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Rifftides reader Allen Mezquida writes:

It seems that Pekar had a greater perception about jazz than many
musicians I know. He listened with a rich open mind and a big heart.
I created this animation for him. It was finished about a week before
he died.

Allen Mezquida animates films and plays alto saxophone in Los Angeles.

Harvey Pekar died this week at the age of 70. He will, inevitably, be more widely remembered for his seriously adult American Splendor comics and the movie they inspired than for his jazz criticism. As a writer about music he was—no surprise—eccentric and uneven but at his best wrote with precision and frankness about what he heard in his careful listening. Here is the conclusion of his Austin Chronicle review of the reissue of the Miles Davis Cellar Door Sessions.

Maybe Miles was thinking of himself more as the lead voice of a collectively improvising ensemble than a soloist. He plays in fits and starts, screaming, improvising complex but sloppily executed runs, not making good use of wah-wah effects. His efforts don’t hold together well. The loose group concept might be prime suspect in Davis’ cliché-filled performance, but there’s (Keith) Jarrett, member of the same group, playing so well. Jazz fans tend to think of and evaluate Davis’ fusion recordings as a whole, but actually there’s a wide variation in their quality, and that should be kept in mind when purchasing them.

To read the whole review, go here.
Pekar was infatuated with some of the least tethered free jazz. Writing about his avant garde heroes he sometimes went as far out as they did. Yet, he was capable of an open mind and an even keel, as in this observation from a review of the box set reissue that includes Ghosts, saxophonist Albert Ayler’s 1964 collaboration with Sonny Murray, Don Cherry and Gary Peacock.

Here we have characteristic and mature performances by Ayler. In evidence are his honks, above-the-normal-upper-register screams and squeals, lines played so fast they seem to be a blur of notes and a huge vibrato. His original compositions are also unique, so archaic sounding that they seem modern. The influence of both church and martial music is apparent in them.

Unlike some critics of his avant leanings who categorically rejected music of the so-called West Coast movement, Pekar learned to understand Chet Baker.

When I was exposed to jazz in the mid-Fifties, it was as a fan of robust hard bop, musicians like Sonny Rollins and Clifford Brown. The popular West Coast jazz of that time seemed to lack vigor and as a whole was less progressive. Baker was suspect because his trumpet playing was so quiet and introverted; it seemed to lack strength. But after listening to him for years I had to admit that he had a rich melodic imagination, putting his solos together smoothly and swinging gracefully. I grew to like his small, velvety tone, and eventually came to the conclusion that he was an original and admirable performer.

Readers will miss Pekar most of all for the penetrating honesty and sardonic humor of his social observations as a comics writer. They should not overlook his value as a jazz critic. Of the Pekar obituaries I have seen, by far the most comprehensive is the one by William Grimes in The New York Times.

More or less from the beginning of their association, Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond had an affinity for blues in minor keys. Three that achieved success to the point of indelible identification with them were “Balcony Rock,” first recorded in Jazz Goes To College (1954), the same theme recycled as “Audrey” for Brubeck Time (1956), and “Koto Song” from Jazz Impressions Of Japan (1964). “Koto Song” was a new entry in the quartet’s repertoire when they played it on television in Belgium in ’64. This is the group usually referred to as the classic Dave Brubeck Quartet, with Eugene Wright, bass, and Joe Morello, drums.

Next time: the final installment of this series of DBQ pieces from Belgium.

Bill Kirchner writes:

Recently, I taped my next one-hour show for the “Jazz From The Archives”
series. Presented by the Institute of Jazz Studies, the series runs every
Sunday on WBGO-FM (88.3).
Gene Lees (1928-2010) was one of jazz’s foremost essayists and biographers. And he wrote liner notes for a number of classic jazz albums: John Coltrane’s Ballads, Bill Evans’ Conversations With Myself and At The Montreux Jazz Festival, The Individualism of Gil Evans, and Getz/Gilberto, among others.
Lees also wrote memorable lyrics to music by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Bill Evans, Milton Nascimento, Lalo Schifrin, Roger Kellaway, Charles Aznavour, Manuel DeSica, and others. We’ll hear performances of some of those songs–some well-known, others obscure–by Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Jackie Cain, Rita Reys, Nancy Wilson, and Lees himself.
The show will air this Sunday, July 18, from 11 p.m. to midnight, Eastern Daylight Time. If you live outside the New York City metropolitan area, WBGO also broadcasts on the Internet at www.wbgo.org.

