1950's Trumpets, Pt. 2: Booker Little

Don Fagerquist was the first focus of our attention in this series about lesser-known brilliant trumpet players of the 1950's. If Fagerquist's playing was pretty much down-the-middle, Booker Little set up musical camp farther out on the edge. Fagerquist was anchored in jazz developments of the 40's and early 50's, while Booker looked ahead to the 60's.

Booker Little was born in 1938 in Memphis, a city where Phineas Newborn, Jr. was elder to a number of future jazz artists, such as Frank Strozier, trumpeter Louis Smith (Booker's cousin) and George Coleman, who got Booker moving seriously toward jazz. 

In 1954, after high school, Booker moved to Chicago and got a Bachelors degree in music at the Chicago Conservatory. For nine months of his stay, he roomed with Sonny Rollins, who was in Chicago preparing to join the Clifford Brown-Max Roach Quintet. Sonny introduced Booker to Max Roach, with whom Booker made his first recording and eventually gigged. The musicians in Roach's circle and those he knew from early Memphis days became many of the people he ran with during the short span of his career. His first recording was in June, 1956 and he died on October 5, 1961 of uraemic poisoning/kidney failure at the age of 23.

Booker articulated his views on music in a valuable Metronome magazine article by Robert Levin, an article used as the basis of this piece by Dan Miller. One way to introduce Booker's music is to quote his own words from that interview:

"Most of the guys who are thinking completely conventionally--they'd say 'Well maybe you've got a wrong note in there.' But I can't think in terms of wrong notes--in fact, I don't hear any notes as being wrong. It's a matter of knowing how to integrate the notes and, if you must, how to resolve them. Because if you insist that this note or that note is wrong I think you're thinking conventionally-technically, and forgetting about emotion. 

The 1950's: a Brilliant Decade for Trumpeters

Don Fagerquist

Blue Mitchell

I started off with the idea of looking at a few of the less well-known trumpet players who came of age in the 1950s. As I looked more closely at who reached maturity and was at or near the top of their game in that quiet Eisenhauer decade, I couldn't believe the wealth of players. There were the famous: Kenny Dorham, Clark Terry, Blue Mitchell, Joe Newman, Clifford Brown, Lee Morgan, Art Farmer, Maynard Ferguson, Chet Baker, Donald Byrd, Doc Severinson(you could arguably put Miles here too). 

Idrees Sulieman

Jack Sheldon

Then, there were the somewhat less well-known: Nat Adderly, Idrees Sulieman, Bill Hardman, Thad Jones, Carmell Jones, Booker Little, Dizzy Reece, the Condoli Brothers and Johnny Coles. Then, there are those whose names are pretty much restricted to the cognoscenti: Richard Williams, Don Fagerquist, Shorty Rogers, Cy Touff, Ernie Royal, Dupree Bolton,  Tony Fruscella, Jon Eardley, Don Ellis, Jack Sheldon, Herb Pomeroy. I'm sure readers can, and probably will, name some I forgot. 

Dupree Bolton

Herb Pomeroy

The playing of many of these guys does not fall easily into one category. They had mastered the bop idiom, but most were not strictly boppers. Some were cool, some partially so; some hot; some came from the West Coast, but didn't play "West Coast," some came from somewhere else but did; some chose the cutting edge, others went down the middle.

I'll hoist a glass to some of the players from this stellar decade in upcoming posts. Today, I'll feature one from the cognoscenti pile: Don Fagerquist. 

Peggy's Blue Skylight

Just want to point B.C. readers to this video I uploaded to You Tube. This is the well-known Charles Mingus song with my lyrics. (I have put lyrics to a lot more of the song and to the Booker Ervin solo, but they are not performed here).

For posting, I excerpted it from my *teleplay of the same name, which is why you will see some video of the main characters in that teleplay over the audio.

The song is beautifully sung by Dominique Eade, with support by John Leonard on Bass and Tom Beaver on keyboard.




