The Late Night TV Big Band Litmus Test

The attention that used to be paid to jazz on such programs as "The Sound of Jazz," "Frankly Jazz,""The Subject is Jazz," "Playboy After Dark" and events like Clifford Brown on Soupy Sales show, jazz musicians "What's My Line," etc. petered out decades ago.

The late night big band managed to hang around a lot longer, but the recent passing of trumpeter Snooky Young, seen in the photo above and in this video with the Tonight Show Orchestra-struck me as the mortality marker for the 60-year relationship between big band jazz and television.

No longer will cameras spend valuable time scanning the band to show us the likes of Snooky, Clark Terry, Conte Condoli, Jack Sheldon, Ray Brown... And, apart from being able to see these musicians in the flesh, my guess is that it was also a boost to jazz record consumers, as a stable group of jazz musicians did not have to go on the road and could spend time in the recording studio. 

  Late night television carried over the radio idea that big bands were de riguer for variety shows. Late night was America's best well-known dirty-little-secret and the Tonight Show led the pack. While still riddled with taboos (a sketch wherein a WC was taken for a church was censored, leading to Jack Paar's walkout), sponsors were willing to pair jazz music with hosts who had vaguely "hip" credentials: Steve Allen, Ernie Kovacs, Al "Jazzbo" Collins (no hip creds except his name), Jack Paar and then Johnny Carson (In his early days, Carson had a fair whiff of disreputableness).

Merv Griffin (a big band singer himself) often guest-hosted, then got his own show and his big band was the West Coast version of the Tonight Show's until Carson moved out there in 1972. Big band vocalists Mike Douglas and Dinah Shore also had successful variety shows.

No doubt sponsors and producers thought that having a large band onstage gave the show some "klass," but, well, it did. It represented sophistication and a grown-up's hedge, if you will, against the onslaught of rock and roll. It also meant that any kind of a musical guest could be booked-tuba to musical saw-as solid accompaniment would always be there. This did lead to some very cheesy rock/jazz hybrids, but we won't go there.

I'm not saying that an anti-jazz stance became a litmus test for late night host survival. However:

David Letterman never cared much for jazz. His band (Paul Shaffer) and that of Saturday Night Live (Howard Shore, but it was really Lenny Pickett's Tower of Power sound on tenor sax) led the new musical way. Letterman may have been too far ahead of the curve, though, as Carson was a pretty staunch jazz fan and chose not to dub Letterman his successor. Dave shoulda feigned interest.

Jay Leno did and kept the big band thing going for a little while, Then, with Branford Marsalis, oversaw the band's mutation into the standard form funk-jazz that started to rule late night TV.

Conan O'Brien's band-Max Weinberg and company-was a hybrid, with a fair amount of swing; perhaps too much jazz in there for Conan to stay on a major network.

Now, who else ya got: Kimmel, Fallon, Ferguson. They might stick around awhile-no jazz.

I'll take a cup of Laphroaig then, for Auld Lang Syne.

Tout Ca Change at the FCC

This speaks for itself: Meredith Attwell Baker, one of the two Republican Commissioners at the Federal Communications Commission, plans to step down—and right into a top lobbying job at Comcast-NBC.


How is this acceptable? So far as I can see, my moral standards are not significantly higher than the average person. And yet, so much "business as usual" seems to be carried off on a level that would qualify for one of Dante's inner circles.

Live Group Recording-the Dave Lambert Singers Film

Just want to note the terrific 1964 D.A. Pennebaker film of the Dave Lambert Singers auditioning for RCA. Lambert was a very early practitioner of vocalese and bop vocals and, of course, a member of Lambert, Hendricks and Ross. The other singers are Mary Vonnie, David Lucas, Sarah Boatner and Leslie Dorsey, none of whom acquired a much larger reputation. Dorsey was killed driving a gypsy cab in 1988.

It's kind of extraordinary to hear 5 singers standing in a circle, all singing into a single mic, wearing no headphones. The singers make constant eye contact with each other, modulating their performances on the basis of a number of audible and physical signals, overt and subtle. The rhythm section plays in another side of the studio, with minimal sound baffling.

In the ongoing discussion about "live" versus "layered" recording (it is ongoing, right?), this film chalks one up for the naturalists.

"Alice in Jazzfest Land-Pt. II" Steve Provizer

In Part I (see below), I vented about what I think is Jazzfest's ill-advised turn toward more BIG NAMES. In the spirit of generous top-ten-itude for which I am famous, here's a look at the more joyous aspects of the event:

1. The Jazz and Heritage Stage (Economy Hall), the traditional jazz tent. Here can be found a cohort of people who Second Line at the drop of a bandana. Black, white, young and real old, the bliss is palpable.
     Three Economy Hall highlights: Don Vappie and the Creole Jazz Serenaders' rendition of Skoodle-um-Skoo (2) Doreen Ketchens-if Louis Armstrong had been a woman (and played clarinet), he would be Doreen. 3) Leroy Jones-the guy is a m-f-er. What he was doing in the Trad tent, I don't know. He played "My Blue Heaven" and other similar tunes, but he is a hard-bopper.