To see Rifftides on Gene Lees, and readers’ comments, go here.

From a DBQ television appearance in Europe, we have the piece that served as the quartet’s concert opener for more than a decade. First, a couple of observations, one from me, one from Eugene Wright:
From me: Whoever decreed that white men can’t play the blues never really listened to Desmond and Brubeck personalize the idiom as they do in their solos here.
Gene’s observation is a quotation in a book about Desmond. The first part of it applies to his relationship with Morello from the beginning of their time together, when Wright joined Brubeck in early 1958.

Right away, Joe and I were as one. It was like Jo Jones and Walter Page with Count Basie. It was right from the beginning. Joe Morello and I locked up immediately. Joe’s out of New York and he had that thing–Ben Webster and all those guys loved him because he had that little extra thing you need. When musicians used to ask me how I could play with that band, I told them they weren’t listening. I told them I was the bottom, the foundation; Joe was the master of time; Dave handled the polytonality and polyrhythms; we all freed Paul to be lyrical. Everybody was listening to everybody. It was beautiful. Those people who couldn’t accept it were looking, not listening.

That was the major blues for this mini-series. Tomorrow, the minor blues.

Dr. Lonnie Smith, Spiral (Palmetto). Smith is a doctor in the same way that Captain Beefheart is a captain, but I’m willing to concede him the title because he knows how to make you feel good. Of the generation of post-bop organists who followed Jimmy Smith, he survived his near-namesake Lonnie Liston Smith, Don Patterson, Jimmy McGriff, Richard “Groove” Holmes, Shirley Scott, Jack McDuff and Jimmy Smith himself. At 68, he carries on the tradition employing the Hammond B-3 not only as a blues dynamo—although he is capable of that—but also caressing melodies, as in his title composition and an unlikely choice, the 1963 international pop hit “Sukiyaki,” which he somehow manages to divest of its corn.
Smith exemplifies his tasteful treatment of song book standards in a medium-tempo stroll through Frank Loesser’s “I’ve Never Been in Love Before,” making thoughtful use of space to let the organ and the listener breathe. With Jamire Williams’s drums roiling and guitarist Jonathan Kreisbserg playing ostinato patterns, Smith makes Rodgers and Hart’s “I Didn’t Know What Time it Was” an exercise in compelling forward motion. He flirts with ¾ time in “Sweet and Lovely” without fully committing to it. The resulting rhythmic tension develops a push that energizes his and Kreisberg’s solos. “Beehive,” with its buzzing air of menace, would be perfect for the opening credits in a Stanley Kubrick movie starring Jack Nicholson. Smith takes Slide Hampton’s “Frame for the Blues” at a metronome pace of about 56 that would seem glacial if he and his sidemen didn’t invest it with powerhouse oomph and blues feeling that make it, to these ears, the album’s stealth piece de resistance.

Every traveling jazz soloist knows that playing with pickup sidemen, or sidewomen, is a game of chance. There is a chance that there will be a disaster, a chance that the temporary colleagues will be adequate, and a long outside chance that something special will happen.
Thursday night at The Seasons in Yakima, Washington, Emil Viklický hit that outside chance. The Czech pianist and composer was in the Pacific Northwest for the premier of his Double Concerto for Harp, Oboe and String Orchestra at the national conference of the American Harp Society. Following the performance, he made the trip from Tacoma across the Cascade mountains to The Seasons for a trio concert in that acoustic marvel of a small nonprofit performance hall.

