In the first moment of realization I thought of Mary Oliver, simple poet of the extraordinaire, of her Journey, the Wild Geese and her dogs. What an amazing person and body of work for which to tie this very second. A cool warmth blew over me from the pre-autumn Northwest.

As my direction turned the corner the mind’s gaze shifted too. I thought what a world it could be if the creators of the beautiful things in life were, and always had been respected. If Charlie Parker could have walked in through the front entrance instead of through the haze of heroin. If Vincent VanGogh, in his time, was thought to be a visionary of light and color expression, not a totally whacked crazy person. If the them’s were just us.

Idealistic? Sure, but I’d much prefer to do and live that when asked, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?"

What I’m listening to: Paul Cebar and the Milwaukeans; Charles Tolliver; Paul McCartney; Nduduzo Makhathini and Scott Amendola.

What I’m reading: Whistler, by Anne Patchett

And, gloriously, What I’m eating: Violette de Bordeaux FIGS from our tree with walnuts and pepitas in Greek yogurt.

Thanks as always for reading.

I do not doubt the creativity, imagination, vision or technical skill of the apparel and fashion world. It’s just… that, well… it’s a business first and foremost. It’s a model that preys on people; people who want to fit in, or stand-out, be on the cusp or the edge of whatever is the latest, the new, the different. Unlike wealth in an economy, it does all trickle down; though most often in a rather watered version of the beginning point.

Take, for instance, the now probably about to be passé, “barrel” jean/pants thing that has swept the nation. Please pause while I yawn, again…. Blame it on the French( ! ) they say, as this is heavily influenced by 1920s utilitarian bleu de travail (French workwear) pants. You begin up top with Alaïa and Citizens of Humanity, through some mocking on social media, to a realization that there’s some comfort in that there looseness. And now every broad and main street, middle-of-the-road and Mom and Pop (those don’t exist so much anymore) shop runs the barrel pant down their waterfall faucet. And, everyone’s gotta have ‘em.

The multi-pronged machinations that take place in order for the majority of closets to shift from all skinny all-the-time, to the architected, twisted, horse-shoed barrel, or just simply loose fitting - the trickle-down part - is exceedingly mind boggling, and significant beyond belief in the dollar sense of the whole scheme. All to fit in or be cool, be fashionable, hip. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

And, we will get bored with it and move along to the next must-have craze. I really am probably somewhat of an outlier in my ideas about style and fashion, as I have had pretty much the same taste since I was about 8 years old. Born out of the JFK/Paul Newman look of ease, and my father’s closet most assuredly, I like great fabrics, classic shapes and lots of color/pattern; done, finito. Having said that, I’m not sure if my next sentence will hold water for others, since I made my choice of “style” long ago. But what (and why) I find so intriguing about so called jazz music is that I am, at the moment, listening to a recording made 70 years ago - Sonny Rollins’ Saxophone Colossus - and it holds intrigue, interest, progressiveness, beauty and originality, almost as if it was made today. There is nothing fashionable about it (though it is quite stylish!), it is untarnished and timeless, in the best sense.

It is natural, I believe, for humankind to think that it has progressed, but what we tie that to is questionable. Progress has indeed been made; I’m not a luddite and I don’t take discovery for granted. I mean from a human standpoint, I don’t think we’ve progressed as much as putting on a newly shaped trouser makes us believe. We still have constant wars, we still have prejudices, and still have people suffering; this is no different from 70 years ago when Sonny Rollins created something as timelessly elevated as Saxophone Colossus. We tend, perhaps, to look back on previous eras as difficult, or quaint, or simple and quiet; what we fail to feel is that people were going through very similar concerns of life as we still do today. So have we really evolved?

It seems we disregard, or diminish, matters of real relevance, especially from a cultural perspective. The Arts are having a hard time, to say the least. We have an imbecile in command of the country and we exert a lot of energy towards looking the other way because we “just can’t deal.” Meanwhile he/they/them obliterate our relevance on the world stage (hard and soft versions) and stage a bloody brutal battle scene on the white house lawn as entertainment to “celebrate” a 250th anniversary. Toxic. As Rome burns and is flooding at the same time (might be the swamp! or the Reflecting Pool!), it is still being gilded in gaudy gold (see latest golden eagle - the material not the species - attached to the white house). He has ushered in more of a cultural movement of testosterone and botox than literature, the stage, music, painting… you know, The Arts. The name removal helped, but the Kennedy Center is still shuttered.

This is why, in my very humble opinion, we have no culture in America, and I’m speaking in a broader sense. Our National “culture” is about what we look like, how “young” we are, fitting in with the right vehicle, our bodies, our tattoos and our self-important sense of self over a more vast perspective of what we as a country represent. You know, contrast us with a country like Italy: stylish, cool machinery - think Ferrari and La Marzocco, amazing food - uh… a simple pasta and Torte della Nonna, and sprezzatura - true expression of style. Not so much like here with Real Housewives of Peyton Place, ‘roided-out abs galore, oiled beards and guns, guns, guns. That John Wayne rugged individualism thing is simply like a meme that gets in the way of progressing. And, being good at shopping does not a culture make.

This is why, more than ever, I try to support the Art of the music we commonly call jazz. I feel I personally need to connect with a movement, a creative expression, an art movement (albeit a rather small one) that feels significant… is actually filled with significance that does not seem to fade, or become passé over time. Jimmy Carter once tried to make the music a recognized institution within our country. Only this place, and Africa of course, can claim to be the originators of the art form. However, we Americans don’t have time to focus on complex issues, and this music is an endeavor which requires some time and focus to get something out of it. The best things in life tend to be like that.

I thought this blurb from Jim Hynes writing on the latest recording, Listen Ship, by Henry Threadgill captured the essence:

“When these extremely talented musicians (Brandon Ross, Bill Frisell) remark on the difficulty of playing this music, far be it from (sic) this author to adequately describe it. Sometimes – as artists including John Coltrane and Herbie Hancock have commented – to fully appreciate art, “you don’t need to understand it.” Instead, as the album’s title suggests, you need only to truly listen to it. You need to approach the music with big ears and the ability to feel it. Simply, enjoy the creative, singular force that is Henry Threadgill.”

I guess this was a very longwinded (ranting) way of saying that beauty is beauty, a classic is just that, and things worth the effort do take time to appreciate; one must give themselves to it, at least to some small degree. This music takes brain power and focus to let it have its impact on our psyche and, possibly, well-being. It is its own language, but it really shouldn’t sound that foreign to our ears. However, it does not require an academic-like pursuit, an understanding of its history, or music theory, or the ability to dissect late-period Coltrane’s output to appreciate. To me, it simply needs a slowing down of life just enough to listen. When I come to an almost meditative-like space in my head/being, then I can actually hear the music. The sounds then can have a transformative impact. I find myself at times being transported to another place, hearing love, or hurt and pain, feeling empathy, being inspired finding joy, beauty… all the things of life; all the many things we’ve concerned ourselves with for generations.

Here are a handful of, to me, timeless tunes to feel where they take you. Leave a comment to let me know where the journey took you, or hit me back with a song that transports. Happy listening.

Sorry, but while I was noodling they took down the direct link to this tune. So, you’ll have to scoot it forward to 43:04 on the link below.

David “Fathead” Newman was one of the leading proponents of the aforementioned big-toned, bluesy, "Texas Tenor" saxo style, and Ray Charles’ main man and alter ego for the hits in the 50’s and 60’s. Feel the lazy heat of Creole Love Call.

Jason Moran is, to me, the modern day Herbie Hancock. Progressive and experimental, yet he remains a student of the forefathers of the music. He is currently on tour delving deeply into the music of Duke Ellington.

Immanuel Wilkins, if he’d come up during the 80’s, would have been referred to as one of the Young Lions rising to premiere status. Raised in Philly, he was a church-goin’, Juilliard educated alto player who hit NYC in 2010, and released his first solo record in 2020. This tune is an Alice Coltrane composition and was recorded live at the hallowed ground of the Village Vanguard.

Not this exact tune, but this artist, Sonny Rollins, started this piece of writing for me. He just passed to another realm at the end of May, 2026. This recording was made in Denmark six years after he secluded himself away on the Williamsburg Bridge to practice his horn and pursue ways to be a better, deeper, more fulfilled human being. He did this at the height of his career.

