In the center column under Doug’s Picks you will find a new roundup of recommended listening, viewing and reading.

The National Public Radio Jazz Profiles program about Zoot Sims is now up on NPR’s web site in streaming audio.
 The show produced by Paul Conley and hosted by Nancy Wilson includes memories of the great saxophonist by Bob Brookmeyer, Dave Frishberg, Bill Holman, Harry Allen, Bucky Pizzarelli, Zoot’s wife Louise and me. It also has plenty of music. To hear it, go here and click on “Listen Now.”

For a recent Rifftides piece on Sims and his tenor sax companion Al Cohn, go here. It includes a link to a performance video.

Rifftides reader Nina Ramos listened to Carol Sloane’s newest recording, encountered something that disturbed her, and sent this message:

 

Just finished reading your liner notes and listening to Carol Sloane’s Dearest Duke. I liked it very much – except – (and am I the only one to notice?) the extremely loud breathiness in the sax part of two pieces especially – “In My Solitude” and “I Got It Bad”. It just about ruins both of those songs for me. Did I get a defective recording, or is that how it’s “supposed” to sound?

Is he too close to the mike on these pieces? You didn’t mention this in your liner notes so I wondered if your copy had the same loud breaths on it. Both of these sax solos start about 2 minutes into each song. As you can probably tell, I know very little about jazz, other than I like something or I don’t. I loved her voice – but that sax…. Thank you for any information you care to give.

Dear Ms. Ramos,

Ken Peplowski (l), who got your attention in his collaboration with Carol Sloane, is paying homage to Ben Webster (r) (1909-1973), the great Duke
Ellington tenor saxophonist. Webster’s use of breathy vibrato on ballads was a trademark and, to many listeners, one of his most endearing qualities. Whether Peplowski was miked too closely is a matter of preference, I suppose, but there is no doubt that he was emulating Webster.  

The great Ellington band of 1940 and 1941 is generally identified in Ellingtonia as the Blanton-Webster band after two of its stars, bassist Jimmy Blanton and Ben Webster. This box set contains lots of classic Webster with Ellington in that period. This encounter with Gerry Mulligan has superb latterday Webster.

There is more information in the chapter on Webster in my book Jazz Matters: Reflections On The Music And Some Of Its Makers. Here’s a paragraph.

In the beginning his playing was modeled closely on the dramatic, sweeping, even grandiose, style of Coleman Hawkins. But over time, Webster pared away embellishments and rococo elements while maintaining warmth and a big tone, and created a style that appeals with force and clarity directly to the emotions.

If you seek out Webster’s recordings, perhaps you, too, will submit to his charms. To see and hear him play “Old Folks” with Teddy Wilson on piano, click here. Yes, that’s a tear rolling down Ben’s cheek when Wilson finishes his solo. He felt things deeply.

In his new blog Jazz Profiles, Steve Cerrra is running a multi-part series on the late pianist Michel Petrucciani. In the current installment, Cerra discusses how during his period with Blue Note Records, Petrucciani dealt with his Bill Evans influence:

To hear a very specific example of this stylistic transition in the making, compare Michel’s scorching treatment of “Night and Day”, in which he puts on a dazzling display of “pianism,” with the searching and tentative version offered by Evans of this song on the Everybody Digs Bill Evans, his second date for Riverside.

Of course, Evans was still in the process of discovering his systems of voicings on his version of the Cole Porter classic whereas Michel comes to this system 30 years later with it available as a fully developed basis for harmonic substitutions while playing this tune. Nevertheless, more and more, throughout “The Blue Note Years,” one can discern the advent of Michel’s unique Jazz voice.

To read the whole thing, go here.

Cerra has initiated an occasional series on, of all peculiar topics, jazz critics. He began it with a lovely piece about Whitney Balliett. Now, arriving at desperation early in the game, he has resorted to a sidebar about the proprietor of Rifftides. I am mystified and flattered.

John Ellis, Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow (Hyena). Ellis’s quartet makes party music infected with parade beats, gospel, tango (“Three Legged Tango In Jackson Square”), comedy (“Zydeco Clowns On The Lam”) sentiment worn up, rather than on, the sleeve (“I Miss You Molly”) and assorted other ingredients. Think of gumbo. Ellis plays soprano saxophone and bass clarinet, but his individuality shines most brightly on tenor saxophone. His superb support troops are organist and accordianist Gary Versace, drummer Jason Marsalis and sousaphone virtuoso Matt Perrine. Yes — sousaphone. You see one, greatly reduced, to your right. This album was recorded in Brooklyn, but it feels like a visit to Ellis’s home town, New Orleans. Great fun.