Pat Strosahl, the Seasons founder, engaged bassist Clipper Anderson, who drove in from Montana on his way back home to Seattle. The drummer was Don Kinney, head of the percussion section of the Yakima Symphony Orchestra and a seasoned jazz player. Kinney has distinguished himself at Seasons concerts with other visiting leaders including pianists Alan Broadbent and the Swedish star Jan Lundgren. Anderson and Kinney knew of one another’s work but had never played together. Viklický had played with neither. Viklický had e-mailed Anderson lead sheets for a few of his compositions

Because of Anderson’s late-afternoon arrival following his long drive, the three had time only for a 45-minute rehearsal. They ran through a few standards, and complex originals based directly on Moravian folk songs or on music by Czech national hero LeoÅ¡ Janáček. Janáček is one of the great classical interpreters of the Moravian musical tradition that also inspires Viklický.
At the concert, it was clear after the opening chorus of Cole Porter’s “Everything I Love” that this might turn out to be a memorable evening. It was evident not only because of the single-mindedness of the trio’s swing but also because of Viklický’s grin, which made frequent appearances. Introducing his adaptation of the folk tune “A Bird Flew Over,” he called Kinney and Anderson “my new Moravian musicians.” Several of the pieces were from Viklický’s latest trio record, Sinfonietta, with bassist George Mraz and drummer Lewis Nash. The live versions with Andersonand Kinney compared favorably. It was not just a matter of their considerable technique. The three connected, locked in, listened and reacted to one another on the same wave length. At the end of the concert, when the cheering stopped, the pianist was effusive in his compliments to his new Moravians.

In an evening of high points, the highest was the Viklický piece he tied to his delighted discovery that he was in the heart of Washington State’s celebrated wine country. He explained that “Wine, Oh Wine” grew out of his and his fellow Moravians’ love of a folk song often sung on special occasions, including weddings and funerals. It concerns the dilemma of whether to drink red or white wine. The correct Moravian answer, Viklický said, is “both.” Then, he, Anderson and Kinney celebrated that idea with a vintage performance that matched or exceeded the song’s natural exuberance. Swing doesn’t come much harder than what they achieved on “Wine, Oh Wine.” Three skilled musicians, the common language of jazz and the chemistry that developed in a chance encounter had, indeed, produced a memorable evening. Viklický’s grin migrated to every face in the house.

Unfortunately, there is no video from the Yakima concert, but here is Viklický with his Czech trio, bassist Frantisek Uhlir and drummer Laco Tropp. The tune is Ray Brown’s “Buhaina, Buhaina.”

Jazz developed in the United States, but it has long been an international music and many of its most prominent players are from other countries. The Dane Svend Asmussen is coming in for even more attention than usual lately. Attention is far from new in the career of the remarkable violinist, but when a musician is halfway through his tenth decade and still swinging, he gets extra notice. One who notices is Will Friedwald. He writes about Asmussen in today’s Wall Street Journal. Here’s the first paragraph.

“How are you doing?” That’s normally an innocuous question, except when you happen to be asking a 94-year-old violinist who is probably the oldest currently active major jazz musician in the world. “I do very well,” answers Svend Asmussen, speaking by phone from his home in a Danish fishing village outside of Copenhagen, “considering my extremely advanced age.”

To read the whole thing, go here. For a Rifftides review of two Asmussen albums, go here.

Regarding the “Where We Are” item below, Rifftides reader Cyril Moshkow writes

Looks like the info is not exactly complete, as many people read
through RSS aggregation (which does not include logging in.) For
instance, I am reading Rifftides in Moscow, Russia, but almost never
directly — it is aggregated in my blogroll.

That’s a good point, Cyril. Unfortunately the site meter doesn’t calculate RSS deliveries, so we cannot know how many people sign on by that means.
Be sure to visit Mr. Moshkow’s excellent site, Russian Jazz—DR

Rifftides reader John Fielding writes from Australia:

I am currently reading and enjoying your book about Paul Desmond. I am a lifelong DB and PD follower after seeing them play in Brisbane, Australia, in 1960.
Congratulations on a great contribution to jazz history and the stories and colors of the era of the 50’s.
Amazing that ‘Take Five’ has been so widely recorded. I thought you might be interested to know that I recently heard ‘Take Five’ on a stay in Beijing. There is a very popular group known as the Twelve Girls (actually, there are thirteen of them and I suspect that the band name has something to do with a pun to which all Chinese speakers are addicted). Their forte is playing Western classical and some pop music on Chinese traditional instruments. They also have an extensive Chinese classical repertoire. They do an interesting version of the song. I subsequently found the song on one of their CDs.
I think that Paul would approve – particularly as the twelve (thirteen?) girls are very attractive as well as talented. Interesting that the erhu (one stringed fiddle that looks like a coffee can with a long handle) actually produces a lovely full-bodied cello style note that suits the song very well.

