruses to a near-crescendo before coming down to take the tune out.

Saturday, October 11: The Finisterra Piano Trio, The Seasons resident chamber group, was featured with the Yakima Symphony Orchestra under conductor Brooke Creswell in Daron Hagen’s triple concerto Orpheus and Eurydice. The New York composer’s four-part work had enough daring and astrigency to keep the YSO audience alert and was accessible enough to keep them comfortable, not an easy balance to achieve with today’s classical concert-goers. The concerto’s interior rhythms presented a rehearsal challenge to the orchestra, which met it in performance. Cresswell should be congratulated for programming demanding new work in an area with conservative audiences and — to judge by the reaction — pleasing them with it. The YSO also handled Mendelssohn and Bizet nicely and delivered a smashing Ravel Bolero.

As part of The Seasons Fall Festival education component, Hagen (pictured) spent a week in

Yakima working with seven young composers he selected from around the country. At rehearsal, the orchestra sight-read a four-minute piece by each of them, then the members of the orchestra and the invited audience voted on two for performance Saturday night. Eric Malmquist’s “Adventus” and Jesse D’aiello’s “Winter” received their premieres. The winning composers got the full guest celebrity treatment — trips to the stage, shakes of the conductor’s, concert master’s and composer’s hands, bows and waves. They were thrilled. Everyone in the elegant old Capitol Theatre seemed thrilled.

Sunday, October 12: Finisterra provided the instrumental accompaniment for Hagen’s new chamber opera Cradle, receiving its world premiere at The Seasons. It is a one-act piece for two singers and piano trio. The story is of a couple back in their apartment after a party, trying to get their baby to go to sleep. The mother was sung by Hagen’s wife Gilda Lyons (pictured), the father by Robert Frankenberry. The little opera is wry, touching and often funny. It is extremely hip and musical. Finisterra–pianist Tanya Stambuk, cellist Kevin Krentz and violinist Timothy Garland–were at the top of their game in Hagen’s tonal but adventurous score.

Monday, October 13: Three years earlier, to the minute, the Bill Mays Trio inaugurated The Seasons in its opening concert. Mays’ third Fall Festival anniversary coincided with another birthday, that of Matt Jorgensen, the adaptable drummer sitting in for Matt Wilson, who was on the road with Joe Lovano and John Scofield. Preceded by an hour-long celebration complete with cake and champagne, Mays, Jorgensen and bassist Martin Wind played a repertoire drawn from originals by Mays and Wind, and a cross-section of standards. Mays unveiled a version of the seldom-heard ballad “You Leave Me Breathless, crediting the arrangement and chord changes to the late pianist Jack Brownlow. He charmed his listeners as much with his personality as with his music, wrapping them into the experience.

Tuesday, October 14: Mays returned with trumpeter Marvin Stamm and cellist Alisa Horn, The Inventions Trio. This chamber group is at home in jazz and the classics. The concert included three new Mays pieces with the umbrella designation, “Saloon Songs.” He preceded

 them with an entertaining disquisition on the antecedents of the word “saloon” and dedicated the pieces to Yakima and the surrounding wine country. A high point: Alisa Horn’s ferocious cello solo based on several Miles Davis blues choruses. Stamm warned me some time ago that he and I would be playing a duet. I chose Freddie Hubbard’s “Up Jumped Spring.” Mays wrote a lovely arrangement for Inventions reinforced by an additional cello (Kevin Krentz), violin (Timothy Garland), bass (Martin Wind), drums (Matt Jorgensen), Marvin’s fluegelhorn and my trumpet. Marvin and I each improvised a chorus, traded eight-bar phrases, then fours, and
had a short stretch of simultaneous improvisation. In the picture by Judy Kirtley, I’m the one who looks like his shorts are too tight. Sitting next to Marvin Stamm, I should have been intimidated, but the pros made it relaxed and easy, and no one in the audience threw anything. Next, I read a passage that Mays selected from Poodie James. He orchestrated for the ensemble a beautiful background that swelled and flowed in all the right places. Then came the evening’s piece de resistance. Mays adapted Maurice Ravel’s Mother Goose Suite for the septet, opening up passages for improvisation. Switching between fluegelhorn and trumpet, Stamm was brilliant. They were all brilliant, even unto Jorgensen’s glockenspiel solo. This piece should be recorded in this format by this group.