2. Soft-shelled crab po-boys, mufalettas (both vegetarian and turkey), key-lime pie and Crawfish Monica.

3. Mist-ers in the jazz tent (could be more powerful and in more tents).

4. Seriously rockin' hybrids of Mardi Gras Indians and brass bands, esp Jockimo's Groove featuring War Chief Juan and Eric Gordon.

5. They show off the young folk who still blow the horns. NOCA has a lot goin' for it. Jeremy Davenport brought John Bradley, a protegee who is in the 8th grade, onstage. Somewhat frightening trumpet player.

6. More-or-less enough port-a-potty's.

7. The Gospel Tent (caveat: painful decibel level)

8.  People still be playing the blues-with passion.

9. Lagniappe Stage-eclectically, even brilliantly programmed.

10. I had no ticket for Saturday; had one for Sunday, but mistakenly brought an already-used ticket. Both days, I got in. Only in New Orleans.

I will be posting audio, including an interview with Doreen Ketchens, at allaboutjazz.com, so check that out in the near future.

"Alice in Jazzfest Land-Part I." by Steve Provizer

The New Orleans jazz and Heritage Festival (Jazzfest) is both blessed and accursed. It brings out both the Jazz Curmudgeon in me and the Jazz Booster. In this entry-the curmudgeon...

I hadn't been to Jazzfest in maybe a dozen years, my patience having been worn thin by the crowds and the limitations of the jazz tent, where people squatted all day, making it hard for those of us who liked to wander around and hear some gospel, Zydeco, etc.

The incursion of BIG ACTS started to jack up the size of the crowds, and back then, the acts weren't even that big-the Allman Brothers, Van Morrison. Now, they are. Bon Jovi, Wellenkamp, Robert Plant, Tom Jones(!), Kid Rock...

This is not a philosophical, moral or musical judgement on whether these acts should be there ("All music is folk music. I never saw no mule sing it"-Leadbelly). Vive la difference. But the presence of these acts and the throngs they draw affects the experience of everyone.


There may be upsides. First, fans of Kid Rock and co. almost certainly come into contact with other kinds of music, although it's a good bet the exposure will be at the outdoor stages, not in the tents that house jazz, blues, gospel, youthful players or very small ensembles. Second, more people get a job-even if it's standing for hours in the hot sun, waving a red flag to signal pedestrians to stop and let golf carts and trucks go by.

Much remains the same-good food, great local musicians-and I'll get to that in the next post. But the fact is, my overall experience was increasingly like America is and less like New Orleans is.

I ain't saying all is rosy on the streets of N.O. If you've been there, you know, but for better or worse, the place is different than any other city in the U.S. It's beautiful/ugly, wily, inventive and desperate. Even when it succeeds in being slick, there's an edge to it, always the sense that the whole thing may spill uncontrollably into the streets and end up in the local lockup.

Jazzfest is headed in the opposite direction. It's an entity whose demographics are increasingly appealing to larger corporations; the natural result of a growth spiral which favors the favored. It mirrors the growth of suburban pop concert venues twenty miles away and the demise of the corner bar.

Again, I'm not talking about some ineffable nostalgia. I'm talking about what sound the wind carries to your ears as you wade through the crowd, about having to look at thousands of people who agreed to put Shell Oil co. logo stickers on their hats and shirts so they might win some free gas and yes dammit, about people who wouldn't recognize a trumpet if you dropped one on their head.


Next time: The Upside: Misters in the Jazz Tent.

Walter Polite-A Bayou Working Man & Musician

I wrote this article about Walter Polite (pronounced Po-leet) for the Christian Science Monitor in 1997 and Walter died soon after. I reprint it here because I'm going back to N.O. and the memory of this bayou working man sitting on his front porch, grandkids running in and out while he played for me for hours, is one I'd like to summon up one more time...

NEW Orleans and the surrounding Louisiana countryside have proven as fertile in the generation of music as any region of the United States, perhaps the world. Jazz, Cajun, zydeco, and Mardi Gras music were all spawned here; Afro-Caribbean, gospel, blues, and rhythm-and blues have all flourished here.

To explore this legacy and especially today's Cajun and zydeco (“ZY- deco") music - a type of accordian-driven Cajun music blending blues and country idioms - I spent some time this spring in New Orleans and the bayou country, timing my visit to coincide with the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in May. This event, aside from presenting nationally- known acts, is a magnet for many of the area's crafts people, chefs, and, of course, musicians. I enjoyed the varied culinary specialties as well as the jazz and blues music, but I especially sought out the Cajun musicmakers.