Thank you and all the best from Australia.
John Fielding

You’re welcome, John. And thank you, but wait a minute; four of those 12 (or 13) girls seem to be guys. Could that be the source of the pun?

Jason Moran, Ten (Blue Note)
It is possible that Jason Moran is the messianic paragon that the tide of jump-on-the-Bandwagon critical enthusiasm proclaims him. I am willing to cede that judgment to the leavening passage of time. It is no abandonment of restraint, however, to agree that Moran is an original thinker and a hell of a piano player. If there were no other reason to make that concession, I would be convinced by his treatment of the late Jaki Byard’s “To Bob Vatel of Paris.” Byard recorded the variation on “I Got Rhythm” changes in his breath-taking 1972 solo LP There’ll Be Some Changes Made. The album was briefly reissued on CD as Empirical. Then, absurdly, it was allowed to go out of print and is now available only at outrageous collectors prices.
In his tenth CD on Blue Note, Moran takes his cue for “Vatel” from Byard, with whom he studied. He begins alone, parahrasing and bending the stride style Byard used in the piece. Then, Moran and his longtime sidemen, bassist Tarus Mateen and drummer, Nasheet Waits work their way into the kind of swirling, nearly aharmonic improvisation of which Byard was a master. Standard metric time all but goes out the window for a while, but swing does not. When they have wrapped up the tune six minutes later, they have run it through a kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and colors.
There is much else in the CD to enjoy or wonder at. Moran manages to combine his loves of hip-hop and Thelonious Monk in “Crepuscle With Nellie.” He expands on the spirit, energy and blues core of Leonard Bernstein’s “Big Stuff,” and melds it into the next track, “Play to Live,” which Moran wrote with the late Andrew Hill, another of his teachers. “Pas de Deux,” an unaccompanied piece with the mystery and solemnity of a nocturne, is from a ballet for which Moran wrote the music. There are fast and slow versions of “Study No. 6,” one of the eccentric composer Conlon Nancarrow’s pieces for player piano. “The Subtle One” lives up to its title with reflective piano and bass musings and finely etched brush and cymbal work by Waits.
“Gangsterism Over 10 Years,” bluesy and packed with references to pop dance idioms, is the latest iteration of a theme sketch that the trio, known as The Bandwagon, has been developing since its founding. The bonus track, hidden at the end and not included in the CD’s play list, is “Nobody,” the signature song of Bert Williams, a hero of black vaudeville memorialized in 1940 by Duke Ellington in “A Portrait of Bert Williams.” Moran, Mateen and Waits handle it with the mixture of tenderness, exuberance and irony that characterized Williams’ own approach to the song.
“Nobody” is not all that’s hidden. There is no clue to the musical value of embedding samples of rock guitarist Jimi Hendrix’s feedback behind the trio’s lovely musings in the track called “Feedback Pt. 2.” They don’t do a “Feedback Pt. 1.” That’s okay.

In New Orleans, street musicians in the French Quarter are a tourist attraction. According to city law, they are also a nuisance. The contradiction has roots in jazz history and city tradition. It puts police and the administration of the new mayor, Mitch Landrieu, between residents of the Quarter who want to get some sleep and musicians like these outside Jackson Square who want to make a living or, at least, pick up a few bucks.On the web site truthdig, Artsjournal.com blogger Larry Blumenfeld posted an exhaustive report about the controversy. He connects it to situations portrayed in the hot new cable television series Treme. Here is an excerpt that grew out of his conversation with a civil rights lawyer named Mary Howell.