The beginning and middle of South African jazz, Abdullah Ibrahim (formerly Dollar Brand) is the monumental head at the top of the mountain for this country’s music. He too just passed at the end of June, 2026. His music represented so very much to the people of his country; his composition, Mannenburg, became an anti-apartheid anthem, reflecting a joy, beauty and resilience emblematic of the oppressed peoples of the townships.

The Man. Needs no other words. Feel the humidity….

what I’m eating: beans and tomatoes out of our garden; zucchini pie too - thanks to SJC.

what I’m reading: The Notebooks of Sonny Rollins edited by Sam V.H. Reese Also, Started Early, Took My Dog a mystery by Kate Atkinson

what I’m listening to: I’m working my way through my Dollar Brand/Abdullah Ibrahim collection of recordings, slowly, over and over…. His “Ode To Duke Ellington” has been especially standing out. But piano music has been the groove with Bud Powell, Paul Cornish, Monk and McCoy getting the spins. Also been listening of late to Miles’ ‘56-ish quartet of output: Workin’, Relaxin’, Cookin’, Steamin’.

Happy listening. Thanks for reading.

And then we’re off to the races. McLaughlin leads to Paco DeLucia and Al Dimeola, which ultimately leads to Sonny Sharrock and Eva Mendoza. But first things first, which, to my mind, are some maybe slightly lesser-known, but equally impressive players in the long rich tradition of the jazz guitar. Wes Montgomery, Kenny Burrell and Grant Green are fabulous players, for sure. But most will know of them, or at least have heard of them, having had prolific recording careers as both side-men and leaders. Charlie Christian - known as the man who made the electric guitar a viable jazz instrument, and also the first to utilize single notes in his solos - and “The Wizard of Waukesha,” Les Paul - the inventor of multi-track recording and overdubbing, who also happens to have a very famous guitar named after himself! - were amazing, their contributions to the playing of their instrument are indelible, though at this point, sound a tad old-timey to my ear. Django Reinhardt also had a massive impact with only a couple digits working the frets, his “la pompe” rhythmic style fueled a very different exotic musical direction which can still be heard quite often throughout the year at various Django Fests. In other words, the instrument runs with a deep history and has helped shape many different modes and styles in jazz.

Gábor Szabó - Hungarian (goodbye Orbán, and good riddance!) six stringer who clearly comes from a different place, physically and musically. I find his sound to be intriguing in a slightly exotic way. Not all his records are great (especially latter period), but the stuff with Chico Hamilton’s band, and subsequent work with Charles Lloyd (who was the music director in Chico’s band) is all special. Here’s a piece from one of his better-known solo albums:

Johnny Smith - When I want a piece of the classic jazz guitar stylings I’ll put on a record I’ve had for ages… and I may need another copy. He was an incredibly versatile musician, as well as a very busy one. Self taught player from working in pawn shops as a child, he was teaching the instrument by the age of 13. He moved mellifluously from Birdland to the big stage with the New York Philharmonic, from staff guitarist and arranger at NBC to his own trio, The Playboys. Here’s his revered version of Moonlight In Vermont, with the great Stan Getz.

It’s very cool stuff, in the cool jazz feel of the West Coast scene (though, he was an East Coaster). It’s a tune that begs for a little lagging behind the beat, which both these guys are masters of, for sure. I think Mr. Smith plays with beauty and elegance.

George Benson - Okay, one that’s definitely not lesser known, but whenever I get into a guitar mood I’ll usually throw this one on the platter. Everyone knows it, but that does not make it less awesome. It was a hit, but that does not diminish the cut either. It’s just plain catchy and great. He is the real deal, and will soon (May 7th) be given a Lifetime Achievement Award by SFJazz. Nuff said.

Julian Lage - Child prodigy and endless pursuer of mastery, Julian has been one of my very favorite players since I first saw him several years back, as a kid, playing with Master Charles Lloyd. Wow, I mean he had a ways to go, but you could tell that the young dude had everything he needed to be a full-blown, full-on musician; which, indeed he now is. Here he is on the stage of the beautiful Tennessee Theatre in Knoxville, at this year’s Big Ears Festival. I was not prepared for the impact this beautiful tune had on me….

…and this is where jazz hits me; we all have a different, unique reaction to the music, if we really listen. Different responses, differing emotions… it’s a beautiful thing this music. How did this tune make you feel? Leave a comment.

Also, here’s an almost anthemic acoustic tune with a band, okay, to be specific, a drummer - Dave King - whose playing I absolutely love (and he’s so fun to watch playing his instrument); you can absolutely watch their musical conversing in this one:

Of course I’ve already written about Pat Metheny, but 2 songs always come to mind when I talk guitars, (Cross the) Heartland (my personal gateway) and from one of my solid Top 10 records on the all-time list, 80/81, we have the Ornette Coleman tune, Turnaround, with an absolute stunner of a band alongside.

Nels Cline - I had the very great opportunity to see this guy in very small, intimate spaces - Hotel Utah anyone?!! - when he was fairly unknown; as in, before he joined Wilco. A fascination ran deep for his technique, which was the first impact I remember, especially the driving of his looper box with his pick hand instead of the normal touch with the sole of a shoe. It made for a dramatic visual effect, and it made one pay attention, or note, all that was being layered atop itself as he constructed sonic stories of slashes, angles, concrete and city streets. It was usually not easy-listening music, but it was on-the-edge, full-on intensity of texture, power, aggresion and sometimes volume. He could also tear your heart apart with gentleness and beauty in the midst of the sonic assaults. Fascinating player. This will give a little hint of all that Nels is; from his most recent record:

Sonny Sharrock never wanted to play the guitar, but circumstances dictated that his love of the saxophone did not translate to being able to play the dang thing. Instead, he channeled the sound of John Coltrane’s horn playing into his manic six string style. As evidenced on this tune (with Elvin Jones, from Coltrane’s classic quartet on drums no less): warning - this one gets out there!

And let’s end with a thing of beauty from Joe Pass:

Mr. Pass was a name I saw on A LOT of Norman Granz produced records on his own Pablo Records, a label that wasn’t overly desirable, at least from my perspective. Don’t get me wrong, the label did have some heavyweights and a few very notable recordings, but for the most part the outings seemed like artists from the past who were maybe a little past their prime (but needing to make some money). This release from Joe Pass on Pacific Jazz (almost always good stuff) was a true delight when I first heard it, and often hits me as just the right feel and mood.

A very short list. Leave a comment on any of these. What did I miss?

____________________________________________________________________________

what I’m eating: the last of the winter season’s pickled herring

what I’m reading: The Sound of Surprise: 46 Pieces on Jazz by Whitney Balliett

what I’m listening to: Immanuel Wilkins Quartet - Live At The Village Vanguard, Vol. 1

Stormzy - various cuts

Joe Pass - Django

enjoy the strummin’ and pickin’….

Sure, it was in my head since I’d just written about it, but in seeing Immanuel Wilkins perform recently at the SFJazz Center, I was struck by how much I got a sense of, and could hear the essence of place when listening to him play. We had the good fortune to attend a “Listening Session” with Immanuel a couple nights prior, which is simply an on stage one on one conversation with some various video clips interspersed throughout the evening; one such spot featured a 13 year old Immanuel, draped in an oversized home jersey, playing the Star Spangled Banner before a Philadelphia Eagles game - adorable, though a tad flower-y!!!

After the Listening Session he and I talked about the rich mentorship history of this music being handed down by the elders. He likened it to cooking, with favorite recipes being handed down from Grandma’s to Mothers to daughters and sons. In past performances he’s had chefs up on stage cooking, and the smells of the kitchen, like the sounds of standard tunes, have a powerful presence in the memory and impact on the way in which the next sounds are formed. Community was also discussed in this same context of the elder transmissions; what better way to feel a sense of community than to share a meal together after some beautiful music is played. In the Session he also talked about his commissioned work, “Recitations,” that was to be premiered the next evening in the big room (Miner Auditoreum) at SFJazz Center.

Mr. Wilkins said that he’d been feeling a need to be in the same place with others and just read together; a different take on a sense of community. Brontë Velez’s spoken text, Amina Claudine Myers’s organ, and a collected, searching band called for a deeper level of attention from the audience than the norm. Some folks walked out; I’m guessing it did not fit their definition of “jazz” music. Those that stayed were treated to a unique experience, I’m sure.