Here are my lyrics to the song:

[chorus]
A building is greying, its edges are fraying, a sign;
Of bad luck beckoned and innocence destined, to die.
Leave it and you feel,
You've got nothing left but to conceal,
The loneliness living in the city
That you cannot bear.

A blind man is singing, his cup is set ringing, a dime;
A gambler shuffles, a sucker is hustled, for wine.
Windows open wide,
Admitting not light but dark inside;
A face will appear and glow soft in the moonlight,
And die.

But a thought has begun to renew you.
To bury the blue you;
The loneliness shattering to pieces;
Thinking of Peggy and drinking in Peggy,
It's clear where your solace and your peace is.

Wakening in love,
Enfolding her tight, you look above;
The skylight is blue,
A frame for your emotions, tonight.

[Booker Ervin solo]:
As the rhythm of this solo
Marks up time with its notes;
So are our days measured by events,
Quickly or slowly the quality will tell,
That time is measured not by minutes or days,
Its pace a relative question changing with our lives;
People passing through, events determine, times pace;
Are we the victims of fate or do choices we make make a difference?

The answer may lie between the two,
A constant compromise between shifting winds of fate
And taking hold,
Making hard decisions and forcing life's hand.

Trying to find the questions,
Unsure which questions we should ask,
Hoping the answers won't be denied,
To a person who is living honestly, trying to be open.

Learning daily,
That pleasure often hides in, simple, places;
Born on a breeze bearing the scent of a warm autumn day,
Seen on the face of a child at play,
Lost in a warm moon-lit ray;
Locked in the laughter of your lover as she lay,
By your side soft, warm and gentle;
Questions fading,
As you see life is time lived moment to moment.
[Return to chorus]

I have written vocalese lyrics to many jazz songs and solos. Vocalists are welcome to contact me about checking out my material.


*I have posted the complete teleplay (14 minutes long): http://youtu.be/y_wXcgq4mQY

This Year...

...we went to a restaurant.

Last Year

Son of Bad Jazz Art

The u-readers of B.C. seem to have an unquenchable thirst for bad jazz art. Heeding that siren song is not just my duty, it is my way out of the complicated posts I have started and stopped over the last week...

Chet

A LOT OF bad jazz art treats musicians as though they are escapees from the local leper colony. This is no way to treat your heroes.

Miles

Anthropomorphizing natural objects is a venerable bad jazz art choice.

This one is called "Blown Away;" alluding, I guess, to pieces of his body (Art Farmer?):

                                         I say it's the Wet Pavement Motif and I say the hell with it.

Neato. It's kinda like; abstract.

 

This is your Bad Jazz Art Professor signing off (a.k.a. crying in the wilderness). Pleasant dreams to you all and remember: the internet is forever.

Busted by the Feds

I had business in the Tip O'Neill Federal Office building here in Boston. In case you haven't been to a federal building in a while, this story will stand as a reminder you that you have to go through a "security system" to get in.

Alright, for reasons outside the bounds of this story, I was already in a bad mood and was pissed off to have to go through this process. My choler rose as I watched four dour, pokey security cops tell regular people to empty their pockets, take off their belts, their jackets, run the metal detector wands over them and all the same crap you have to go through at an airport. I began to grumble and the guy behind me joined in, albeit more quietly. 

Then it was the turn of the two people in front of me. They were a Muslim couple, pushing an infant in a baby carriage. They had to completely empty the carriage, then the guard ran his hands through every fold and cushion, as well as lifting up and examining the bottom of the carriage. All my thoughts about living in a police state rose to the surface. 

Now, my turn. I emptied my crap into a bin with an obvious attitude and the guy didn't like it. He told me to empty my pockets and I told him I already did, but not in the obsequious, compliant voice that you're supposed to use with the minions of power. He picked up the bin and told me to get out. I said I had a 10:30 appointment. He said "get out and come back in an hour, when you calm down."