Allen Fontenot, a Cajun fiddler and leader of a group called the Country Cajuns, recalled what it was like decades ago to be a young musician in local dance halls. Speaking in a patois that is itself a combination of ethnicities, Mr. Fontenot said, “You used to pay a quarter to get into the country dances and for that you’d get a live band and a big bowl of gumbo at 11. We used to call these dances 'fais dodo,' which means 'make sleep. You see, young couples would bring their little children to the dance, and they'd have to try and get them to go to sleep before they could party.”

While this kind of a dance is rare today, I discovered that the bayous and the country roadhouses that keep the music alive have remained pretty much the same for the last 50 years. Swamps dense with vegetation and squat cinder block or tin buildings with names Iike the "Half Moon” and "Coz's Blue Goose Lounge" still dot the countryside from outside New Orleans to Lafayette and New Iberia, “the heart of Cajun country."

It was on a trip to New Iberia that I met someone who personifies Louisiana's indigenous music culture. Walter Polite, born 75 years ago in St. Martinville, La., is a robust working man, who made his living as a laborer.

“I worked in the field, worked in the swamp, worked on the levee--all hand work," he said. "Never drove a tractor." There is something else that Mr, Polite does with his hands, and that is play the accordion masterfully.

We sat on the screened-in front porch of his small frame house, as three other generations of the Polite family listened or went about their business. He showed me some memorabilia and talked about his history with the accordion:

“My cousin went and bought a French accordion, but he couldn't play on it, so he gave it to me; said, 'If you can play on it, take it.' So I started to play; little dances, little parties, like that …Then I lost my child, and I stopped playing for about five years, Later on, some folks asked me to play for a dance, and I picked it up and started again."

It was clear that Polite didn't really enjoy taIking about himself and wanted to get down to more important business: "Now I'm gonna play you some music - some zydeco music.”

 

Technically, the instrument he plays is a triple-row diatonic accordion, but I was totally captivated by his playing and had no desire to analyze; the man and his music seemed totally unified. With his foot keeping accurate time, he played and sang, sometime in English, sometimes in patois French: "Hey Lucía," "Lena," "My Tutu," "Zydeco Cha Cha," and others.

"I don't say I'm the best." he explained, "but I try to satisfy the people." 

In the estimation of this visitor, he certainly does that.

"Boston Celtics Jazz Lineup" By Steve Provizer

"

Last year at the beginning of the playoffs, I posted my take on the C's as jazz musicians. The only change in this year's lineup is Shaq.


Rajon Rondo=Miles Davis
Paul Pierce=Coleman Hawkins
Kevin Garnett=Booker Little 
Shaquille O'Neal-Walter Page
Ray Allen=Big Sid Catlett




(Not to be used for illegal gambling purposes...If only)

"Operators Are (Still) Standing By" by Steve Provizer

Last summer, inspired by the alliance between Sony and the Miles Davis estate which offered a mouthpiece replica, t-shirts and other fascinating items, we created our own Louis Armstrong Simulacrum Kit. And, we couldn't keep 'em in stock!

Always eager to satisfy the insatiable jazz consumer, we have again forged a metaheuristic liaison with a clutch of Ukranian businessmen and created The Deluxe Charlie Parker Simulacrum Kit, which allows you to really "get next" this greatest of jazz improvisers. It includes:

1. A dental x-ray showing Bird's "upper partials."  
2. A yardbird wing from 1941, preserved in formaldehyde.
3. A wheel from the band bus that probably crushed it.
4. A bottle of Gordon's gin salvaged from the wreckage of the old Birdland, with a letter of provenance from Willy's Liquor Store on 44th St.
5. An early brochure from the Camarillo Chamber of Commerce
6. A box of Dean Benedetti out-takes (so unlistenable that even Ross Russell wouldn't release them, but still...)
7. One oboe reed with a imbedded Mitch Miller moustache hair.

And, for the first 20 buyers, we will throw in shards from the cymbal thrown by Jo Jones in an infamous jam session incident (verification pending).

So act now. Our 'operators' are standing by.

And, as we always say, "it's not re-animation, but it's pretty damn close."

"Chet Baker Watch & Other Jazz Necessities," by Steve Provizer

Glad to see someone's finally designing a Chet Baker watch. If anyone says "be on time" to me, it's Chet.

Not to be outdone, I have a number of products in the pipeline:

Charlie Parker Day Planner
Trumbauer Guide To Linux
G.I. Lennie Action Figure
Joe Newman Sump Pump
Bill Evans Chest Expander
Keith Jarrett Beard Trimmer
The iTrane

"The Shadow of Kitty Genovese" by Stephen Provizer

This is a re-written version of a post from last April, which I'm reprising as a pre-quel to a post later this week about the Occupy movement. I think it's timely.