He mentioned he was “generally anti-audience participation,” and spoke instead about aiming for “a performance — a gathering — where the audience is experiencing the exact same thing that the musicians are.” “Recitations” put that idea to a serious test. The text, handed out ahead to the audience in a 21 page document, spanned a broad range of topics: faith under pressure, ICE detention, surveillance, Palestine, Nat Turner’s visions, George Jackson’s funeral, Black Lives Matter, gentrification, common land, rhythm, humming, sanctuary, and refuge. Velez’s steady, clear reading and music that emphasized atmosphere, pulse, and buildup rather than traditional solo display. The result felt more like a civic meditation than a typical premiere.

“Recitations” carried real weight as an opening-night statement. Wilkins used the SFJAZZ commission to create a piece about public attention, historical memory, spiritual seriousness, and the fragile need for shared refuge. He treated Miner Auditorium as a civic space, a reading room, a listening room. The performance demanded a lot from its audience and rewarded that effort with a meaningful focus. At its best, it made prayer feel like concentration, language feel like a score, and ensemble sound feel like a way of holding difficult truths in the air long enough for a room to meet them together. (thanks to Steve Roby observations of the piece).

What I heard in his playing were some bits of the Philly R&B soul of Solomon Burke and Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, Teddy Pendergrass, Patti LaBelle; all from Philadelphia. Maybe even a little Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, (who were the architects of the Philadelphia sound in soul music, beginning with their 1967 hit for The Soul Survivors' "Expressway to Your Heart"). I heard bits of the tradition passed down through David Murray - from Oakland, CA, but one of Immanuel’s heroes. Odeon Pope’s big beautiful and soulful sound was mixed into Immanuel’s. And, I for sure heard Mr. John Coltrane’s pursuits in the ingredients (though not technically from Philadelphia, he, like Dizzy Gillespie came from the Carolinas, North and South respectively, to make their homes there; Coltrane at age 17). There was some Ben Webster lushness too….

It was an evening steeped in a palpable feeling of the impact of place on an individual, artist, human. Speaking of place, the evening was also a record release party for the band’s Blue Note Records release of his first ever live set: Immanuel Wilkins Quartet: Live At The Village Vanguard Volume 1, the first of three volumes from this historic venue. Walking down the steps to the performance space of this 7th Avenue club, one can practically feel a sense of history coating the walls from all who have sent sounds out into its hallowed ground. Now Mr. Wilkins joins those who have recorded live sets in the sacred space; performances that live on in one of the most definitive rooms of this music’s history.

What I’m reading: James by Percival Everett

What I’m eating: quiche with smoked salmon and asparagus

What I’m enjoying wearing: oxford shirts

What I’m obsessively listening to: Immanuel Wilkins - Emanation from The 7th Hand and Charanam from the Live recording

Plain and simple, I think of Prius drivers as overly polite, unaware of their surroundings, too slow, often not fully in their own lane; all of it to steer clear of because it’s potentially dangerous. Obviously, muscle-y ‘merican car drivers (like Chargers, ‘Stangs, old Firebirds, etc) are obnoxiously rude and aggressive. Little chopped and shopped Asian pocket rocket drivers (tricked-out, usually low, often with extra lights around the body, custom wheels - Toyota’s, Honda’s, etc) are super loud and obnoxious vehicles, but are, in general, very excellent drivers that flow like water. Jacked-up pickup trucks - strange( ! ) they’re usually black - are a bad combo of poor drivers who do not follow the rules of the road, have poor public speaking abilities (too profanity-laced), have little to no ethics, morals or manners. To be clear, this is a different breed from all the real life work trucks out there on the road. And, of course, tesla drivers are just plain smug inside their conditioned, clean environments.

Don’t even get me started on those ever-so-clever little stickers many, many tesla owners put on the back of their vehicles. Reminds me of a John Prine song from the Vietnam War era - “But your flag decal won’t get’cha into heaven anymore they’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war.

Now Jesus don’t like killin’ no matter what the reason’s for and your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore. The, “I bought before he went crazy” sentiment just shows how little the owner had been paying attention to the lies and the broken laws that made that car come to life. My thinking, the villainy is not worth the tech no matter how superior it may be (for the moment).

Okay, what the heck you ask…? All this is to say that while we can make some assumptions, they are solely that, an assumption; we all know what that leads to…! While I don’t like the look of a jacked-up pickup truck, or the practicality - seems tough to get into! - as my pal from the South would say, I “might could!” Doesn’t make anyone anything. But there is something about place, perhaps like the brand we drive, that did, and may still, have relevance. I miss the differences of regionality that the internet has robbed us of to a large extent. Food, dress, social etiquette all had regional discrepancies. As per music, obviously around the world there are differences, but even within our own states there used to be a more definitive style across the various parts. For Jazz there was, of course, the New Orleans style, so too a Kansas City sound, obviously a New York style. But these regionalities included Detroit, Philly, Texas (especially Houston), Chicago and L.A. (or West Coast). While the singular uniqueness may have diminished somewhat, I still think that place still holds relevant importance and has an impact.

While I always thought Houston Person was gifted the “Houston” part as a nickname to represent him as a member of the big, Texas Tenor team, he was indeed born in Florence, South Carolina and given that actual first name. While he is regarded as a master of the style associated with place - the Texas Tenor Sound—characterized by a big, warm, blues-soaked, and romantic tone, he’s not actually from there. However, Houston, the place, is indeed a hotspot of homegrown jazz talent; drummers sprout quite naturally and prolifically there - see Kendrick Scott, Eric Harland, Jeremy Dutton, Jamire Williams, and a bit further back in time, Stix Hooper and Michael Carvin - as do saxo players - Walter Smith III, Kirk Whalum, and to go back a bit further, Illinois( ! ) Jacquet, Arnet Cobb, Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson. HSPVA - High School for the Performing and Visual Arts in Houston has a lot to do with all that. Kendrick Scott once told me after he and Eric Harland shared a stage and I remarked about how much fun it looked like they were having playing together, “Man, I’ve been watchin’ that dude from behind forever; all the way back to me lookin’ up to him in high school.” Brothers from the same place. Towns are important but I want to talk about regionality.

As a kid I remember looking forward to autumn for many reasons - cool weather, beautiful colors, Badger football games on the radio, and of course, Apple Brau (not technically an alcoholic "brau" [brew], it is a nostalgic memory for many who grew up in the 1970s). Apple Brau was a soft drink local to the area I was raised. It was sold in cans (I don’t remember bottles of it) only during the fall season. If you kept the cans in the fridge a little too long the can would begin to morph into un-can-like shapes as the apple cider started to ferment! Man was it tasty, and do I ever miss that cyclical product strategy. Most regions within our many states would have similar type seasonal/regional products.

Now our ease of interconnectedness mutes these regional differences. Though there are less definitive structures of sound associated with place in our modern world (anything can happen anywhere, obvs…) there are still scenes associated with place, at least to some degree. New York (again, obvs!) has a scene - everything, everyone, anytime, all the time - and style that remains as it always was, a little more angular, hard-edged and always expanding. It maybe even has two different scenes if you count the borough of Brooklyn’s musical happenings, or even three if you distinguish between downtown + Harlem and what happens (or maybe happened? I hope not!) at the Lincoln Center.

L.A. has a scene (though it has seemed a bit more muted to me the last couple years) -Hollywood inspired, sweeping soundtrack influence and ocean air crossed with origins of West Coast rap - the Compton scene of Terrace Martin, Kamasi Washington, Thundercat, Dinner Party, Kendrick Lamar, etc. It has a generous and mellifluous spirit; those cats are a crew in the best sense of the word, and they give back to the community and the kids that live now where they grew up then. I like the rap, neo-soul R&B and jazz that comes out of this hood. The L.A. musicians are the ones that taught me that there’s no need to differentiate between genres - “It’s all music.” Robert Glasper said in the Blue Note movie. So these guys, of a certain younger age, were adeptly able to blend everything they listened to as inspiration and taking-off points. Think Parliament-Funkadelic/George Clinton + Marvin + Dexter Gordon + NWA.

Being a proud Mid-Westerner, I’m going to focus here on Chicago; also, I just passed through there for a few days, so it’s fresh in my mind. The AACM-inspired (Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians) artsy, creative scene is alive and thriving (in a creative sense), it too is one that cross-pollinates genres and players and generations in a very solid, and generous Midwestern way. To my mind, it is one of the most interesting and exciting scenes in our (semi-) united states.