I picked up my crap and stomped out. When I pushed open the outside door,  I heard it slam against something. Ten steps later, three cops surrounded me, as did one guy in civvies. I don't know who the guy in civvies was, but the cops were letting him talk to me. I think he was simply trying to determine if I was "dangerous." I guess he thought not. The eldest one-a regular Boston cop-had a cool head. Maybe he's seen people slam doors at the Tip O'Neill Federal Office building before. In any case, he told me to go back through the line and that we would deal with the problem after I was finished with my business.

As I passed through the security checkpoint, the guards stared at me with gimlet eyes, ready to pounce, but I got through Checkpoint Charlie successfully. While I waited in the social security office to be seen, one of the cops came in and asked me for my drivers license. 

When I finished my SS appointment, I was directed back to a cluster of cops, where my license was returned and I was given a "citation" awarding me $500 for being a model citizen and standing up to the depredations of the Man. Well, no. I was actually fined $150 plus $25 "handling charge" (they won't let scalpers do it, but they do) for "destruction of federal property."

Alright, not a tragic story, but one that leaves a few impressions. 

First, as my wife reminded me, I will now be on every "watch list" at airports and god knows where else. 

Second, this story is not evidence of a particular guard's racism toward Muslims-at least I hope he would exercice the same mindless thoroughness with a white couple. However, it does highlight the innate stupidity of the system. 

Third, it remains infuriating to me that you can't behave as a normal human in the presence of a cop. You can't say: "get to work, I'm paying your salary" to a cop on his cel phone, collecting serious money for not directing traffic at a construction site.  Lawfully following instructions is not enough, your "attitude" has to fall within the proper obsequious guidelines. 

Fourth, if I was African-American, I have a strong feeling I wouldn't be able to post this on my blog until I got out of the local lockup and a tentative court date had been set.

R.I.P. Ted Curson

Ted Curson died yesterday (June 3, 1935 – November 4, 2012).  If his contribution is recognized at all, it's for his time spent with Charles Mingus, but Curson had a long career and created a singular, instantly recognizable sound.

Born in Philly, Curson went to the Granoff Conservatory, also John Coltrane's alma mater [You can read my interview with Mr. Granoff in the book Coltrane on Coltrane, by Chris DeVito].

Ted moved to NYC in the mid-1950's and started playing with Cecil Taylor. In 1959, he recorded tracks on "Love For Sale" w. Taylor, including this tune, "Little Lees" [Interesting how much Monk there is in Cecil's playing here]:

Gioia's Jazz Standards

I have only dipped into The Jazz Standards, but this book is such a kick that I'll write this in blatant disregard for my policy of reading first and writing second.

You feel in good hands from the top, lightly guided by Gioia, a seasoned pro, with no odd axes to grind, no academic shtick to flog. The feeling is like spending a night among friends, talking about which tunes you think are important and which versions of the tunes stand out. Just as you might now reach for Brian Rust to settle arguments about who was on a certain Trumbauer date or Leonard Feather to look up where Ike Quebec was born, you'll be able to turn to "The Jazz Standards" to get a quick look at the history of a tune and a memory jog to help lead you back to a certain recording you couldn't quite remember.

New facts abound. Guy Wood, composer of "My One and Only Love" wrote music for Captain Kangaroo? Sigmund Romberg worked in a pencil factory? Prez had a top 10 juke box hit with "Just You, Just Me"?

Of course, there will be disagreements among invested jazz people-Jon Hendricks' "Airegin" lyrics rate a mention, but not King Pleasure's for "All of Me." Maybe Kenny Dorham's "Prince Albert," an alternative melody for "All the things You Are," should have gotten a citation. Will jazz fans really "have a hard time enjoying Bird's outing ["Bird with Strings" playing "Just Friends"] given the mood music ambience of the arrangement?" Maybe a case can be made that other tunes, like "Up Jumped Spring" or "Moanin'" should be here...

