In its ninth year, the little Cryptogramophone label is attracting increasing attention for recordings on the forward edge of music, with good sound and imaginative packaging. Myra Melford and Nels Cline have new CDs on the label, both likely to attract listeners who accept that jazz values can exist apart from standard song forms and harmony, and without being tied to a steady 4/4 pulse.
Myra Melford
In The Image of Your Body, Melford continues her fascination with music of India. A fearless piano improviser and a composer of meticulous precision, she introduces her new five-piece band, Be Bread. She called her last five-piece band, which had nearly the same instrumentation, The Tent. The mystique of band-naming aside, Melford’s music uses the evocative capabilities of electronics and amplification to summon up the exotic atmospheres of the subcontinent and hint at the spiritual mysteries there. She employs the Indian instrument the harmonium, as she did in her previous album, The Tent, to impart a kind of folk simplicity as one layer in the complexity of “Equal Grace,” “Be Bread,” “If You’ve Not Been Fed” and the title track.
The iconoclastic trumpeter Cuong Vu is on board again. Guitarist-banjoist-vocalist Brandon Ross, bassist and electronicsician (it’s a new word) Stomu Takeishi and drummer Elliot Humberto Kavee are recent arrivals in Melford’s world, which is wide. For all of the unfettered–not to say unhinged–expressionism in the improvisation throughout a piece called “Fear Slips Behind,” Melford wraps up the track in the last twenty-six seconds with a lapidary bit of ensemble writing that might have come from Andrew Hill or Sam Rivers in the 1960s. There are too few extended passages of her piano playing, though one of them begins the long performance called “Yellow Are the Crowds of Flowers.” Then the piano melds into Ross’s keening guitar, and we seem headed into a stretch of ECM-ish floating. Before long, however, the band is generating gale-force mutual improvisation that lasts until Melford calms things down at the keyboard and the sun comes out just as it is setting. Did I mention that this is evocative music?
Cuong Vu’s own CD, It’s Mostly Residual, includes his Melford bandmate Stomu Takeishi and the always gripping guitarist Bill Frisell. It is well worth hearing.
Nels Cline
Cline, a guitarist not shy about using electronic enhancement, is one of a small stable of Cryptogramophone semi-regulars. For twenty-five years he has worked in jazz fusion, jazz rock and free jazz, and made occasional forays into folk (with Ramblin’ Jack Elliot) and country (with Willie Nelson). Cline’s New Monastery: A View Into the Music of Andrew Hill, draws on all of those genres with the exception, perhaps, of country. I say “perhaps,” because in the tidal wave of electronics and percussion that engulfs the listener in the final three minutes of “Compulsion” there could be hidden away some little allusion to C&W. That seems unlikely but, then, I’ve heard it only five or six times.
At the other end of the decibel scale, a delicate rubato duet between Cline’s guitar and Ben Goldberg’s clarinet on “McNeil Island” contains suggestions that swing may be about to break out. Sure enough, shortly before the three-minute mark, Scott Amendola’s cymbals and Devin Hoff’s bass begin sliding into the mix. Now, they are Cline’s customary band, The Nels Cline Singers, which has no vocalist, plus Goldberg. Soon cornetist Bobby Bradford is aboard, as slippery around tonal centers as he was in the late fifties and early sixties when Bradford, Ornette Coleman, Eric Dolphy and John Carter were enfants terribles of the Los Angeles avant garde.
They meld into “Pumpkin,” one of Hill’s beyond-boppish themes. It may not be your grandmother’s kind of swing, but now they’re swinging. On other tracks, Andrea Parkins joins on accordian. Yes, accordian. At times the cumulative sound is so dense that the ears can barely penetrate it. At others, the music is gentle, open and lyrical almost in the Viennese sense or it tends toward the kind of atmospheres generated by Miles Davis of the post-Bitches Brew period. Lack of dynamic range is not a problem here. In addition to Bradford, Goldberg and Parkins, Cline brings in his twin brother Alex on a couple of tracks to ramp up the percussion.
After decades in low profile following his success in the 1960s, Hill has begun attracting renewed attention as a pianist and composer. Cline’s treatment of his music may be part of the beginning of Hill’s rediscovery by a new generation of musicians and listeners. His approach is not to recreate Hill, but to use his compositions as launching pads for his own ideas, which have depth and complexity.
Next time, short reviews of a few other Cryptogramophone releases, among others.