From the Chicago scene:

For me, it all begins with The Masters, The Art Ensemble of Chicago I had no idea what I was seeing/hearing when I first saw them in October of 1980 at Merlyn’s, a small punk-ish/new wave spot up the stairs at 311 State St. in Madison, Wisconsin. The percussion instruments stretched out far beyond the small confines of the stage, Famoudou Don Moye’s drum kit, Sonor, my dream kit, glowed, earthy in their warm wooden tones under the stage lights, Malichi Favors’ bass echoing with the natural warmth of its wood set against the metal arsenal of flutes, saxes, trumpets and the aforementioned bells, chimes, gongs etc of the various percussible things. It held such palpable anticipation; I can still feel it to this day.

Then they strode upon the stage, three in traditional face paint, one in modern Jazzman-like garb and one in a clinical lab coat… okay, this is going to be different and exciting!

They played with majesty, whim, glory, faith, kindness, humor and fierceness. The experience changed my musical understanding/appreciation forever.

The upstarts, and one of my favourite bands, Tortoise, (w/ Madison’s own Dan Bitney and AACM member, Jeff Parker) with their post-rock, blending of experimental rock, jazz, minimalism, improvisation, dub, and electronica:

I was lucky enough to catch their recent show (2 nights sold out very quickly; thanks D.B!) at The Great American Music Hall, in San Francisco, CA on Feb. 27, 2026. I told Bitney after the show that between his earlier punk band, the Tar Babies, and Tortoise, I’d been listening to him for 40-some years; I’ve listened to Coltrane for only a few more!!! Here’s a cut from their latest stellar record:

AACM member and in-demand cellist, Tomeka Reid:

I love her playing in almost every context (at least the one’s I’ve heard!), but she’s especially fierce and settled-in with her own longtime ensemble.

Gustavo Cortiñas

Talk about a generous guy, I do not believe they come any sweeter, more giving, or more artistically creative than Gustavo. He records with purpose and a message to give with every very differentiated album he makes. Traditional, futuristic, spoken word, folkloric… you name it and he is pursuing it. He often makes visuals (videos) to go with his songs. I find something new in his music every time I listen.

Quin Kirchner

This is an older cut from this native Chicagoan, but one that I turn to often for its effervescent groove and his cool drum feature. He’s also an affable, intriguing and generous kinda guy, as witnessed at The Whistler on March’s Monthly Tuesday night Jam. His Trio (with Matt Ulery - b and Julius Tucker - p) plays a set as the house band and then he curates an evening filled with adventure. Some show up to be part of this scene, some to show off, some to try out things, a couple to perform a lost art (tap dancing), and all to have a very good time… Chicago style. All staged by Quin’s steady hand and steel-trap of a mind for who should go with whom up on the planks. I met Pete, the 87 year old drummer, and, according to Quin, the only guy who gets two songs; and indeed he did! I just had to tell Jackson Wheeler how impressed I was by their playing; which led to a longer conversation about the guitar players we love. Matt Ulery was up there providing the anchor with his bass lines for almost the entire evening; he finally got relief for the final 3 tunes. It was a very generous-spirited affair; a very Mid-Western night.

Chicago has many settings which properly present “jazz” music, like the biggie that was formerly known as Joe Segal’s Jazz Showcase, now simply Jazz Showcase; run by Joe’s son, Wayne. Joe (like Max Gordon, who ran the Village Vanguard) was one of the longest running promoters/jazz impresarios in the business at over 70 years. In those years the Showcase had numerous different homes, but it always had an enforced set of rules which included no smoking during the set (in the old days before no smoking laws) and no talking while the musicians were playing. When the establishment was in the Blackstone Hotel, just off S. Michigan Ave. my buddies and I would drive down to see David Murray, Freddie Hubbard…Betty Carter…. Delicious nights spent there.

However, what makes this city’s scene special is its smaller, neighborhood-y venues, like the aforementioned Whistler. There are many, but for me the highlights are: Constellation, Green Mill, Hungry Brain. These places put on shows many nights of the week and feature some very interesting series and jam sessions along the way. Just like old Joe Segal, who honored his hero every year with Charlie Parker month, his entire birth month of August dedicated to him and his music, Jazz Festivals happen in the warm months and are dispersed across the beautiful parks and places of Chicago. Like the city itself, it’s the neighborhoods that give it it’s soul and make it thrive; these jazz venues are a longstanding part of that soul of the city.

Scenes like this, still exist; some might be a tad more welcoming and generous than others, but the tradition continues to be passed down and around, hewed, shaped and crafted through challenge, fear or just a very generous spirit. Support your scene, because there is a part of this music for anyone and everyone.

Oh, by the way, about the cars, did I mention that I drive a Prius and a Subaru?!! I guess that makes me an unsafe old lesbian!

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What I’m listening to: Woody Shaw - For Sure! United; Night Music; Solid Sun-Mi Hong - Fourth Page: Meaning Of A Nest Don Pullen - New Beginnings

What I’m reading: Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow

What I’m eating: Greek figs with goat cheese

“Music is energy. Period. It’s just energy. Music is energy and we are energy. And you can never destroy energy; Einstein says that. So it’s part of us… it’s part of all of us.” So says the one and only, Yo Yo Ma, and I do believe this to be accurate and true; certain sounds simply hit one in that place right between the gut and the heart, the place we feel the most joy and pain and groove, in a sort of other-worldly way.

There is a South African cosmology (much more on this later in the year) deeply rooted in indigenous belief systems - Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, and San peoples, that believe we exist, and relate, on 3 plains as an interconnected continuum - with those that came before (ancestors), those whom we are with now (the living) , and with those yet to come in the future (the unborn), and these plains exist simultaneously in a mutual state of influence. I believe this to be true and real as well… at least the first two parts (I’m still working on relating to the future folks!). Music, and its energy has this power to take us to the different plains of our lives. For me, I cannot hear Television and not think of my sister searching the dirty, late 70’s streets of the lower East Side of New York City. The Clash remind me of a 37 hour ordeal of a drive in a ‘64 VW Bug with one of my greatest friends (slam-sleeping was invented on this journey!), as we tried to make it from the West to the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago to see this seminal band (Go Straight to Hell boy….). The sounds of the Big Bands can never be removed from memories of my Mom, grooving to the melodies and rhythms in her happy-place way. Music is an energy, indeed.

While it may be easier for a lifelong appreciator of improvised, or “jazz” music, to see and hear the continuum, the ancestral tree, of the music and the musicians, it takes quite a lot of study - reading and listening - to discern the nuances. However, I wholeheartedly believe that anyone with ears (not even BIG EARS!) can find something more than, “I love it in the background at the wine bar,” in this genre of music.

For me it was hands down the drum that put a spell on me and lured me in. Nevertheless, I credit the piano, as an instrument and its players, as a way in for me to begin understanding some of the nuances of this music. The piano is the bridge between the rhythmic side (left hand bass chords) and the melodic side (right hand melodic notes and chords and flight of fancy); it ties together both sides of the stage while it multi-tasks pretty much all the time. And so, it seems to be the right place to begin a journey into improvised jazz music.

What follows is certainly not an historical overview, or flowchart, of the piano. These are only a small range on the vast plains of the piano tradition within jazz music, and they are perhaps some jump-in points for those with an interest. Let’s have at it!

Swing: Ya know, it just don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing! The first lesson in jazz is that it’s got to swing. There are many, many purveyors of swing, still are, but I have to begin at a more historical cornerstone, that which is Edward Kennedy Ellington, who really only needed one name, the Duke, as he is part of this music’s royalty. He remains one of the greatest musical storytellers. With the largesse of the tones and textures of his big bands, he could transport the listener to exotic lands and sophisticated settings. He was elegance personified. But, he also knew a thing or two about that swing, and to hear it I go to his small band recordings, trios to be exact.

Duke Ellington - B Sharp Blues

Duke Ellington - Night Time

There are just way too many great pianists in this particular realm, (Oscar Peterson, Kenny Barron, Sonny Clark, etc) but one more I can’t live without is Ahmad Jamal. Man, he swings, to say the least. His trio was also a move away from tradition (as in the songs above), with the threesome featured and creating as equals, not simply as support to the main instrument. There’s an incredible feel for time here, and a different sense of space around each instrument.