But you can accept and even relish these disagreements, because you can tell by what the author put in that he knew he had to leave a lot out. It's a big book-over 500 pages-and I bet the author and the publisher had some long conversations about how long it could or should be. You could, for example, do an entire tome on "I Got Rhythm."

OK, enough. I like it. I'm glad it's on my shelf.

The Clifford Brown Phenomenon

Marking the births or deaths of artists usually happens in "big" years-the 10th, 25th, etc. It's different with Clifford Brown, whose passing is marked even in the "small" years, as in this, the 82nd anniversary of his birth.

Clifford was indisputably one of our greatest trumpet players, but it's not his playing that explains the hold he has on our psyche, especially compared to the emotional connection we feel to other greats from the late 40's to late 60's era, like Fats Navarro, Sonny Berman, Kenny Dorham, Blue Mitchell, Lee Morgan, Booker Little. 



We have plucked Clifford out of this group because we want to celebrate the fact that in Clifford, musical genius managed to coexist with an open, humble and yes, sweet personality.

In a recent post, I said that Clifford didn't have "it," as defined by a player's reputation outweighing his musical contribution. But observing the Clifford phenomenon, it becomes clear that he sits in a singular category of "it-ness;" one not rooted in flashy personal style or the charisma of the bad boy. He was the rare soul in jazz who could play it straight and still be the best; who wouldn't let the harsh road and escapes from same (drugs, booze, promiscuity, overbearing ego) run roughshod over his innate gentleness.

The fact that this seems to be a rare personality constellation in the most elite realms of music-and art in general-is vaguely disconcerting, summoning up as it does all those hoary adages about the tortured genius. We'll not soon escape that labyrinth of romanticism (one corner of which is "it-itude"), so for the moment let's just celebrate a joyous spring of relief from such burdens:

Duets With Dead People

                 

So glad to see that Rod Stewart and Ella Fitzgerald are finally getting together. They join a macabre crew that includes Celine Dion and Sinatra, Ol Blue Eyes and Hayley Reinhart(!), Lauren Hill and Bob Marley, Lisa-Marie and Elvis and, of course Natalie with Nat.

Since I'm always asking for too much anyway, how about a little less fame-by-association-mongering? 

Do we let the offspring-Lisa-Marie and Natalie-off the hook. Sorry. No. Trotting out your baby pictures and your less-compelling voices in public is an embarrassment, not a tribute to your dad.

And sticking copyright signs on the names of dead celebrities is no solution. It just means dealing with the copyright holder's phalanx of lawyers and not the estate's. Does anyone think that the corporation noted in my Trademarking Jazz post, CMG Worldwide, would have turned this down; even, as CMG says, to "maintain and develop a positive brand image"?

I have found previous ghoulish re-animation collaborations merely crude and unaesthetic, but to pair Rod and Ella is to sink a leaf blower engine in a Ferrari; to put Cool Whip in a Godiva chocolate; to put Donald Trump's hair on Sophia Loren's head. It shouldn't be done. It shouldn't even be conceived of.

                     

Jazz Mystique; Who Has "It"?

In a Twitter exchange about my last post, Nicholas Peyton wrote that Louis Armstrong and Jabbo Smith achieved vastly different levels of fame and reputation because Louis had "it" and Jabbo didn't. 

That makes sense. Given the playing of Louis and Jabbo, if we simply rediscovered their recordings from the late 1920's, without knowing anything about them, I believe we would hypothesize similar career trajectories for these two great musicians and that's not what happened. Smith had a solid but unexceptional career for about ten years, was rediscovered in the 1960's as a Respected Elder and enjoyed some success until the 1980's. Armstrong achieved international fame. 

Rosie

Most successful jazz musicians did just fine, thank you, through the meritocracy of musical genius, without having to rely on "it." (Of course, good looks never hurt. Especially in female singers, there has always been a sorting process that moved good lookers to the front of the line. Timing, too plays a part).