I recently re-discovered the unusual Phil Ochs LP "Pleasures of the Harbor."  A song from that album, "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends," and another song from 1967-"All's Quiet on West 23rd," by a group called "Jetstream"-were inspired by a 1964 incident in Queens where the murder and rape of a woman named Kitty Genovese went unreported by neighbors.

The degree of passivity and non-involvement on the part of Genovese's neighbors is not clear (Good explanation here), but the incident inspired a flurry of research, which in turn generated a sociological premise called The Bystander Effect. The gist of this is that the larger the size of a group of people witnessing a "reportable" activity, the less likely any one person is to take action.

"Monk's Moods; a Look at Robin Kelley's Bio" by Stephen Provizer

Robin Kelley's massive bio Monk has been widely reviewed and justifiably praised. Monk's musical history is exhaustively researched and definitively outlined. Kelley's chapter on the early days of bop at Minton's and Monroe's is the clearest explanation of that confusing scene I've ever read.

But, when I read biographies, what most interests me is the interplay-the dissonances and congruences-between the art and the artist. The way this is undertaken determines where a biography is placed on the hagiography-to-'gotcha' spectrum.

In his Acknowledgments, Robin Kelley says he "did not want to write an authorized biography" and that Monk's son Toot, "...only asked me to do two things: 'Dig deep and tell the truth.' This is no small task, as Thelonious Monk may be the most enigmatic jazz hero of all. Kelley presents us with a ton of facts. It's up to the reader to decide whether or not we've been told "the truth."

Kelley's decisions about what to put in and what to leave out, what to emphasize and what to soft-peddle, play out palpably throughout the book. There seems to be no doubt that Monk was both a seer and a pain in the ass. He was a visionary and an egotist; a doting father and an absent one; a hard worker who turned it off when he felt slighted; a boss who said he "never fired anyone," but often replaced band members on short notice.

The story of Monk's drugs and alcohol use is often alluded to, but not deeply explored. This is an important omission, as much of what we think about Monk hangs on his biochemistry. I.e., when did he begin to get in the thrall of bi-polar-ism? To what extent are the episodes described caused by personal chemistry? Drugs? Some combination of the two? How much control might he have exerted over his drug and alcohol intake? Kelley tilts the moral ambiguity in favor of Monk, as one might emphasize a deceased uncle's intelligence over his biting sarcasm.

Kelley's failure to go more deeply into the "personal responsibility" aspect of the story is reflected in another way. Much is said to denigrate the media or other people's take on Monk as naive or child-like. But Kelley often purveys Monk as someone who is unaware that his odd behavior might make people think he's odd. On the other hand, Kelley often takes pains to tell us how aware Monk is of his surroundings and circumstances.

A biography may provide a means of self-reflection that can help us gain insight into ourselves. After all, deciding whether a book such as this tells "the truth" is less about facts than the reader's personal morality. But here, you get a bit of the same feeling you get with "embedded" war reporting. Living, eating, sleeping and facing bullets together affects what you choose to put in and leave out.

In this book, Robin Kelley has given us an amazing story, but we may need a slightly more detached scholar to help us through the dense psychic thicket that was Thelonious Monk.

Video Vault-Woody Shaw-"Bemsha Swing."

Another in the series of the great Woody Shaw, playing "Bemsha Swing," recorded by me on 8.21.85 at the Charles Hotel in Cambridge, MA.
Featuring:

Woody Shaw-trumpet.
Stanley Cowell-piano
David WIlliams-bass
Terri-Lyne Carrington-drums

Japan & My Embouchure

There we are, in a nutshell. On a throne, with our feet in a pile of shit.

The vistas of unremitting destruction shake me to the core and my dreams are taken up with loved ones rushing away from white clouds of poison. Amid this miasma of empathy mixed with paranoia, the act of blowing the trumpet is completely self-indulgent and also necessary.

I brew and stew about catastrophes, but obsess about my embouchure. It's escapist, but imperative. It's not art "in the face of something" (You'd know that if you heard me). It's simply one other act of attempted self-definition which, in the face of crises around the world, is simply narcissism writ small.

Jazz and humor still remain central, but the gravity of recent days weighs upon us all, as well it should.

Collective bargaining: Threat or Menace? by Steve Provizer

You know the story: A guy is crawling on the ground looking for something under a lamp post. His friend comes up and says "Oh, is that where you dropped your wallet?" The guy replies," No, I dropped it over there, but this is where the light is."

So, America has dropped its wallet and instead of going off and finding some new source of light (solar-powered? cheap flashlight made in China? "alternative" media?) we are trying to find it under a lamp post that was bought and paid for by some very wealthy and powerful people. 