Ahmad Jamal - The Awakening

Standards: Much is already known about the great mathematical pursuits of Dave Brubeck (he made a career of academically dissecting odd time signatures (4/4 being standard pop music realm; he wrote in 5/4 - Take Five, 7/8, 11/4, etc). To make the math work, he had to have a tight band, and he did! Paul Desmond (sax) and Dave Brubeck (piano) were a match made in heaven; throw in Joe Morello (drums) and Eugene Wright (bass) and you were gently soaring in smoothness. This quartet helped me make sense out of “standards,” or popular tunes, and how they could be re-used and re-purposed time and time again. It’s here where I began to understand the dynamics at play - rhythm, melody, syncopation, improvisation. The basics are: 1) band states the melody; 2) solos based on the theme; in this case usually Desmond first, then Brubeck; sometimes, not always, a bass or drum solo was inserted.

Dave Brubeck Quartet - Perdido Written by trombonist and composer, Juan Tizol in 1941, with lyrics added 4 years later. It became a standard after Ellington’s Orchestra popularized the chart.

Gonzalo Rubalcaba (see below too) also emphasizes the way to express personality and uniquely play a cover, or standard. Gonzalo Rubalcaba - Imagine (Live) I don’t know if I’d call this song a standard exactly, but it was a popular tune reshaped for the expression of the improvisational side here. And I gotta say that the up-beat accented drum part Mr. DeJohnette plays at about the 2:16 mark has so much feel I don’t know how you can keep your body from movin’ and groovin’. And I will forever be amazed by his right foot on the bass drum pedal - it holds the whole drum part together for me on this one.

The Bad Plus, who are about to end a 26 year long run, kinda became famous for performing extremely unrelated music as, well, covers which made for interesting jazz. A Bad Plus song!

Nope, can’t really say that Rush would provide a standard for the jazz idiom. This is about creativity with more than a hint of humor involved.

Percussive Attack: The piano is indeed a rhythm instrument (with bass and drums). Other than the percussive outburst of Cecil Taylor, no one played more definitively percussive on the piano keyboard (oh Lord!) than McCoy Tyner. He was the first “modern” pianist I got into, mostly because he was in my hero, John Coltrane’s classic Quartet. My musical tastes developed rapidly through my voracious appetite for any and all Coltrane titles; herein lays another important learning with jazz music and its musicians: the best of them were always searching for something new and therefore their body of work can vary dramatically from one end to the other. Case in point, Coltrane’s record, Ballads, has almost nothing even remotely related to something like Meditations; as this represents an early-mid career record vs. a latter-period release (i.e. the sound and the fury!). McCoy Tyner - Passion Dance Though this may not be as resoundingly lefthanded percussive as some of his work, especially with Coltrane, you can here the left hand in his solo keeping a pretty dynamic rhythm pounding along; the chordal comping behind Joe Henderson’s saxo solo is forceful and spirited as well. And, it’s a great tune!

Original Voices & The World: Geri Allen - her fingerprints of influence are all over our more modern day piano players (Craig Taborn, Jason Moran, Brad Meldau, Paul Cornish…) as both a teacher and luminous performer. When Kabuya Dances - here she and the band build a dreamy swirling landscape from which the dancer emerges fully expressed in joy, self-assuredness and perhaps just a tad bit of mystery.

Extra Credit (because I couldn’t edit it out!) for a little bit more “out” kind of expression. Geri Allen - Skin In addition to guiding many players, we hear some of the many influences on her reflected in this original song; that of the piano tradition from South Africa - the heavy rhythmic lefthand bass chords, and the brilliant reflection of Master Don Pullen - the splashy squashing of chorded notes in her solo. (Note: I LOVE Don Pullen’s music, but it can understandably be a challenge for many to appreciate. If I compare his music to the work of Picasso, let’s just say that Mr. Pullen’s work is well beyond the Blue Period of Picasso and even beyond the Cubist works!).

Dollar Brand/Abdullah Ibrahim - His early-career work is under Dollar Brand, then, in 1968 he converted to Islam with the resultant name change. He is a tree of life in the improvisational world of the piano. His music references the gospel sounds of his Mother (who played piano in church), the rhythms and melodies of his native South Africa, definitely sides of Spiritual Jazz, in its very meditative sense, and in some ways, almost a new age-y, Windham Hill-like take, on some of his recordings; he was also quite political and involved with the anti-apartheid movement. Duke Ellington sponsored him and promoted his trio for their first recordings. His musical career spans over 70 years and he is still performing; his reach and influence are immeasurable.

The first record of his I heard was Water From An Ancient Well, and the tune that immediately grabbed me was Manenberg Revisited.

Bra Timing From Phomolong continues in helping to define the South African Jazz sound.

And The Wedding is just plain lush and gorgeous.

Andrew Hill - maybe a tad bit chewier than the rest, but he is a a whole master class in composing for individual players/voices. It took me a long time to fully appreciate his style (see my earlier musings on him in my post, the favourite ), but now count me as a huge fan. Land of Nod from the l.p. Black Fire is my choice to dig here.

Gonzalo Rubalcaba - No Name (Live) Fire and speed, a different innate rhythmic sense from this Cuban star.

Nduduzo Mahkathini - Unonkanyaba Another great South African pianist (soon to be touring the U.S. again; watch for him, he is beyond delightful). I love the insistent rhythmic pulse of this tune and the simple repetitive single notes statement on the piano.

Groove & Gospel:

The organ really commands this category of music. Big names had their moment in the late 50’s and 60’s, the likes of Jimmy Smith, Brother Jack McDuff, Richard “Groove” Holmes and Shirley Scott came to epitomize Soul Jazz; later Larry Young, Joey DeFrancesco and others took the instrument well beyond soul into more boundary pushing realms. There are certainly artists on the 88 keys who were firmly in this realm, one being big-time, groovin-hard piano player from the gospel tradition, Bobby Timmons. Here, one of his most famous compositions, Dat Dere, performed at the hallowed ground of the Village Vanguard in NYC with the most recorded jazz musician of all-time, Ron Carter, on bass, and Albert “Tootie” Heath on drums. Gospel, and the groove that came out of it, spread into other genres of music; you can especially hear it in R&B, and one can imagine how a tune like this could be an influence in that direction.

Couple extra, modern day players:

Joel Ross is a younger lion who is very committed to the church and his spirituality. While this tune may be a tribute to the great pianist Barry Harris, it is indeed a meditative, spiritual piece of music. And, while not a piano, the vibes are laid out like a piano’s keyboard. It’s also quite fun to watch the instrument being played, as it is the whole band, to see and hear what goes into each players contribution to the whole.

Another young and astounding player (mentioned above) with a spiritual/gospel sense to his playing is Paul Cornish.

These are but a few intro’s to some of the piano players I return to often. If any of the sounds strike your fancy, I highly recommend digging deeper into their body of work; don’t be surprised if it feels different from one recording to the next, this is the continual search for expression of improvised music. Enjoy!

What I’m reading: Good Morning Midnight by Jean Rhys.

What I’m eating: avocado toast with fried eggs, olive oil, lime juice and red pepper flakes; pumpkin seeds are good in there too!

What began as my personal journey into improvised music - and believe me, there is a lot more journey that could be told - like all things, is going to change.

Ches Smith and Clone Row

When I think about more of a purpose for this Substack, I know that I would like for it to be about helping others find a comfort and a good fit with the music commonly referred to as jazz.

On my long journey into this music I’ve explored a wide variety of (genres, styles, periods) through-lines as starting, or potential entry points into improvised music. I do believe that there is almost certainly something for everyone in this great institution of an original American music.

I’ve enjoyed this music since I was in single digits; I’ve truly loved it since my teenage years. I’ve listened, seen, collected, played, photographed and written about this music virtually my entire life. If there is one thing I’d like to do here, one purpose to have for this spot, it is most certainly to expose you, my gentle-reader, to a song or musician you hadn’t known, and maybe even fall in love with these sounds.

My stretch goal, dream really, would be for this writing to turn someone onto this great American Artform. Thus, herein lies my ask to you, the reader of this thing: if you like what you see, might I request that you pass me along to someone you know who might very well not hold an appreciation for this “style of music?” Or, perhaps someone you know who might have expressed interest in music; perhaps they’re even “jazz-curious!” Send them a referral… please.