Paolo Fresu, Richard Galliano, Jan Lundgren, Mare Nostrum (ACT). In the hands of three masters, another unusual combination of instruments produces music that can transport listeners into dreaminess unless they are concentrating on the depth of its inventiveness. The
Italian trumpeter Fresu, the French accordianist Galliano and the Swedish pianist Lundgren (l. to r.) blend in a program of their own compositions and one each by Jobim, Trenet and Ravel. The name of Lundgren’s title piece translates as “Our Sea.” That opening tune introduces an aura of reflection that never dissipates even through the relative liveliness of Fresu’s “Years Ahead” and Galliano’s “Para Jobim” or the compellingly familiar melodies of Ravel’s “Ma Mere L’Oye. The tonal qualities of the three musicians are so distinctive, their harmonic resources so rich and melodic gifts so powerful that there is substance throughout. This is satisfying music with a long shelf life.

Horace Silver, Live At Newport ’58 (Blue Note). It is a treat to hear a newly discovered live performance by the pianist, composer and bandleader whose quintets were among the most interesting and stimulating of the so-called hard bop period. Tenor saxophonist Junior Cook and trumpeter Louis Smith had a good day as soloists. It is unlikely that Cook — consistently excellent, always underrated — had bad days. Smith was in and out of the band quickly. He is impressive, particularly in the construction of his solo on “Senor Blues.” Silver was playing at the top of what producer and annotator Michael Cuscuna calls his “quoteaceous” game. He drives along with the yeoman support of bassist Gene Taylor and drummer Louis Hayes, riveting attention on each tune and coming up with a remarkable solo on the final track, “Cool Eyes.”

Hadley Caliman, Gratitude (Origin). I wrote in Jazz Matters about Caliman in a 1979 performance with Freddie Hubbard’s band:

As the evening progressed, Caliman’s playing took on much of the intensity and coloration of John Coltrane’s work, but he is a more directly rhythmic player than Coltrane was toward the end of his life and from that standpoint is reminiscent of Dexter Gordon. Whatever his influences, Caliman is an inventive and cheerful soloist.

Caliman recently retired as a college music educator but not as a tenor saxophonist. He still

sounds cheerful and at least as inventive as during his heyday (he made his first records in Los Angeles in 1949 when he was seventeen and a student of Gordon). With Thomas Marriott on trumpet and a splendid rhythm section, Caliman has a Coltrane quotient on ballads like his lovely “Linda” and Kurt Weill’s “This Is New.” He employs plenty of Gordon’s brand of incisiveness and swing on faster pieces including Joe Henderson’s “If.” Yet, there is no mistaking him for anyone but Hadley Caliman. Young Marriott, increasingly impressive for his fluency and capacious sound, is an ideal front line partner and contrasting soloist. Vibraharpist Joe Locke, bassist Phil Sparks and drummer Joe LaBarbera have fine solo moments and comprise a blue ribbon support team.

This CD is about fifty minutes long. I point that out in praise, not condemnation. The fact that a compact disc can run eighty minutes does not mean that it should. On Caliman’s record, solos are thoughtful, to the point and memorable. They could have gone on longer, but they didn’t need to. Could this be a trend? Let us hope so.

Herbie Mann’s Californians, (Fresh Sound). This compilation reissue contains all of the Riverside album called Great Ideas Of Western Mann plus tracks from Riverside’s Blues For Tomorrow and Verve’s The Golden Flute Of Herbie Mann. In all cases, Jimmy Rowles is on piano, with Buddy Clark on bass and Mel Lewis on drums. For the rhythm section alone, this would be a desirable CD, but Mann’s bass clarinet and Jack Sheldon’s trumpet work on seven of the pieces make it an essential example of all hands’ best work of the late 1950s. On the four remaining tracks, Mann plays flute with his customary jauntiness, but it’s those bass clarinet solos and the instrument’s blend with Sheldon’s horn that stay in the mind. Mann’s conception is hardly generic, but it is orthodox bebop. In Rowles and Sheldon, however, we hear two of the great eccentrics among improvisers of any era, departing from the trodden path and detonating little surprises.