On his blog, Daron Hagen has a comprehensive, colorfully written report about the festival and his stewardship of those seven young composers. Here’s a sample:

A healthy mix of styles and backgrounds were revealed during these sessions: one composer from New Jersey specializes in the film scores he writes for his own films, which he writes and directs; another is one of the busiest performers on Bourbon Street in New Orleans; one was a courageous young fellow from Manhattan making his way in the world with a day job and composing by night; three were students of Stacy Garrop’s at the Chicago Conservatory of Music; one was a Korean doctoral candidate studying with Stephen Dembski at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. All treated one another with great respect; all bonded as people.

To read the whole thing, click here.

Tomorrow: Ernestine Anderson’s great evening, Jovino Santos Neto, Jerry Gonzalez and the Fort Apache Band, and Tierney Sutton.

Brooke Creswell, conductor of the Yakima Symphony Orchestra, sent a link to a piece of video that deals with the basics of harmony. The subject line of his message was, “A Fifth More Perfect Than Single Malt.” To see this instructive film, click here.

Rifftides Washington, DC, correspondent John Birchard journeyed out of the district last weekend to hear pianist Cedar Walton and his trio. Here is John’s review.

Smack in the middle of the mainstream – that’s where you’ll find Cedar Walton, still creative at the age of 74. The pianist brought his current trio to the Montpelier Arts Center in suburban Laurel, Maryland, on Friday, October 18, for an evening of warmly-received performances. On his way up, Walton worked with a literal who’s who in modern jazz: J.J. Johnson, Kenny Dorham, the Farmer-Golson Jazztet, and his best-known affiliation, Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers in the band that featured Wayne Shorter and Freddie Hubbard. And all along the way, his ability to write attractive tunes brought him further recognition.

Friday evening’s concert featured mostly Walton originals, leading off with “Cedar’s Blues”, an up, boppish line that served to warm up the band members, John Webber on bass and Joe Farnsworth on drums. Webber favors the lower register of his instrument, giving Walton a rich launching pad for his inventions. Farnsworth’s style is strong without being obtrusive, always listening to the other players and complementing their work. The trio was tight and well-rehearsed.

Cedar Walton is very much a two-handed pianist, as he showed on his “Clockwise”, a piece in ¾ time containing a recurring Latin vamp. When he strikes a note or chord, it’s clear and strong. He doesn’t pound the keyboard, but his sound is definitely declarative.

On “Dear Ruth”, a jaunty-sounding melody taken at an easy walking tempo, Walton introduced a few bars of Garneresque left hand to good effect. The tune, said Walton, was dedicated to his mother, his first piano teacher. He told of her taking her young son to New York from their home in Dallas, Texas for the first time. Walton said he wanted to see Jackie Robinson play baseball. His mother opted for the Apollo Theatre in Harlem to see Count Basie and Billie Holiday. He smiled as he said his mother made the right choice.

Walton has long had the knack of creating catchy lines with a Latin flavor. His “Bolivia” is a good example. On Friday evening, the trio played “Ojos de Rojo” (Eyes of Red) as a way-up- tempo samba. The tune showcased Walton’s sparkling single-note lines set off by rich chords. Farnsworth’s drumming was sizzling and he also soloed effectively.

Only two pop standards appeared in the program, “Time After Time” and “Body and Soul”, both taken at walking tempos. Among the pianist’s own compositions, “One Flight Down” and “The Holy Land” stood out as interesting tunes that prompted exciting performances.

Cedar Walton wears his senior citizen status well. He has a warm, engaging personality to go with an enormous talent. He’s been a steady contributor to the language of modern jazz for more than forty years. And he hasn’t lost a step when it comes to delivering a rewarding listening experience. The Montpelier Arts Center concert was an evening well spent.

                                                                                        –John Birchard

There seems to be a shortage of Cedar Walton videos on the internet. The Rifftides staff found one made on New Year’s Eve 1985 at a club in Baltimore, not far from where Birchard reported. Walton was playing with vibraharpist Milt Jackson, bassist Ray Brown and drummer Mickey Roker. The engagement is likely to have been Jackson’s. Walton is featured on the first of two Duke Ellington compositions. The picture quality suggests a subaquatic environment, but the sound is good, or at least good enough so that you can plainly hear everyone. This is one you may not wish to view full-screen.

 

In The New York Times, Barry Singer has an update to the story of the remarkable Baroness
Pannonica de Koenigswarter, friend and supporter of major musicians including Charlie Parker and Thelonious Monk. The Baroness is seen here with Monk in a well-known photograph. She died twenty years ago. Singer writes:

A Rothschild heiress, she offered her home to countless jazzmen as a place to work and even live, while quietly paying their bills when they couldn’t find work. She chauffeured them to gigs around New York, toured with them as a kind of racial chaperon, and was even known to confront anyone she felt was taking advantage of her friends because they were black.