We actually have the choice to look elsewhere for our wallets (or for what you might call a reasonable explanation for our increasing impoverishment), but people seem to keep getting sucked into that highly controlled "staying-on-message" pool of light. What the hell is happening here?

Are we so much under the sway of the Myth Of Infinite Mobility that we continue to identify with the barons who are picking our pockets- the "winners" in our culture, the fulfillers of the myth? 

Have we come to a point that we believe so little in the intrinsic nobility of service to the community that the only people whose efforts we will support are those seeking a tax break so they can open a hog farm in a "right-to-work" state?

Does the Myth of the Rugged Individual hold sway to a degree that we have completely lost the sense of "there but for the grace of god go I?" and therefore hold no group responsibility for the fates of those whom fate did not bless?

Follow your dreams? OK, no problem, but please remember that our fates are intertwined. 

Also remember that just because you're paranoid doesn't mean you're not being followed.

"Ma Nuit En Enfer. Or, A Night at the Movies" by Steve Provizer

Hollywood movies suck. Not only that, going to a multiplex theatre is one of the most dispiriting, depressing and irritating experiences imaginable. Yet, it's one to which Americans are sado-masochistically drawn by the millions. It's especially piquant to plunge in just after you've seen the Oscars; like turning over a beautiful moss-covered log in the forest and having your hand covered with slimy larvae.

I had submitted to watching the Oscars only because I actually know a couple who made a movie that was nominated for best picture. I was curious to see someone of my ilk trying to pass in that glorious parade of narcissism, so I gritted my teeth and abided the endless car ads, the gruesome display of self-love and the singular lack of humor that marked the broadcast. A person's gotta ask: Does each winner really love his or her family that much? (actually, one noticed that it was only the men who gushed about that, not the women) And you know what else? Bob Hope was always stiff as a board. Finding 5 bits from him that were funny must have taken the editors half a day.

Right after that cavalcade of bonhomie, circumstances compelled me to transport my daughter to a multi-theatre gigaplex located in downtown Boston. The trip was necessary because video she'd submitted of herself singing one of Justin Bieber's  songs was chosen to get screen time in the "director's cut" (watch out Fellini) of his movie. It was about 2 seconds worth, as it turned out, but kudos to her. It was certainly Papabear's responsibility to get her there so she could strap herself in with the 3D glasses and bask.

I decided that the easiest thing would be to confer with my wife and find another movie that played at about the same time. It seemed a better alternative than drinking over-priced beer in the Theatre District for two and a half hours. Not the first time I've been wrong.

Walking in from the sidewalk, I knew immediately that we were in for an aesthetic treat. The interior of the place was right out of Albert Speers by way of Frederick's of Hollywood. The designers had managed to evoke mall anomie and blend it with the cheezy theatricality of Grauman's Chinese Theatre; all of it burnished with the accumulated grime of thousands of buckets of spilled popcorn smothered in "butter product."

Entering the theatre to see "True Grit" was like stumbling into a Mythbusters episode investigating how many decibels of sound it takes to induce diarrhea. We were forced to submit to half an hour of commercials and coming attractions-each of these pitched to 15 year old meth freaks. Bad in themselves, played at the volume level they were, they became instruments of torture. I'd paid Eleven and a half bucks to get the fillings shaken out of my teeth and have such of my hearing apparatus still remaining reduced to a distant tinnitus-tinged memory. 

I'll spare you a digest of the plot of True Grit. Initially, the experience was fairly pleasant, although the film's score was annoyingly Ken Burns-ish. However, as it went on, the characters more and more devolved into mere examples-albeit pristine examples-of "types." And, after the third bludgeoning, I asked myself how was it that crude, dismemberment/viscera-saturated violence had become so much the norm that it didn't even bear mentioning in film reviews?

While we're at it, someone tell me how many teachers can be paid union dues for the cost of one movie  ($300 million for "Avatar") and at what point filling out questionnaires at the end of a movie became electrodes strapped to your head.

No, my friend, the next time the latest "big" filmic release arises as a topic of conversation, you will find me curled up behind the couch with headphones on my head, a Rumpole in one hand and a Chateau Thames Embankment in the other.

Unions-Bah! What Are They Good For?

This past weekend, the motley musical crowd I play with-The Second Line Social Aid Pleasure Society Brass Band (SLSAPS)- played at a rally at the MA State House in support of Wisconsin unions-and unions everywhere(put into decent context here) and at a rally for the Student Farmworker Alliance and the Coalition of Immokalee Workers.