So, what is "it"?  To some extent, "it" needs quotations marks because it's hard to define except tautologically: style, charisma, sex appeal, aloofness, cool, "badness" (promiscuity, dope, other breaking of norms). Each time a jazz musician is acknowledged to have "it," the elements shift. Some move to the surface, some are not in play and some, while seemingly contradictory, co-exist in the same person.

To see if a musician has "it," look at the relationship between their real musical contribution and their reputation. Ask if their contributions have created too small a reputation, one that's too large or one that is, like Goldilock's last bowl of porridge, just right. If the reputation is oversized, it may be because of the "It factor@" (Simon Cowell: hands off).

For example, Wayne Shorter's musical contributions have been immense. His reputation among musicians is stellar, his public career is solid. There is equivalence there; balance. Does he have "it"? No. 



On the other hand, I think Bill Evans, a musician whose contributions are congruent to Shorter's, did have "it." His contribution was large; his reputation larger. Why the difference? I think it's a result of his complex presentation as junky/nerd (compared to the more straightforward presentation of Shorter). Evans projected a multi-layered personality and, as far as mystiques go, his"transgressive" behavior (dope) is a part of it.

Chet Baker had "it," for reasons too obvious to mention.



Did Clifford Brown? The non-musical mythology about Clifford is about his sweetness as a person. Such things do not really portend "it." He died too young to be certain, but indications are that his reputation would have paralleled his musical skill and not transcended it. 

Duke Ellington? Yes. His looks, style, vocal presentation and lifestyle reflected a complex man and the audience "read" that.


Bix Beiderbecke? Yes. His ardent admirers won't like this, but his playing was not so far ahead of many of his contemporaries that it would justify the rarified status he enjoys, had he not had "it."





Bessie Smith? Yes. She did stand at least head, if not shoulders above the others, but her continuing stature so far above other blues singer/shouters of her era is due to her charisma and her notable reputation for livin' large.



Dizzy Gillespie? Yes. In many ways, the classic trickster, Diz brought a comfort level to outrageousness that spoke to a charismatic freedom. 





John Coltrane? Of course. 





We'll end up with probably the #1 "it" guy in jazz: Miles Davis. Through the 40's, he was just one in a pack of elite trumpet players. His interest in expanding the jazz palette (Birth of the Cool) in the late 1940's brought him out of the pack and also had the effect of associating him with the idea of coolness. 

The Andover Shop

Jazz musicians, including the young Miles, had always been invested in a solid sartorial presentation, but starting in the mid-50's, the way Miles dressed began to be a specific part of the way he was promoted by his record company, Columbia. George Frazier's liner notes for "Miles Greatest Hits" in 1965 were an ode to Miles as fashionista. Miles' clothing evolved with his music. He moved through Brooks Brothers, the Andover Shop and designer styles as he went from Au Privave, to Sketches of Spain to Tutu.  

The iconography surrounding the man is arguably denser then that of his two closest mythological competitors: Louis Armstrong and Charlie Parker. The epigrammatic way in which he spoke and the semi-strangled whisper in which he spoke it; his battles with cops and bores; kicking dope, boxing, wives. All, "it"-worthy.

I always strain against people confusing the art with the artist, but the need for the audience to project personality into the music is powerful. Almost all of us are suckers for "it." However, it's also on the shoulders of those who know the history of this music to try and fill in some of the gaps that have been created by the power of "it;" to push back toward what really needs to be kept at the center. You know what I'm talkin' about.

The Enigma of Jabbo Smith

HIs talent and contribution were enormous. How did he get shoved to the side of the jazz trumpet-playing historical narrative?

Let's do a short comparison of stop-time choruses (rhythm section just plays accents) between Jabbo and Louis Armstrong. Here's Armstrong's famous Potato Head Blues (1927):


Now, here's Jabbo on Boston Scuffle (1929):


The technique in both cases is superb. Yes, Armstrong's tone is slightly more, call it more charismatic. However, I submit that here, as in many of his recordings, Jabbo actually shows a wider arsenal of trumpet techniques than Armstrong-and I am a BIG fan of Louis.