As I wrote in my year end wrap-up, I’ve been on a pretty dynamic dive into the piano and would like to begin this refocused journey on some of the players and sounds that make my inner self groove and move, or challenge the mind to consider some higher purpose beyond, or simply amaze with the capacity of the human mind and body (in this case, fingers!).

Okay, c’est tout. Stay tuned for the first of the new fit - The Piano. Coming soon….

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While I have, in the past, written something about each tune, this version I will leave it at saying that for me, it was a year heavily weighted towards piano music (mostly on the improvisational side of the story) and more of a soul-like, R&B-ish vibe on the pop side (somewhat in keeping with the last few years). I learned to love Andrew Hill’s challenging compositional style and his spacious playing (with some really killer players). A little about it here:

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I saw a very special show by Edward Simon (of the SFJazz Collective fame, and other ensembles) demonstrating an extremely advanced musical dialogue between three brilliant musicians - Scott Colley, bass, Brian Blade, drums (see:

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And, I saw the Berlin-born, French-American musician, Jacky Terrasson, dubbed the “piano player of happiness,” (by the French publication, Telerama) in the small room (the JHL) at SFJazz. It was, simply said, a joyful delight.

I also had the pleasure of interviewing avant garde/free jazz icon, Matthew Shipp. He wasn’t as “out there” as I thought! Pt. 1 available here:

https://bluestemjazz.org/2025/11/17/matthew-shipp-episode-10/

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Records that especially grabbed me:

The Tyshawn Sorey Trio, The Susceptible Now, with pianist Aaron Diehl (actually from the end of 2024, but I came to know it fully in ‘25) is an actual stunner, regarding that same musical dialogue mentioned above - three musicians so utterly in-synch.

The Sylvie Courvoisier/Mary Halverson outing entitled Bone Bells. Outstandingly creative piano playing (Sylvie C.) with the expansive guitar playing of Mary Halverson (whom I had the pleasure of seeing with Ches Smith’s Clone Row).

Mary Halverson’s About Ghosts, a recent Album Club pick. See:

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Gustavo Cortiñas’ The Crisis Knows No Borders is a beautiful take on the au currant state of affairs, as told by a Mexican immigrant residing in the rich musical world of Chicago. Themes which were present in a lot of the music that rose to the top this year.

Charles Lloyd’s Figure In Blue, not solely because his new records will always be on my list. It’s, as usual, such a human expression.

Myra Melford’s Splash with Ches Smith, a fave, on drums.

And, probably my favorite recording of the year, Linda May Han Oh’s Stange Heavens, with Tyshawn Sorey and local trumpeter, Ambrose Akinmusire. And I have a very hard time picking favorites!!!

The genres are not separated this year, as this is kind of how music is for me - anything good, no matter what genre, flows like a summer wind (hat-tip to Frank!). The “Edit” is still 3-1/2 hrs. of music!!! For those with a real long attention span (or who just want a soundtrack for a dinner party!), the full version is just a tad over 7 hours… ha ha ha!!! Such is life.

Choose your poison.

https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/2025-the-time-we-were-almost-residing-in-gorgeousness/pl.u-vxy6ZR6CjZlLp

https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/2025-the-edit/pl.u-PDb4NLEt3pPdE

For those who’ve followed along previously, you’ll note that the list is no longer on spotify. You can see why it’s not capitalized and my rant against the man here:

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Take some time to savour; revel in your glory, be one with nature, laugh with friends and family, eat your favorite foods, read for pleasure, listen with delight, sing, dance, howl at the moon. The days are getting longer….

Most of all, let’s hold the belief that “The Arc of the Moral Universe is Long, But it Bends Toward Justice.”

Amen!

Then things began to change. The rithms of the algorithm didn’t take me in such interesting directions - beginning with a prompt of, say, Sonny Sharrock, Ornette Coleman or Archie Shepp, I was somehow eventually taken back to the same very unrelated tracks, like, for instance, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald ( a great tune, but not one I want to get to usually when I’m going down a more avant garde jazz path!). As I said, TOTALLY unrelated, and always the same place was gotten to no matter where the starting point was.

And this whole business of your year’s worth of musical listening and exploration “wrapped” for you and presented as a couple of lumps of data - whoop-dee-do. I never cared for it and now it represents us - humans - as even more of just a data point. People seem to be conversing about the age the platform is telling us we are based on out listening habits as if being young in this performance category is a good thing. No thanks! If my listening habits suggest an age, I’d rather it spit out 93 than 23. Fact being, I’m way more interested in a person who listens to things from the ‘40’s than only 2025, and especially even more interested in someone listening well to music from the 1920’s through to today. Hmmm… what age would the platform spit out for them?! I don’t want to digest and move onto the next thing; I want to live in beauty and creativity.

Of course there was then the extremely nagging situation of how the platform pays the artists; not well at all indeed. Maybe even worse than the struggling jazz heroes of the hopping Harlem scene were compensated in the ‘40’s. This was indeed a sore point for me, but right/wrong, I pushed this injustice to the back of my mind b/c of the amount of music that I purchase. Again, right or wrong, I felt like I was recognizing the artists I respected the most by actually buying their musical output (usually on vinyl) as directly from them as I could (either at live shows or on Bandcamp Fridays). I mean T-Swift doesn’t need my money and if I wanted to listen to what all the chatter was about, I did not mind that it was free-ish. But, this was always there in the back of my mind and sort of always eating away at me. I mean daniel ek (again, upper case is reserved for respect or emphasis only) is a billionaire. How much money do people need without recognizing and rewarding the very folks that got them to that oversaturated point?!!!

Then there is the horrific tragedy that is this country’s present administration and it’s immigration atrocities. The billionaire of spotify lined right up to aid the cause with recruitment ads for I.C.E. (I don’t even want to know about the amount of money that passed hands from the music wizard to this scheming administration). I was done. No more.

R.I.P. horrify. Or, is it Whorify?!!!

Some experiences which share this umami-like multifaceted pleasure-sense-tickler phenomenon: ice skating on a frozen pond when it’s not too cold, but you can literally smell the aforementioned cold (the right temperature and the sound of blades on ice… nothing like it); a bike ride on a ribbon of glass-smooth pavement; the taste of foie gras with a lovely Sauternes; reading a sentence with just the right word selection that it scratches both the intellect and the funny bone. These, I suppose, other than people, are some of the things I love most in the world.

The more relevant pleasure that twitches several of the key sensors of my brain in a similar, giddy-like way, is listening to improvised music. It is often a heady, time-forestalled experience, the head and the heart converge onto the plains of pleasure, or, in the other direction on the emotional compass and into the realm of compassion and trying to understand a deep pain; sometimes the skin converses in its own dialogue of happiness with goose bumps - an emotional reaction, triggered by surprise or moments of intense beauty, known as frisson (AKA aesthetic chills). Quite a few tunes make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and they are often members of the nostalgia club - the sounds that so clearly take me back to a time and a place - the first Television record; Born To Run and Nebraska; Blue Train; Mangione’s Feels So Good (R.I.P. Mom); Sweet’s Fox On The Run; The Waitresses Christmas Wrapping; for sure The Clash’s Train in Vain; Nat King Cole’s Unforgettable…. These play as sonic visuals from my life; time, place & people.

But, yeah, improvised music, man! When Ahmad Jamal moves from stabbing chords to flight-of-finger runs on The Awakening; When Jack DeJohnette’s (Rest in Power and Glory) New Directions bandmates kick into the tune that is Salsa For Eddie G, both, initially after the drum solo intro, and after the intro vamp on the Live In Europe recording; in the full-band unity and expression of Pat Metheny’s version of Ornette’s Turnaround on 80/81 (nuf said, but it’s DeJohnette again anchoring the vision); the way Charlie Haden and Ed Blackwell dance with the rhythm of almost any and all Old And New Dreams tunes; their precursor/spiritual father, Ornette Coleman, and his genius shining ever-so bright on Lonely Woman. Coltrane taking us directly to the smoke and burning embers of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, on Alabama. Woody Shaw’s trumpet (so under-appreciated) on Monk’s tune, Mysterioso. And, literally, almost anything that Brian Blade and Kendrick Scott apply their sticks/brushes/mallets to, takes me to a whole different place in the galaxy.