Maybe it was being around so many scrufulous people, or trying to play with frozen chops, but the whole weekend really turned around my attitude about unions. So, despite my ambivalence about such lists, I ask you to hearken unto my top 10 reasons why we just don't need unions anymore:

1. No one's gonna tell me I can only work 8 hours a day.
2. When my kid works, I want her to know the real meaning of money-no minimum wage for her!
3. From 1990-2003, CEO salaries went up 272%, workers' went up 8%-definitive proof of basic Darwinian precepts (apart from Evolution, of course).
4. Collective bargaining? Who came up with that idea? No matter how big or small the company, the CFO is always happy to individually negotiate your personal salary and benefits-and without any possible recriminations. Try it!
5. I'm sure we would have had Social Security anyway.
6. Workers in unions get 30% higher pay. Why should anyone without an MBA make more than me?
7. If the average person made more, they'd just blow it on video games and condoms.
8. Incomprehensible logos. 
9. Calling each other "Brother" and "sister"- I mean, really.
10. If left to their own devices, businesses-like banks-will certainly do the right thing by their workers.

                                               

Orange Then Blue: Evanescent

Another video from the "Big Bands on the Edge" concert I produced at the Emerson Majestic Theatre in 1989, here is the group "Orange Then Blue," playing the song "Evanescent," composed by leader/drummer George Schuller. Some fine solo work by Ken Cervenka, Gary Valente and Stan Strickland.

With:
Matt Darriau-sax
Stan Strickland-sax
Allan Chase-sax
John Allmark-trumpet
Diego Urcola-trumpet
Ken Cervenka-trumpet
Mark Taylor-Fluegelhorn
Gary Valente-trombone
Peter Cirelli-bass trombone
Tim Ray-piano
Paul Del Nero-bass
George Schuller-leader/ drums
Sa Davis-percussion

"Boston Jazz Radio and Government Funding" by Steve Provizer

Looks like the NEA will cut the Jazz Masters program and government funding for PBS and NPR is in jeopardy. How will such cuts effect jazz? I'll just bite off a small piece of it and focus on Boston media.


There's little jazz on TV. Public television has a small stake, carrying awards ceremonies at the Kennedy Center, White House specials, a rare American Masters and the odd Ken Burns documentary. Mr. Rogers used to have great jazz guests. RIP Mr Rogers. Maybe Sesame Street does some. There's no homegrown jazz TV hereabouts. Some years ago, I tried and failed.

In Boston, radio's a different story. Jazz has a strong presence here and an NPR affiliate is one of the major players.

In sheer number of hours, the biggest providers of jazz programming here are WHRB-FM and WGBH-FM. WHRB runs jazz every weekday 5am-1 pm. It is the Harvard-affiliate and not a public radio station. 

There are a number of other college stations which have jazz programs. Jazz Boston.org lists them all, although the list is not necessarily up-to-date (2 of my defunct shows are still listed). Some of the hosts are college students who know little of the music, but some are knowledgeable community members and/or musicians.

WGBH, a powerhouse NPR affiliate, runs local jazz shows 8pm-midnight weekdays and overnight. Their jazz hosts are knowledgeable, if not very adventurous. Last year, WGBH shortened weekday jazz shows by an hour and swapped in a syndicated show for local DJ's overnights.

So what impact would the loss of funding have on local jazz radio? First of all, it would have no direct effect on any of the college stations-including WHRB's 35 hours of jazz a week and their orgy period, which often features hundreds of additional hours of jazz.

And WGBH?

A recent enormous build-out and move combined with the bad economy have forced WGBH to cut back on tv and radio programming budgets. Losing the c. $11 million they get every year from the govt. would be a blow. It's important to note that last year, WGBH made moves to seriously re-position itself in the Boston radio market. In order to challenge the primacy of WBUR-FM and its all-news and public affairs format, WGBH juiced up its talk, eliminated all blues and folk programs and off-loaded its classical programming to a station it acquired-WCRB-FM.

So, it seems a simple enough deduction that, given any significant shortfall in income, WGBH would continue its trajectory and only retain the syndicated overnight jazz programming. Their major jazz show, 4 nights a week, is Eric Jackson's "Eric in the Evening." This is the major shmooze spot for jazz musicians playing in the area. Not my cup of tea, but I think these interviews do help to get people into the seats of local venues(albeit usually the mainstream ones). If "Eric in the Evening" did shut down, local stations with stronger signals than college stations would probably readjust programming to try and grab some of that audience-a pretty desirable demographic.

So, I think the loss of Federal money would not affect the sheer amount of jazz radio programming in Boston. It could de-centralize the radio audience, which might have a democratizing impact on audiences, with higher end acts and venues possibly negatively impacted, but smaller venues getting a boost.

But this is just Boston- a unique radio situation. In many other markets in this country, Public radio provides music, news and public affairs programming that would otherwise simply not be available. I say Federal funding should continue, but that whenever possible, the money should be used to create or buttress local programming that would not otherwise exist in a particular market. 