Music allows the great opportunity to play with people who turned you on and you love.

To most jazz critics I was basically Kenny G.

It turns out that rumors of the imminent death of the IAJE were accurate. Following its financially disastrous 2008 conference in Toronto, the International Association of Jazz Education has canceled its 2009 conference and is about to file for bankruptcy. The huge meeting of musicians, educators, producers, record company executives and others from every precinct of jazz was to have been held in Seattle next January.

The IAJE grew from a music educators’ collective into a behemoth whose organizational weaknesses allowed it to topple of its own weight. For years, there have been grumblings among musicians, critics, bookers and producers that IAJE had gained too much power over careers and the business of jazz. Until Toronto, few knew of the fragility of the organization.

Be on the alert for attempts to fill the role of an outfit that, for all its faults, once a year brought together from around the world a substantial portion of the jazz community. Seattle Times music critic Paul deBarros, a veteran IAJE watcher, wrote in today’s paper:

In a good year, the conference attracts 7,000 to 8,000 people, a must-attend for anyone involved in jazz.

Rumors that the organization was in trouble surfaced after this year’s dramatically underattended conference in Toronto, down 40 percent.

To read all of de Barros’s article, click here.

Carol Sloane’s individualism as a singer grows, in part, out of her adoration of Carmen McRae. In the confusion of the past week, I overlooked Sloane’s tribute to McRae on what would have been Carmen’s eighty-eighth birthday. Here is some of what she wrote:

When she laughed, the room vibrated; when she spewed venom, people, animals and birds hastily fled the scene.

Carol’s assessment nails the yin and yang of the phenomenon that was Carmen McRae. To read all of her tribute to McRae and see the stately photograph she chose to accompany it, go here.

My own encounters with Carmen were few but unforgettable. The first was in 1956. Gus Mancuso and I were in San Francisco for his first recording session for Fantasy. We had just checked into a musicians’ hotel in the Tenderloin, not far from the Blackhawk.
We were in the elevator on the way up to our floor. The car stopped and in walked a woman looking like this. She rode one floor and got out.

“My God,” Gus said after the door closed, “that was Carmen McRae.”

“Why didn’t you say something to her?” I said.

“I couldn’t,” he told me. “I was speechless.”

At the New Orleans Jazz Festival in 1968 or ’69, I was assigned to introduce McRae at a concert. Before her set we spent a few moments chatting. After the concert, we socialized briefly with other people. Four years later, I had moved to New York. Late one night after I got off the air, I went up to Harlem where McRae was appearing at the Club Barron with her trio. I arrived as she was starting the last song of a set, went to the bar and ordered a drink. A couple of large men who were not quite sober looked me over, uttered comments that could not have been interpreted as words of warm greeting, and began edging closer.

The moment the song ended, Carmen walked briskly over to me and said, “We know each other, don’t we. It’s good to see you again.” She aimed the power of her glare at the aggressive welcoming committee. “Let’s have a seat,” she said. We went to a table. Before the break ended, Dizzy Gillespie walked in, carrying his trumpet case. He joined us and when the next set started, Dizzy sat in with Carmen. It was an unforgettable collaboration.

When that set was over and it was time for me to go, Carmen asked one of the heavies who had started moving in on me to see that I got into a cab. He escorted me to the street, hailed a taxi and waited until the cab pulled away.

When I next saw Carmen, several years later, I said, “I owe you one.” She smiled softly. And that was that.

The long computer nightmare and its peripheral bad dreams are over. Well, almost over. In the resurrection and reinstallation of the machine and the replacement of a connected printer/scanner/fax that blew out in the process, one of my two telephone lines crashed. That, however, is a small matter compared with relief that the hard drive lives. Not to have had backup was foolish. I was fortunate to survive what could have been a massive loss of files.

Hard drives are fragile, fickle, unpredictable creatures. If you don’t have backup for yours, please get it. There are lots of options. My computer technician and savior recommended Simple Drive, a satellite hard drive made by a company called SimpleTech. Full disclosure: neither my tech nor I has stock, relatives or financial interest in the company.

Tomorrow, onward and upward with never a backward glance at the recent unpleasantness.