Section 66-205 could be construed to prohibit a lone guitarist strumming on a corner or someone playing harmonica to no one in particular in the street. Same for Section 30-1456, which, curiously, pertains to a stretch of Bourbon Street filled mostly with bars that blast recorded music well into the night. Add to this, Howell explains, that in 1974 the city passed a zoning ordinance that actually prohibits live entertainment in New Orleans, save for spots that are either grandfathered in or specially designated as exceptions. Those interior shots in “Treme” faithfully depicting the vibe at Donna’s Bar & Grill and Bullet’s Sports Bar? Grandfathered in, or they’d be technically illegal. Current zoning restrictions could, without much of a stretch, be construed to prohibit band rehearsals, parties with musical entertainment, even poetry readings. “It’s a draconian ordinance,” says Howell, “and a blanket over the city.” The very idea is mind-boggling to those who live outside New Orleans: a city whose image is largely derived from its live musical entertainment essentially outlawing public performance through noise, quality-of-life, and zoning ordinances.

To read Blumenfeld’s entire piece, go here.

Vincent Herring & Earth Jazz, Morning Star (Challenge). The rhythm section known as Earth Jazz is electrified, funkified and synthesized. Collaborating with them, Herring looks back to the heyday of ’60s and ’70s soul, with stylistic references to Herbie Hancock, early Weather Report and tinges of Azymuth and The Crusaders. His customary power and tonal perfection on alto and soprano saxophones are intact, even as he adheres to the limitations of the setting. The title tune eases up on the back beat, allowing Herring the balladry at which he excels. It’s a welcome break from the funk formula, as are his echoes of Hank Crawford, and Anthony Wonsey’s acoustic piano work in the concluding “You Got Soul.”

Geri Allen & Timeline, Live (Motéma). Allen’s considerable strengths are on display in the pianist’s recording with her trio and a percussive guest. She integrates dancer Maurice Chestnut’s steely tapping with the time-keeping and soloing of her gifted young sidemen, drummer Kassa Overall and bassist Kenny Davis. Chestnut expands on the tradition established by Savion Glover and—long before—dancers like Baby Laurence who accommodated themselves to bebop. The crowds at the Oberlin Conservatory and Reed College concerts go wild at the exhilaration worked up by Chestnut and Overall. There is no denying the excitement of what they witnessed. It comes across even when one merely hears Chestnut in action. Near the end of Allen’s “Philly Joe,” the drummer and the dancer neatly encapsulate some of the licks the great drummer Philly Joe Jones inherited from his hero Sidney Catlett. It is impressive and somehow amusing to hear Chestnut dance the melody of Charlie Parker’s “Ah-Leu-Cha.”
It can be argued that the tapping, for all its bracing novelty, eventually becomes too much of a good thing. Allen’s playing more than compensates. It is a reminder of her high rank among the pianists of her generation who succeeded Bill Evans, McCoy Tyner and Herbie Hancock. Aside from her inspirational role in the rhythmic energy of the album, with Chestnut sitting out she has supremely lyrical moments in Mal Waldron’s “Soul Eyes” and an unaccompanied impressionistic treatment of Gershwin’s “Embraceable You.” She is firm in her own style but nonetheless manages to suggest Tyner’s power in his signature composition “Four by Five.”
At the summit of recorded collaborations between a tap dancer and a jazz band, this album may not supplant the 1952 sessions of Fred Astaire with Oscar Peterson, but it rewards repeated hearings. I recommend it for the substance of Allen’s playing and the quality of her trio. Chestnut’s tap dancing is a bonus.

The man who may well be the world’s oldest performing jazz musician is approaching his 99th birthday. Befitting a man nearly the age of the music itself, he’s from New Orleans. Lionel Ferbos was born July 17, 1911. He played trumpet in the 1920s with bands led by Walter “Fats” Pichon and Sidney Desvigne and in the 1930s with Harold Dejan and the quintessential New Orleans alto saxophonist Captain John Handy. In demand for his reading ability and lead playing, Ferbos is the trumpeter in the New Orleans Ragtime Orchestra, a band founded by guitarist and clarinetist Lars Edegran in 1967. He plays regularly at the Palm Court Café on Decatur Street. The Palm Court is planning a bash for him on his birthday.