Who is Art Tatum Dating? by Steve Provizer

Trying to figure out the saturation coverage of George Shearing's recent death; coverage equal to that given over to Billy Taylor. Taylor was a creative musician, not a musical innovator, but his work as activist/mentor/educator kept his profile very high. The attention made sense.

Shearing's sheer longevity may be vaguely at play here, as is the rarity of a jazz musician who sold millions of records. To my ears, Shearing's music is pleasurable and well-crafted but unexciting. He was capable of playing any style, but the chosen format of his most well-known groups was harmonically consonant and the soloing, while very adept, lacked edge.

Media exposure is the big player. Shearing, while blind, was a prodigy, white-British even-and a jocular pun-maker. In a hyphenated word: media-genic.

For comparison, let's throw Art Tatum into the equation.

Like Shearing, Tatum was blind and a prodigy, but Tatum's musical impact was widespread and unassailable.

Shearing was a quirky, but user-friendly public representative of the jazz world; one of a handful of jazz musicians who showed up regularly on TV. Tatum seems to have been something of a cipher. Comments on his music are many, those on his personality few. He was not photogenic.


Despite Tatum's musical contributions, there are very few obits in 1956, the year of his death. In fact, there are 2 different dates listed for Tatum's death: Nov 4th and 5th. You can throw some of the blame on jazz magazines, which are notoriously derelict at putting their old stuff online. Some gleanings:

Wikipedia deaths give you Lugosi, Brecht and Pollock, but not Tatum. Wikipedia Commons does list him.
A brief Jet Obituary
The Times Obituary of the era.
Jazz Monthly in Britain had an obit
A brief graf in Billboard

Apart from jazz websites, there are a couple of "modern" mentions of Tatum: One site says: "But even the passing of a giant such as Art Tatum didn't create much stir elsewhere in the world. The Presidential election was on most people's minds, the crisis in Hungary and the Cold War all grabbed headlines, relegating the death of this true genius to the back pages in the obituary notices."

I'm not sure the Cold War really explains it.

The other contemporary non-jazz site that references Tatum offers the vital information: Who Art Tatum is Dating.

So, will a media-genic musician will always draw more attention?
 
Stupid question.

"Ginseng People"-Woody Shaw Quartet

The music is sublime.

Woody Shaw-trumpet,  Stanley Cowell-piano, David Williams-bass, Terri-Lyne Carrington-drums,

8-21-85

Sordid backstory:
I still get pissed thinking of the SOB sitting next to me, whose cigar smoke you see wafting through the visuals, who refused to move his damn stogie 2 inches so it wouldn't blow into my mouth...

A New Jazz Glossary of Tempos (Super Bowl counter-programming)

I offered "Tempo de Chet: as a substitute for Lento. Others:

Larghissimo=Ray Charles
Adagio= Pee Wee Russell
Andante=Benny Carter

Moderato=Red Garland
Allegro=Fats Navarro

Presto=Lionel Hampton
Prestissimo=Bird   

Frank Foster Quartet-4.10.85

Another in a series of videos I shot in the 80's and 90's, which have never been seen.

Foster, longtime soloist with (and eventual leader of) the Basie band, is a guy who devours changes. The rest of the group are no slouches.
Frank Foster-sax
Rufus Reid-bass
Kenny Barron-piano
Terri-Lyne Carrington-drums


It took Foster a long time to find his way to Wellesley College for this concert, so he improvised this title:"The Leaving New York On a Rainy Friday And Arriving at 5:15 at Logan Airport in Boston On a Rainy Friday and Having One Heck of a Time Getting to Wellesley Blues."

"Stereotypes in Black Music" by Alan Kurtz, reviewed by Steve Provizer

Author Alan Kurtz's thesis is: since at least the turn of the 20th century, African-American performers have been fulfilling and/or re-inforcing stereotypes of the naturally-rhythmic primitive savage-i.e., sustaining "white ethnocentric fantasies"-to advance their careers. Episodes include: Minstrelsy, the "coon song" craze, vaudeville, popular black theater ("In Dahomey," Shuffle Along," etc), Ellington's "Jungle Music," Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller and Cab Calloway, bebop, R&B, the jazz avant-garde of the 60's, disco and rap/hip hop.

Mr. Kurtz says he wants the book to "rankle" and just to make sure-unlike Monty Python's Inquisitioners-he never bothers with the comfy chair. Instead, he wields the weapons of sarcasm and innuendo. The rhetorical bombast doesn't fully negate the credibility of his thesis, but it does make reasoned argument and subtle analysis seem less important to the author than the need to vent.