Trademarking Jazz™

A Sunday New York Times ad for the Blue Note club in NYC lists: "Dizzy Gillespie™ Alumni All-Stars."

Ya gotta ask, why has Dizzy's name been trademarked? I suppose if the entire band's name was trademarked it might constitute a healthy trend; that there are rival Alumni All-star groups out there and enough loose cash at stake that one of them needs to get the imprimatur of Dizzy's estate to fend off the pretender. But it's only Dizzy's name with the trademark sign.

Is there a miscreant out there passing himself off as the late and much lamented maestro? Doesn't ring true. Has the Gillespie estate been purchased by Disney, officious propagator of copyright litigation to protect the images of Mickey and Goofy?

Not exactly. After a little research, this showed up: "As the exclusive licensing agent for Dizzy Gillespie, CMG Worldwide is dedicated to maintaining and developing a positive brand image for our client. We actively seek out commercial opportunities that are consistent with our brand positioning goals."

Indianapolis-based CMG Worldwide has a long list of famous clients, from Mark Twain and Jack Dempsey to Benny Goodman. CMG is a tireless protector (lobbyist) for the rights of the estates of dead celebrities.

I'm not opening up a debate about the length of copyright protection here. That's its own can of worms. I'm talking about the question of extending the realm of "protection" into more and more areas. 

Should a musician's estate collect royalties on recordings and compositions? Definitely. Should they collect on t-shirt sales? Debatable, but should they collect when a band includes the name of the dead performer? Should they collect for the thousands of "Tribute" pages dotting the 'net? How did the "Mark Twain Tribute Cruise" and the Benny Goodman Centennial Tribute" slip through the cracks un-trademarked? Someone at CMG needs to be knuckle-rapped.

We know the importance his wife Lorraine had in Dizzy's life and career and she deserved to reap the creative results of same. She's been gone since 2005, the same year CMG picked up the contract. Diz was survived by a daughter and grandson and I assume that ASCAP, BMI and whoever owns Verve, DeGee Records, etc. are still paying off the family. If not, let loose the lawyers.

As far as "protection" beyond that, though, I truly believe that Diz would be the last person to sic lawyers on people using his name as part of their own creative efforts. As to whether or not a particular use fulfills CMG's credo as "maintaining and developing a positive brand image," I believe Diz would just say, in that silky crankcase voice of his, "I think we'll just let the people decide who the real Dizzy Gillespie is."

Maggie and Fats: Binary Stars

After looking at Fats Navarro, Howard McGhee is a reasonable next post.

Magee with Miles looking on

We'll use his nickname: Maggie. He was about 5 years older than Fats and despite also dealing with addiction, lived a lot longer (1918-1987). They were stylistic brothers and their paths crossed often. They both had the power and range to play lead and could masterfully handle bop chord changes. They were the godfathers of the fiery 1950's lineage of the trumpet; more so than Diz or Miles.

Here's Howard early on, 1942, with Andy Kirk & His Clouds of Joy playing "McGhee Special." It's strong playing, in the bravura swing-to-bop vein.

This 1945 track retains some of the R&B/jump/jive strain that Hampton and others were bringing upfront, but infused with Bird and Diz's new harmonic (and to some extent rhythmic) developments.

Fats Navarro-An Appreciation-w. a New Track.

Today's the birthday of Fats Navarro, jazz trumpet hero (1923-1950).

A quick timeline has him growing up in Florida; after high school, hooking in to Snookum Russell's territory band in Indianapolis, joining Andy Kirk in Kansas City and ending up in NYC.