There’s nostalgia, and nothing wrong with hearing Nat King Cole’s voice and being taken back in time, putting the ornaments on the x-mas tree in a far away place. However, my experience of listening to improvised music is like walking through a day dream, one which changes from day to day, bringing in the stimuli and mood of the moment. Pleasure is taken, I suppose, from learning the language more adeptly; I often hear some new aspect of harmony, or an errant accent, that I had not noticed before, even after dozens, if not hundreds of listenings. Perhaps I’m paying stricter attention, mayhaps it’s that I understand more deeply… I don’t know (I love it), and don’t particularly care. It simply strikes me as a delight.

Then there is the quest, the pursuit of this musical language and skill, from the musician’s side of things. I appreciate this, though, as a non-chordal musician I do not fully understand it. What must that pursuit feel like? To strive to find a solution to a puzzle, grasp at a sound that is out there, or just in one’s head, but is seemingly never quite found. These pursuits and never ending practice lead to one’s sound, one’s musical language. Musical partnerships form when similar dialects are spoken, which, of course, can change over the course of a musician’s life.

And there is style. How a musician plays his instrument, and it is this element of the visual with the auditory in a live stage setting which really makes improvised music (pretty much any good music) sing. How a bass player wraps around, enveloping, seemingly disappearing inside, becoming one with his historically beautiful instrument. How a piano player’s touch on the keys can sometimes be almost like an intimate massage, making the feel of the ebony almost palpable. Or how sometimes a player’s fingers can take on the look of ants at the picnic gettin’ away with the goods. The faraway meditation (or, is it simply mathematics?!) on the shuttered-eye face of a saxophone player. It’s here, while in the midst of a saxophonist’s solo journey, where I more often can hear and sense the rhythmic, melodic reaction to the piano players comping, the bite of the subtle tempo change the bass player brought to the fore, the alternating accents the drummer has just introduced to the game…. The movements of music…Joshua Redman scrunching up his right leg during a particularly exploratory solo moment; Jeff “Tain” Watts leaning back before unleashing an almost punishingly insane drum fill. Lester Bowie screeching, snorting and howling his trumpet, pointed up to the moon, stars and beyond to the ancestors.

Having just seen Brian Blade (in the company of Edward Simon and Scott Colley) I have an almost visceral sense of the style and charming grace he brings to the stage. His lovely human presence, his delight in being part of the musical conversation, his attention to detail, the ability to make the party shine; the all of it comes to the fore when Mr. Blade is on the stage. How he chokes up on his sticks differently to hit a drum to get a unique sound; how he strikes a cymbal, first exposing the blonde wood in a horizontal position, then initiating a sweeping attack; notably, the stuttering pause he sometimes brings before issuing a booming accent to a key point. For me there is a real comfort, a nurturing quality to his language on the drums, it’s almost as if I get everything I love about music all at once - beauty, power, emotion, frisson, nostalgia and just the right dialect that makes me feel like I’m home again.

What began as a way to socially engage with some local friends and my son living 12 hours away, as well as another roughly millennial-aged “kid” living in Seattle, is now simply a hang-out because we enjoy each other’s takes on the music. Every individual has a unique contribution to the whole, of course, so much so that we only meet-up if all Album Club-ers are able to join. We had one session with an absent member and we missed his presence so much we vowed to never do that again.

Amongst our group we have a Brit, the first exploratorily invited to join. He’s our audiophile, with a “big system,” punk rock roots (of course, he’s British, from the proper era) and a rather large collection of vinyl. The Engineer/Architect guy was the next invite and the quickest acceptance. He’s a purely “visual guy,” much to the group’s amazement, he watches all the musical picks on YouTube. This often comes in handy, as he wanders down a rabbit hole adeptly unearthing some rarely seen footage of an unknown jazz influencer. He was also the first to veer us away from a straight-up listen to watching the visuals (tap dancers, early women of jazz, etc). There’s the Millennial, an avowed fan of Steely Dan, a drummer dusting off his chops from his college era jazz band exploits to hit the local jam sessions. He has a way of crafting just the right turn of phrase to sum up the record to which we’re listening. And my son, also a former college jazz band player (saxo) who speaks from the heart and keeps us aware of some of the younger/newer elements and players in the jazz world. I have simply been an almost life-long lover of the music and had the very good fortune to learn from Richard Davis at the University of Wisconsin. In addition, I was lucky enough to have an incredible mentor of the music in Craig Butenhoff, (rest in power of the music) of the men’s clothing store I worked at in college, the Jazzman.

There were two owners of the shop, Craig, more the jazz-er, and Gary, more the pop/rock guy (he turned me onto the likes of Marshall Crenshaw, The Woodentops, The Blue Nile, David & David, Prefab Sprout, Lloyd Cole & The Commotions, etc, etc). They were both into funk, soul and R&B (plenty of Prince, Luther Vandross, Loose Ends and George Clinton was played… at VOLUME!). They were each sweet guys, now both passed. Gary was the quiet, introspective one to whom I first gravitated towards; a gentle, calm soul. Craig and I were the least alike of the crew when I first started. He was boisterous, large and in charge at the front, middle, or back of the store; lively, funny, overwhelmingly welcoming to all who crossed the threshold. As I became more comfortable in the narrow dog-leg-shaped confines, I suppose you could say I became a bit more like Craig. Man, did we have some good times in that shop… bust-a-gut laughs, some major pulling of the legs and more than a few beers. After hours, it was our club house, a meet-up spot before we went out, and a regathering spot after the bars had all closed, because nowhere else had this fine of a music collection.

Craig had a very unique gate to his stroll, one I used to imitate quite regularly, big wide strides with a bounciness in between. I can still smell his cologne and cigaretted (and maybe something else!) scent as he bounded past the counter returning from a break. He would often, like, more than once a week( ! ), come waltzing through the store toting a big old stack of records from B-Side Records just down State Street (I guess I learned THIS from him!). We would eagerly inquire as to what the haul was, and I will have to admit, much of it was new or unknown to me. Von Freeman, Mal Waldron, David Murray, Henry Threadgill, Steve Lacy, Carla Bley, Lenny Tristano…; there was always a level of intrigue and certainly a desire to know as much as possible about all of these masters.

I suppose that listening to some of what I was exposed to at Jazzman took some practice to learn how to hear, to find the story in it. While John Coltrane or David Murray could play something so achingly beautiful, literally impossible for the average listener to not feel something in their hearts, they could also both easily blow your ears off with sheer power and intensity. I think it’s safe to say that they had a lot of stories to tell; the African-American experience has always included a deep, dark well from which to draw. Some of this music is not easy-listening, but isn’t most art more interesting when, in a master’s hands, it is taken out of the straight-ahead form and into the realm of skewed, distorted, new and different?

While I was already well on my way down the path of Coltrane, Miles, Basie, Duke and Dexter, it was my time at the Jazzman that expanded and opened my ears at hyper speed. For this Album Club thing I may have begun my picks, “a little out there( ! )” – my second selection for the group to listen to was Third Decade, by The Art Ensemble of Chicago – which probably was a little too much too soon for many in the group. Now, many, many moons later, it is kind of amazing to see how much we have all learned about listening and digesting the music. We have continued to expand our collective ears, delving into some of the challenging work by pianist/composer Andrew Hill; Norwegian hush phenoms – SuperSilent; modern, but troubled jaimie branch; uniquely percussive pianist Don Pullen and flame throwing guitarist Sonny Sharrock, to name a few. While I definitely pulled back a little on my early-mid picks, it’s clear now that this little group can go almost anywhere.

I think of the Jazzman quite often, of Craig and Gary, not only for all the fun times that were housed within that great store (and backroom!), but for a l l t h e m u s i c that came into my life through them and the crew that “worked” there. I know that the widely expansive collection of music blasted on the store’s sound system extended my range; it all felt connected, cohesive and right – from Duke to De La Soul, Sonny Sharrock to Prince, Sam Rivers to Ill Considered. Anthony Braxton could be discussed as a modern day equal of Charlie Bird Parker; we often debated which was the best Bill Evans record. It’s all music….

So, my next pick (in two more sessions) might be zoh amba… or I’ve thought about having another go at the Art Ensemble of Chicago…. Maybe a Duke Ellington Suite, I don’t know, it’s all great music; the sky’s the limit.

“And now, we go into the land of the sun, and the sand… and the sand dunes; and the heat and the hush… and the quiet and the shussshhh….” Thanks Craig, for the mentorship, friendship, big laughs and big love. Thanks too for leading me down a path which became my life’s career. And, of course, thanks for all the music.