“I always likened her to the great royal patrons of Mozart or Wagner’s day,” the saxophonist Sonny Rollins said in a telephone interview. “Yet she never put the spotlight on herself. I try not to talk publicly about people I knew in jazz. But I have to say something about the baroness. She really loved our music.”

To read the whole thing, click here. And for a 2006 Rifftides story about Nica and the role of her Bentley in the life of the New York jazz community, go here.

That grim parade that Bill Crow mentioned a couple of postings ago shows no sign of running out of marchers. The latest major jazz artist to go is Dave McKenna. The pianist died this morning at the age of 78. His family posted the announcement on his web site, which includes a good biography. YouTube has a slew of videos of McKenna playing. This medley of two of his favorite tunes, “Nobody Else But Me” and “I’m Old Fashioned,” is a good one to start with.

 

William Claxton, the master photographer who died a week ago, was a great raconteur. A sample of that side of his personality is available on the internet. In 1988, Terri Gross interviewed Claxton on her National Public Radio program Fresh Air. He discussed his experiences photographing, among others, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Gerry Mulligan and Chet Baker. To hear the conversation, go here and click on “Listen Now.”

As a bonus, listen to Felix Contreras’s short biography of arranger and composer Neal Hefti, who died on the same day as Claxton. It is illustrated with clips of three of Hefti’s most famous compositions. The accompanying obituary incudes a picture of Hefti and Frank Sinatra together, happy at one of Sinatra’s recording sessions.

The last thing I want is for Rifftides to become a death watch. Nonetheless, as James Moody says his grandmother once told him, “Folks is dyin’ what ain’t never died before.” Or, to use Bill Crow’s words in the subject line of a message today about the arranger, composer and former trumpet player Neal Nefti, “The parade continues.”

Hefti died at home in the Toluca Lake community of Los Angeles on Saturday, the same day and a few miles from his contemporary William Claxton, the master jazz photographer. Hefti was eighty-five. His writing for Woody Herman’s First Herd in the mid-forties helped lead the way in the transition from swing to bebop. His compositions included “The Good Earth,” “Apple Honey” and “Wild Root.” He breathed new life into some of the older pieces in Herman’s book, among them “Blowin’ Up a Storm” and “Woodchopper’s Ball.” He went on to write for other big bands including those of Harry James and Buddy Rich and –in the sixties–for Count
Basie. His “Splanky,” “Cute,” “Little Pony” and the sinuous version of “Lil’ Darlin'” are still staples of the band Basie left behind in 1984. The album he arranged, originally called simply Basie and now known as The Atomic Basie, was one of the great accomplishments of Basie’s so-called New Testament band. Hefti arranged for Frank Sinatra. With Bobby Troup, he wrote the standard song, “Girl Talk,” and he composed for The Odd Couple, Barefoot In The Park and other films.

“Lil’ Darlin” might well have remained Hefti’s signature composition had he not been contracted to provide the music for the ABC television series Batman. Laboring to come up with a theme that would grab attention by appealing to children and their equivalents in sophistication, he wrote a blues “tune” made up of two notes that repeated up a fourth, then a fifth on the scale. The lyric consisted of the title character’s name. He enjoyed telling people, “You know, I also wrote the words.” The piece helped make the show a success, became a hit record on its own and provided Hefti with a comfortable annuity.

In 1946, Hefti married Frances Wayne, whom he met when she was the singer on Herman’s band. He wrote for her the breathtakingly beautiful arrangement of “Happiness Is Just A Thing Called Joe.” She died in 1978.

In the nineties, Neal was an occasional participant in an informal lunch group of which I was a part when I lived in Los Angeles. He showed up on one occasion when pianist Jack Brownlow was visiting from Seattle. It was no surprise that the two of them, hit it off. Jack talked for the rest of his life about the thrill of meeting one of his musical heroes. That day, Neal reported that he had just bought a new Bach trumpet and was practicing. He said he planned to put together a small band and play gigs. Some time later, I asked him how he was coming along with the horn. “It’s on the shelf,” he said. The band and the gigs never materialized.

For a complete obituary, see this from The Los Angeles Times.

Here’s that message from Bill Crow about Neal Hefti and Bill Claxton.

I told this story in my second book, but I’ll tell it again here for those who haven’t read it: When I first moved to New York City in 1950, Dave Lambert became my friend, and he introduced me to many musicians at Charlie’s Tavern, one of whom was Neal Hefti. After that, whenever I ran into Neal at Charlie’s, we would say hello. About a year later, Dave hired me to sing in his vocal group on a demo recording for Neal’s wife, Frances Wayne. As we walked into a rehearsal studio at Nola’s, Dave greeted Neal, and said, “…and you know Bill Crow…” I held out my hand, but Neal looked completely baffled. “Bill Crow?” he said. “Then who’s Brew Moore?” He’d been saying hello to me for a year, thinking I was Brew.