I think that's Fats in the middle of Snookum's tpt. section

Roy Eldridge was father to the 1940's generation of trumpet players and Dizzy Gillespie moved it to bop. Like Diz and Roy, Fats, along with Howard McGhee, was able to play with piercing power in the upper register and also seriously address the (chord) changes. Fats and Maggy were foundational for the next generation, as was Freddie Webster (a less brilliant lead player). Throughout the 40's, apart from small group playing, Fats continued to play lead with the best big bands-Earl Hines, Billy Eckstein, Illinois Jacquet, Lionel Hampton.

With no early recordings, we don't know how Fats sounded as a teenager, but we know he learned Dud Bascomb solos from the Erskine Hawkins' band. That's essentially simplified Eldridge territory. Fats' first recorded solo was on "Shorty Boo," with Andy Kirk, which I can't find online. Please post it if you got it.

Here he is in 1945, with Eckstine, on the ballad "Long, Long Journey." solo at the end.


It wasn't long before he was doing sessions with smaller groups and really digging into the changes. Here he is in a Tadd Dameron sextet: in 1947:

 

Here's another Dameron group, a year later, with a very unusual tune:

 

And 1949, with the Metronome All-Stars (the trumpet "chase" is between Fats and Dizzy, despite what the graphics of the video say about Miles).


We'll close with probably the last recording extant of Fats, with Bird, May 1950. It's an air check, so you hear these guys stretch out much more than in the usual 3:00 wax:


A tragic combination of tuberculosis and heroin did in Fats. He wasn't just a "key figure," he was an end in himself.

For everything about Fats, check out this website. 

Shop TIl You Bop

I received a brilliant, well-researched comment from the "LA Pawn Shop" for my post "Wassup With the Jazz Blogs? To wit:"If you need a convenient loan fast, the Los Angeles Pawn Shops is one of the best loan service provider.[sic]" Great to know I'm reaching the retail community.

The peerless Chumley

I know what you're thinking: Gee, Steve, I know you wrote about pawn shops and jazz. It's too bad you missed the chance to hop on the bandwagon of pawn shows flooding TV: Pawn Stars, Hardcore Pawn, Cajun Pawn and their inbred step-cousins, Storage Wars, Auction Kings, Antiques Roadshow, etc.

Well, as Carnak the Great might have said: "You are wrong, Stickley breath."

At this very moment, we at The Institute have several programs in development at our Burbank Jazz Video Laboratorium. Some of the titles are a bit infra, but we're above the nasty little scramble for ratings that drives our moronic competition.

• Dis-Count Basie Shopping Spree
• The Great American Yardbird Sale
• Dollar Brand Loyalty Challenge
• Rebop Rebate
• Conspicuous Consumption at Tuxedo Junction
• Re-Tails of Hoffman
• It Don't Cost a Thing if it Ain't got no Tag
• Shopping Bag's Groove
• Pops' Com-pound Plenty Re-Mortgage Hour

Appointment viewing.

Kenny G. and Jazz Schadenfreude

Do I like his music? No. Do I want to listen to it? No. But, like a jazz Beatrice Hall, I will defend his right to play it.

I'm goaded to this position by the response I've seen by some people in the jazz community who took the opportunity to revel in his recent divorce. This is the lowest kind of schadenfreude. It's aimed at a person when it's really about something else.

Do musicians think he was stealing their audience, that the millions of cd's he's sold have kept their own releases from flying off the shelves? That pins out the level on the Self-Delusion Meter.

Listen, people, I know the dilemna of the jazz musician, My own adjustments to the ratio of practice hours to gig fees started early and have never stopped. Who knows why Kenny G.'s brand of syrup triumphed over the hordes of sax players who play the way he does. Maybe he's cuddlier than they are. Whatever the reason, his ascent has marked him as a jazz lightning rod/scapegoat, repository of ill-feeling toward all that's wrong with the American audience and the music industry.

We probably know babkes about the man Kenny G., but whatever we know or think we know, the guy is different than the music. Divorce is tough. Let's start there.