That may be a conservative estimate of the number of times Dave Brubeck has played “Take Five” since Paul Desmond’s infectious tune became a massive hit forty-six years ago. The Brubeck Quartet’s 2006 Newport Jazz Festival peformance is not the most recent; wherever Brubeck played last night, he played “Take Five.” But in July the cameras were rolling, or whatever digital cameras do (dig?) at Newport and caught a jovial 85-year-old leader and his band in good form and a beautiful setting. Notice the clouds reflected in the piano’s surface. Brubeck is laughing as the piece starts because the group had just completed an outrageously swinging “Margie,” of all things. I have seen that clip on the MSN video internet site, but can’t seem to find it again. If anyone has the url for “Margie,” please report it to Rifftides World Headquarters.
In the meantime, here’s a thirteen-minute “Take Five.” You will be treated to a short commercial going in, but from there it’s clear sailing (after all, this was Newport).

The Paul Gonsalves stories keep rolling in. We had them from Germany and the US. Here’s one from Canada.

The friendship of Clark Terry and Paul continued long after CT’s Ellington-time. It was Clark who introduced me to Paul when both were in Toronto, CT as a soloist at the old Colonial Tavern, and Paul with Duke, who was at the Royal York’s Imperial Room, I think it was. Probably ’68 or ’69. I was on the air live until midnight, and would run to the Colonial (or the Town Tavern) to catch a last set. One night after CT’s gig, he said “Let’s go see Paul”, and off we went to the now-gone Lord Simcoe Hotel (the band members never stayed at the Royal York– too expensive). We found one of the other band members in the lobby, who directed us to Paul’s room.
I’ve rarely seen such an open display of true affection between friends. From somewhere, a bottle of scotch appeared, but there was only one glass around, so Clark came up with a brilliant solution: you know how ice machines will make the cubes with a big ‘dimple’ in them? That’s what became our ‘glasses’ — a new twist (for me, anyway) on Scotch/ice. They held a tidy half-ounce or so, so the bottle was passed quite often during the next hour or so.
I visited Duke the next night, and seeing that I knew Clark, Paul took my word for it that we had met. He might not have remembered me, but I sure remembered him…
I believe Paul was one of the under-recognized great tenormen in jazz.
Ted O’Reilly

Mr. O’Reilly has been a jazz broadcaster in Toronto for forty-one years.

The Rifftides staff is hard at work on that survey of recent recordings. There are so blasted many of them, and things keep intervening. But part 4 is in the works. See the archive (right column) for parts 1, 2 and 3.

The Video of Paul Gonsalves caught napping attracted the following comments.

The Gonsalves clip brings to mind an incident that happened when I was editing Down Beat.
Ellington was making one of his regular two-week appearances at Chicago’s Blue Note, and on opening niight, in front of a full house that included local press and celebrities, Gonsalves nodded out in then same manner we see on the video.
But to compound it all, he also fell out of his chair, got to his seat again, then promptly nodded out once more.
I went back the next night and had a chance to talk to Duke privately,and I said something to him like, “I know it is none of my business, Duke, but isn’t it of great personal embarrassment to you when something like that happens?”
Ellington simply smiled urbanely and told me that one must be able to overlook such indidents when they involve a man who served his country so well in India (as a soldier in WWII) and who, while in that service, contracted a rare tropical disease that “occasionally makes him fall asleep.”
I could only smile in rueful appreciation of his answer–I had been satisfactorily squelched and told to mind my magazine and he would mind his band.
I had been ducally euchred.
Jack Tracy

Mr. Tracy was editor of Down Beat in the mid 1950s.