I only got to meet Bill Claxton once, when he and Dick Bock flew out to Boston to produce a Pacific Jazz album of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet at Storyville. Dick wanted to emulate a shot Dave Pell had done of Gerry’s original quartet in California, with everyone
looking up at the camera. Bill took a lot of shots of Gerry while walking around different Boston locations, but those weren’t used on the album. We recorded the music for the album during performances one evening at Storyville, and afterward Bill set up his camera. He spread a huge sheet of blue foil on the floor of the club, stood us on it, climbed a stepladder and got his cover shot. Then we all went to a great Chinese restaurant and feasted, while thoroughly enjoying Claxton’s charm and humor. (Dick Bock picked up the check.)

William Claxton’s cover shots appeared on ten CDs produced in Los Angeles by Dick Bank. The photographer’s last project for Bank was the cover photograph for the 2006 Andy Martin-Jan Lundgren album How About You? (Fresh Sound). 

Bank sent this note following Claxton’s death last weekend.

I had the idea for the cover to be a trombone (for Andy Martin) resting on top of the piano (for Jan Lundgren). It necessitated Clax getting up on a tall ladder to shoot it. I asked if it

wouldn’t be safer if it was shot with him standing on a box. He said, no, it had to be shot elevated to do it right. I was concerned about him climbing up on that ladder–something he had done hundreds of times–in his present state of health. He didn’t hesitate. I held onto the ladder and was ready just in case. He could have done it with his eyes closed. The result was exactly what I envisioned–no, better!–and lighted as only Bill Claxton could do it.

I had called him on his birthday last year as I always do, and told him we would be doing an album of Ralph Rainger music right after New Year’s, with Jan Lundgren, Chuck Berghofer and Joe La Barbera. Before I could say, “I hope you’ll be able to join us,” he said he would love to be there and would it be all right to drop by. Can you imagine: Bill Claxton asking me if it would be OK to be there? I called a few weeks before to remind him and he said yes, he was looking forward to it.

The weather was terrible on January 6. It had been raining heavily all day. I did not expect him to drive over to Entourage Studios in North Hollywood from his Beverly Hills home on such a dreadful day. We were underway and I happened to look over my right shoulder and there he was sitting behind me! He was unobtrusive, as he always was when he had a camera in his hands. He loved what he heard and was very complimentary of Jan Lundgren, as always, and said he was looking forward to hearing the album. It will be out in a few weeks. He would have loved it.

He gave me a gift which was wrapped. I could tell it was a book. I was really touched and told him I wanted to open it at home when I was alone. It was The House That George Built by Wilfrid Sheed, a history of the golden age of American popular music. That he came out on that day, which I know was a personal favor to me, moved me deeply. The gift and the card that was with it is something that I will treasure for the rest of my life. He signed the card, “You’re the best…your friend and fan, Clax.”

William James Claxton is my hero!

–

For more thirty years, John Fordham has been favoring the British public with his finely-honed critiques and observations about jazz. Most of his work has appeared in the newspaper The Guardian, but he is also the author of an entertaining and informative history of jazz. Fordham is a full-range listener with good ears and a writer with an open mind, as interesting on The Bad Plus as he is on Humphrey Lyttleton. 

In a flow of 881 words, Fordham’s most recent column manages to encapsulate the development of jazz piano. It begins…

The iconography of jazz usually features smoky images of coolly wasted-looking individuals in natty hats blowing saxophones. But if saxes and trumpets have seemed like the quintessential jazz instruments, it’s the piano that has been absolutely central to the development of the music.

…and includes this paragraph on two seminal pianists:

The tormented, fitfully visionary pianist Bud Powell participated in the inception of bebop as a teenager, and his approach refined the Earl Hines “trumpet” style to a dazzling melodic display similar to bop hero Charlie Parker’s sax lines. A very different founding-figure of bebop, the former gospel-pianist Thelonious Monk, came from a more eccentric angle. Monk liked erratic silences as much as sounds, struck frequently dissonant chords with a drumlike whack, and composed some of the most enduringly personal themes in the jazz repertoire.

To read the whole thing, go here. If Fordham is a bit lenient in his assessments of some UK musicians, that tolerance is more than offset by his overall perspective on the music. For a selection of his Guardian blog entries, click here.