Mr. Kurtz would like to re-write the book on many musicians, including Dizzy Gillespie and John Coltrane. He calls Dizzy the "Carmen Miranda of Bebop," whose interest in Latin rhythms was calculated solely to take advantage of pop trends and broaden his popularity. It's interesting that Dizzy kept up that charade for another 50 years.

Mr. Kurtz sucks all the spirituality out of Coltrane's life and music and simply reduces him to being one of the purveyors of "New Black Music" of the 60's. "...the New Black Music," he says, "represented no one and nothing beyond the lacerated ulcerations of a few pathologically dyspeptic outpatients with saxophones."

Almost half the book is given over to an analysis of hip hop lyrics. It is a wearisome litany for several reasons. First, for little-old bourgeois me the lyrics themselves are pretty vile. They speak for themselves, but Mr. Kurtz won't let them. A biting and incessant sarcasm accompanies us through the journey. Was hip hop's lifestyle and music simply a play for more market share, a reversion to savagery or might there be some other social elements at play? The author does attempt to provide a cultural context, but the parameters of his context consist only of censorship-crazed prigs, calculating records execs and gagstas. Any other approach to hip hop gets not short shrift-it gets no shrift.

Mr. Kurtz chooses to look at episodes like Louis Armstrong wearing a jungle costume in a Hollywood movie not in the light of the pervasive racism of the time, nor does he leave room for the possibility of Armstrong's transcending the trappings of the part. In this book, character is one-dimensional, motivations base and deeds irreversible. This is why Abbey Lincoln's posing for an early processed-hair ad means her future political activity can't be taken seriously.

Does he occasionally sweep away some race-based cant? Yes. For example, his analysis of the difference between Joe Turner and Bill Haley's version of "Shake, Rattle and Roll" seems on the money: it was energy that elevated Haley over Turner, not racism. His explanation of why and how some black R&B artists were able to cross over without compromise is well reasoned.

Mr. Kurtz's breezy style often seems out of place, but is easy to read and sometimes good for a laugh, as when he calls a Life magazine round table on modern art "..an overlong exhalation of hot air by Fifteen Distinguished Windbags."

There's an occasional hint that the author sees more layers than he lets on, saying that the goal of  "Enacting totems of their own debasement," may perhaps be "...to defuse the totem's power by, in effect, beating your enemy to the punch–-even if it means punching yourself in the face." Then, he adds: "Or it may betray a deeper sense of collective inferiority."

He puts a disclaimer in the first chapter: "This is not an indictment of African Americans as a whole or of their music generally[his bold], but rather a critical look at one microscopic slice of black culture." That seems to be an invitation to judge his ideas on their own merit, but the author's narrow perspective undermines that effort.

Once in a while, it would have been nice for Mr. Kurtz to step back, take a deep breath and enjoy the music of an ocean vista. As it is, he chooses to relentlessly scrutinize a single drop of water trapped on a microscope slide, and everything he sees looks like it escaped from a horror movie.

For another perspective on this book, there's an excellent analysis done by Ed Leimbacher at his blog Eye Witness.

I also suggest reading the various, contentious blog postings about Randy Sandke's book "Where the Dark and the Light Folks Meet: Race and the Mythol­ogy, Pol­i­tics, and Busi­ness of Jazz."

Woody Shaw Quartet-"What's New" pt.2

See post above for details.

Woody Shaw Quartet-"What's New" pt.1

I shot this video on 8.21.85 at the Charles Hotel Courtyard. I'm glad to be able to add this to the store of documentation on this brilliant trumpet player. The other musicians also kick butt.

Woody Shaw-trumpet, leader
Stanley Cowell-piano
Terri-Lyne Carrington-drums
David Williams-bass

Video and notes by Steve Provizer

Raphe Malik Quartet Live at the Willow-Pt.1

I recorded this 20 years ago, on 1/21/91 at the Willow Jazz Club in Ball Sq., Somerville.

The musicians are:

Raphe Malik-trumpet
Brian King Nelson-sax
Dennis Warren-drums
Larry Roland-bass

The passing of time only seems to make this material stronger. There is such fire and intelligence at work here.

This tune is too long for YouTube, so I had to divide it into 2 videos.

Raphe Malik Quartet at the Willow-Pt 2

See Part 1 for complete information.

Orange Then Blue hands it off to the Either/Orchestra

It makes a strange baton, but "Friday the 13th," by T.Monk, is what gets passed so that Orange Then Blue can get off the stage and the Either/Orchestra can get on during "Big Bands On The Edge.

All details are posted at utube.

"The Hard Blues," by Julius Hemphill

This is the second video I extracted from "Big Bands On The Edge," a concert I produced in 1989 at the Emerson Majestic Theatre in Boston. It flashes between straight-up blues, extra-bop lines, funk and freedom. The Musicians are listed in the post below.