There is a famous story about Paul, not quite as asleep as he is in the video, but well in his cups when Hamilton nudged him to let him know it was his solo next. Paul roused himself and stepped to the microphone. Hearing the continuing applause for the previous soloist, he thought he must have already played, so he bowed and returned to his seat.
Bill Crow

Mr. Crow is a distinguished bassist and author.

Paul Gonsalves was great, on the countless Ellington sessions as well as outside that band. Check out the “Sittin’ In” session, recently reissued by Verve, where he’s playing together with Stan Getz and Coleman Hawkins.
The whole Copenhagen 1965 concert, from which the “Perdido” clip is taken, is available on DVD.
Paul’s sleeping causes a couple more interesting scenes during the evening, like Cootie Williams coming down for his solo and saying “WAKE up Paul, WAKE up!” when passing him. At one point Ellington tells Jimmy Hamilton to wake Paul up, and Hamilton just extends his arm to hold Paul’s shoulder, with this incredibly bored look on his face. He doesn’t shake him or anything, just puts his hand on Paul’s shoulder.
Also, not Paul-related, Duke does this little juggler’s trick with the head of a mike that keeps falling off. That takes the bored look off many of the musicians’ faces for a moment: they are really surprised.
Somewhere I’ve read this Clark Terry story that Clark would always write postcards to Paul’s mother, pretending it was Paul. Like “Hi Mom, we’re in such-and-such place, love you, Paul.” And then whenever Paul would come home, the first thing his mother would ask, “how’s my boy Clarka Terry?”
Hans Doerrscheidt
(Writing from Germany)

The story about Mrs. Gonsalves is from the liner notes I wrote for the Clark Terry CD Daylight Express–DR

If you’re attending the opening night of the Monterey Jazz Festival, you’re not reading this. If, like me, you wish you were there, you will enjoy this feature by Paul Conley of KXJZ radio in Sacramento, California. The closing is priceless. Follow the link and click on “Listen.”
A year ago I was at Monterey, where I shared a signing table with John Scofield (on the left). He sold more CDs than I sold books. We had a nice chat about many things, including his days with Gerry Mullligan early in Sco’s career.

Paul Gonsalves, the tenor saxophone star of Duke Ellington’s band for nearly a quarter of a century, was a wonderfully warm man who had, as the jazz magazines used to euphemistically write, “personal problems.” His most obvious personal problem was alcohol. When he had overindulged, it was often Ellington’s practice to good naturedly punish him by requiring him to play extra solo choruses, sometimes dozens. In clubs, Ellington sometimes attempted to elevate Paul’s metabolism and hasten the sobering-up process by sending him into the audience like a strolling violinist to serenade the patrons at their tables.
Julius LaRosa (yes, that Julius LaRosa) just brought to my attention a 1965 video of an Ellington performance of “Perdido” in which it is clear that Paul would be playing no solo, let alone extra choruses. And there was going to be no strolling this night. So, Duke and the band worked around the problem. In the eight-minute clip, you will hear an introductory solo in which Ellington interpolates “C-Jam Blues,” then solos by Jimmy Hamilton on clarinet, Ray Nance on trumpet, Hamilton subbing on tenor sax for the indisposed Gonsalves, and a marvelously melodic drum solo by Sam Woodyard. You may observe subtle reactions to Paul’s situation from some of the band members, including Johnny Hodges. To see the performance, go here. This band was nothing if not cool.
Far from letting incidents like this sour him on Gonsalves, Ellington remained fond of him personally and musically. He once surprised Gonsalves by scheduling a recording session and informing him that he would be the only soloist on every tune. The result was the marvelous Duke Ellington and His Orchestra featuring Paul Gonsalves. Gonsalves remained with the Ellington band until the end of his career. He, of course, is the one who played the galvanizing marathon tenor solo on the interval in “Diminuendo in Blue” and “Crescendo in Blue” at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival. Paul Gonsalves died in 1974.