This video produced last year by the New Orleans Times-Picayune‘s John McCusker traces Ferbos’s career. I am going to make every effort to adapt Ferbos’s concluding advice about how to insure a long life and a long marriage.

Benny Powell, the veteran trombonist, died last Saturday in New York. Born in New Orleans, Powell was treasured by his colleagues as a superb musician and teacher and as a gentleman who observed old-South standards of courtesy and consideration.
Among the bands that Powell graced were those of Count Basie, Thad Jones and Mel Lewis, Bill Holman, Benny Goodman, Duke Pearson and Terry Gibbs. Here he is playing the blues in the company of a few of his admiring colleagues: Dizzy Gillespie and Harry “Sweets” Edison (tp), Clark Terry (flh), James Moody and Buddy Tate (ts), Gene Harris (p), Freddie Green (g), Ray Brown (b), Grady Tate (d). Powell has the first solo in this excerpt from a festival in Switzerland in 1985.

Go here for a video montage that captures Benny Powell in several of his roles. DevraDoWrite has news of plans for his services.

As always, the Rifftides staff is trying to keep up with new releases. It can’t be done; the inflow never ceases and listening time is at a premium, but in the next few days we’ll alert you to a few.
Linda Ciofalo, Dancing With Johnny (Lucky Jazz Music). The dancing partner of the title is Johnny Mercer. Ciofalo applies her smooth, rangy voice and flexible phrasing to some of his best-known lyrics. She interprets Mercer beautifully, capturing the joy and irony he intended in “Tangerine,” the ache in “Early Autumn” the tenderness of “I Remember You” and—throughout—the essences of 13 Mercer songs. Pianist John DiMartino heads the excellent rhythm section, which applies occasional Latin or rockish touches. On some tracks, trumpeter Bryan Lynch and saxophonist Joel Frahm provide ensemble support and superb solos. Melisma slightly overburdens some of Ciofalo’s vowels. The drummer is heavy on the backbeat in spots. Those are minor distractions. This is a theme album worthy of its inspiration.

James Moody, 4B (IPO). According to the evidence on this CD due for release in early August, Moody at 85 is undiminished in energy, endurance, chops and harmonic imagination. In the companion to last year’s 4A, the winner of the JJA’s 2010 lifetime achievement award moves at deliberate speed— swinging—through jazz and standard classics including “Take The ‘A’ Train,” “Hot House,” “But Not For Me,” “Bye Bye Blackbird” as a waltz, and compositions by Kenny Barron and Todd Coolman. Barron, on piano, and bassist Coolman reconstitute two thirds of Moody’s superb 1980s rhythm section. The impeccable Lewis Nash is the drummer. Nash’s solo on “Take the ‘A’ Train” is a highlight. All hands get plenty of solo time. Throughout, Moody plays the tenor saxophone, his preferred horn. The proceeding has the air of a high-level jam session. That is a compliment. As usual with Moody, joy predominates.

Fred Anderson, who exemplified the Chicago avant garde as a tenor saxophonist and as a club owner gave it work, has died at 81. The Chicago Tribune‘s Howard Reich followed Anderson’s career. He writes in the newspaper:

His was a rigorous, demanding brand of jazz improvisation that bridged the bebop idiom of Charlie Parker (an Anderson hero) with the “free jazz” experiments of the 1960s and thereafter. The fast-flying phrases and blues-driven energy of bebop converged with the non-chordal, anything-goes song structures of “free jazz” in Anderson’s best work.
Whenever Anderson held the stage, he famously leaned forward a bit, unleashing torrents of notes, one phrase cascading atop another, solos often unfolding over a Herculean 20 minutes or more. Even at his 81st birthday show, last March at his beloved Velvet Lounge, the man packed an avalanche of ideas into every soliloquy.

Reich’s obituary of Anderson includes a video interview. To read it, go here.
This brief, rather disjointed, promotional video for his Timeless DVD gives you Anderson playing at his beloved Velvet Lounge and talking about his early career.