Not me. Ornette.
Brian Wise of WNYC in New York sent an alert that Ornette Coleman will be the guest on Soundcheck tomorrow to talk “about his life and career, touching on some of his classic albums as well as his most recent one, Sound Grammar.” Soundcheck airs from 2:00 to 3:00 pm EDT at 93.9 FM and streams online here. It is also broadcast at 3 pm ET on XM Satellite Radio. This will be a rare opportunity to hear the perpetually iconoclastic alto saxophonist speak.

Thanks for gathering and posting the remarks on the Sudhalter “celebration”, for that’s what it was, as Dan Levinson and I agreed in L.A. over Labor Day. The timing of your posting is right since the AFJS is having its Washington Conference this coming weekend. I ask your permission to copy and distribute it there and to post it, with full attribution, to our website.
Jim Jones President
American Federation of Jazz Societies

Permission is happily granted. Have a good meeting. Maybe we’ll get a few new Rifftiders as a result. Follow the website link above for information about AFJS and the conference.

The concert for Sudhalter went very well. Good attendance, and the musicians limited themselves to one or two numbers, so the evening moved along just right. Frishberg’s “Dear Bix” brought a tear to my eye, and to his, I believe, as well. Marian McPartland, Joe Wilder, Jackie Cain and Steve Kuhn were especially good, and the backstage hanging out was wonderful. Loren Schoenberg’s big band topped off the evening just right. Sud was touched and happy, and though he couldn’t speak his thanks, he stood there and beamed while a friend read a lovely thank-you statement that Dick had written. His speech and his legs aren’t working right yet, but his mind is still there, working elegantly. The room was full of love, and our hopes for his improvement are high.
Bill Crow

Mr. Crow played bass at the concert with The Biagi Band.

What a great event and congratulations and thanks to all the participants. I’ve been deeply sorry to hear of Dick’s condition. Not only was he a cornetist who greatly inspired my own efforts early on, but his writings belong in the select pantheon of Otis Ferguson, George Frazier, Whitney Balliett and a very few others. Indeed I would regularly buy an album for the pleasure of his liner-notes alone. We one mutually lamented the plight of the jazz polymath who both writes and plays but if one artist alone can restore the title to its proper honourable estate it must be Richard M. Sudhalter…as great in the cornet chair as he was – and is – at his typewriter.
Good wishes,
Digby Fairweather

Mr. Fairweather is a distinguished British trumpeter and long-model cornetist.

It was a remarkable evening, one in which I was proud to participate and will always remember. Such an outpouring of affection for Dick by so many great players! And I learned so much! Thanks to all the great musicians who performed selflessly and exquisitely.
Armen Donelian

Mr. Donelian played piano at the concert with the Bill Kirchner Trio.

As I watched the show unfold, I imagined a headlline for a news article: “LOVE AND LOYALTY” Every musician present had been touched in some way by Richard’s simply caring about them and the music we all play. Dick credits me with giving him his 1st gig (Cape Cod 1960). He more than reciprocated by getting me playing again when he came back from Europe in the mid-1970s. Appearances at Carnegie Hall (the Whiteman band) and the Smithsonian (Hoagy Carmichael show); a chance to play with legends like Al Galladoro and Eddie Barefield; a shot at being a founding member of Vince Giordano’s band in ’75, and some wonderful recording trips. I and many of our mates owe him for keeping us out there. Dick Katz got it right when he said it was a love-in. And Bill Kirchner’s set was about the loveliest music-making I’ve heard in this century. What I came away with was the enormous sense of community among us lunatics that play this music. I mean – a group of veteran stock analysts wouldn’t do it that way.
Sam Parkins

Mr. Parkins is a record producer and clarinetist. He played in The Biagi Band.

I’m utterly speechless!! You did a major major mitzvah..and just in time for the High Holidays.
muchimas gracias,
Daryl Sherman

Sie sind willkommen
Ms. Sherman played piano and sang at the concert.