In the first month of summer, early – mid 1970’s, the “wood”- paneled station wagon would pull out of the driveway a bit north or south of 5:00 pm and head towards the Middleton High School Stadium (stadium doesn’t quite work, as it was simply the h.s. football field with bleachers on either side). This was practically a holy day for Mom and me, as it was when our Madison Scouts competed against other mostly Midwestern corps, as well as a few further flung troops, in the Drums On Parade marching band competition. The anticipation had already been pumped for some months, as the corp’s practices had commenced on the weekends at Olbrich Park, situated on good old Lake Monona. These weekends were not so hard to take, not like the practices that came later in the summer as they prepared for the World Championship, in the dog days of August in the Midwest – 90+ degree temps, near 100% humidity, mosquitos, and as the decades passed, a very stinky Lake Monona.

I can’t exactly remember when Mom first began to cart me to these competitions, but I do know it was before 1975, the year our Scouts became the Drum Corp International’s World Champions. That was if the Packers had won the Super Bowl, the Brewers the World Series and the Bucks the N.B.A. Champs. The feeling of pride swelled for the whole year, until Concord, California’s Blue Devils won it in ’76. I do very clearly remember the palpable feeling of the complete and utter power of a unit working together, totally in-synch musically and visually. It was, as Mom would say, “Purrrdy.”

And it was my time, alone, with Mom.

She was my guiding light for so much of what became “me.” It was through her that I learned to love music (and my brother and sister had a hand in that as well, but Mom’s influence was first, front and center). She was a big “fan of a good drummer;” and for that, she referred to Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, and her own high school sweetheart, the heartbeat of the jazz band. So, of course it was easily understandable how she steered me to the larger formations of the Big Band music of her generation – Benny Goodman, the Dorsey Brothers, Count Basie, Duke Ellington and the handful of reliable vocalists who grinned-and-bared-it all to tour with said bands. Perhaps because of said h.s. sweetheart drummer man, she was a dancer; jitterbug especially, but she could waltz, polka and slow dance too. It’s hard not to imagine her getting rolled over the hip of her dance partner, pulled between his legs and then effortlessly tossed up into the air; such is my forever image of my Mom. She had a funny saying about more rotund folks – “Those heavy-set people sure can dance!” Funny….

She and I went various places – Bunky’s, the Verona High School gymnasium and Madison Area Technical College’s fairly nice performance hall (in the old building which is no longer a school) – to see various, but similar, dying breed big bands. Woody Herman’s Herd, Buddy Rich’s Big Band, several times, even Toshiko Akiyoshi with Lew Tabakin. They were glorious nights that reminded her of what was, and me of what I wished still was.

In the course of this personal history, quite early on, I became enamored of the drums. A Mickey Mouse set appeared at x-mas somewhere around age 7 (my personal way of keeping track of history – photos – was not so much a practice anymore for my folks, me being the third child; so I’m not exactly sure of the age, though early photo history does show me with a tin snare somewhere around age 2; though this could have been my brother’s drum that he was letting me wear, with a marching strap!). A “better” set came a few x-mas’ later, but it was from Sears, so how good could that be?! Finally, in early high school, after years of de-tasseling corn, paper routes, and even my first “real job” at the local butcher shop, I put together enough cabbage to buy a Ringo Starr-looking 5 piece set of Ludwig drums from Ron VonAlman’s brother Randy (who had just upgraded to like a 60 piece set of black Rogers surround-set drums). These were real drums finally, with real cymbals, Zildjian of course. I was all in. Drums. All. The. Time.

Buddy Rich became my hero, which Mom fully supported (thus the trips to Verona and God knows where else, to see his big band play. Bunky’s was a highlight show. I got an autographed drum head, but I also finally saw Buddy’s dark side in action – he fired the bass player on the bandstand). She supported it to the degree that I could even stay up late, on a school night( ! ), to watch Buddy on the Tonight show. This… well this was a double whammy, as not only would I get to see Buddy’s big mug sit and smirk behind the drum kit as he bashed it out showman-style with Doc Severinsen’s Tonight Show (big) Band, but also he and Johnny were absolutely hilarious together. Simple times.

Of course I progressed in my drum hero lineage/cult following from here – Bruford, Chester Thompson, Carl Palmer, Mitch Mitchell, Keith Moon, Bonzo… the usual teenaged era suspects. Then came Topper Headon of The Clash, and my oh my, did that open up my world of drumming and drummers. I’d already been dabbling with some of the great jazz drummers (Max, Morello, Elvin, DeJohnette), but Topper, man he could play anything. The band quickly progressed from banging it out with three chords and a basher’s 4/4 beat, to sophisticated pop, reggae and dub. By their 3^rd record, London Calling, there were jazz riffs – “Jimmy Jazz” - which I could somewhat mimic, but by the time of their 4^th record, Sandinista, and the track “Look Here,” I could not keep up with the pace of his jazz drumming. He taught me to dig in deeper to understand what was going on with this jazz drumma thing.

Rudiments it was. The basic building blocks that as a self-taught drummer I had missed. So George Lawrence Stone’s “Stick Control: For The Snare Drummer” it had to be. Which… is where we return back to the original thread of drum and bugle. Rudiments and the military style marching band is where it all came from in the first place. Jazz drummers simply Picasso-ed it out to a point of much more human expression. Baby Dodd’s and Big Sid Catlett certainly knew a thing or two about rudiments as they set the early, pre-be bop standard for jazz drumming (playing alongside the likes of Louis Armstrong, Fletcher Henderson, as well as early Diz and Bird). Art Blakey, who headed-up a university-like training ground for so many musicians who later became band leaders in their own right, was at the forefront of utilizing the rudiments as the very apparent building block of his style, but with the addition of plenty of drive and swing.

So, it was the drum, always the drum sound that tickled Mom’s fancy, and caught my ear and formed an unending fascination with music, PERIOD. In the Big Band music that she so dearly loved, it was the force of the drummer’s pulse that made the toe tap and got folks out on the dance floor. In the marching band presentations on the football fields across America, the precise, in-unison play of the drum line, with its separate components of snares, tom toms, bass drums and cymbals (as well as xylophones, and various other percussion instruments) – each played by a group of ever-moving individuals, that played as a unit and sounded as one – is the driver of the band’s movements and holds the precision together.

So this was really a Big Band, of a slightly different nature, sure, but a very similar display of power, artistry and showmanship. There was precision, with each of the sections/lines being a part of the whole. As for the power and showmanship, there is simply nothing, nothing in the musical world like a full-sized drum and bugle corps marching away from where you’re seated, only to turn around at the emphatic climax of a tune to absolutely B-L-A-S-T the attending audience with all the power of the brass and drum. It’s a transcendent, singular moment of overwhelming power and beauty (which, unfortunately, doesn’t translate on youtube videos). Wow, just the thought sends shivers down my spine.

So today, on this the third anniversary of Mom’s passing, I listened to Benny Goodman, Chuck Mangione, Buddy Rich and, one of Mom’s favorites, Tommy Gun, by The Clash. You see, my high school era band would practice up stairs in my bedroom, so Mom had a front-ish row seat for most of our early musical exploration; be it a tad bit muffled through the floor boards. She always referred to the song as “Dormez Vous,” because, well, I guess that’s what the words sounded like through the layers of wood and insulation. It hit me like a ton of bricks today, as to why she loved the song so much – it’s a very drum-led song, with it's staccato sub-machine gun drum accent parts, stops and starts, and drum-rolling ending. It was always about the drum.

Of course she was my biggest fan. So, you know, LET THE DRUMMER HAVE SOME…!

Musical obsessions rise and fall, ebb and flow, la-ti-da. I’ve been listening, almost exclusively, to Joe Henderson for the last 2 weeks or so, mostly to try to turn off the non-stop need to listen to one particular tune of his over and over. That one song, both a masterpiece and a very adept ear worm ( ! ) is none other than “Mode For Joe.”

How this one song can take over my command central and hang about all day/everyday, for multiple days likely requires time on the sofa for psychiatric analysis to decipher. Obsessive? Compulsive? Or, simply a beauteous thing? Well, not just beautiful, it’s also hummable/singable/whistle-able. It’s the sound of spring time. It is beauty, sure, grace and elegance, uh-huh, yep fo-sho, yet it’s also got some subtle hints of bravado. Not the puffed-up trapz of the very specifically targeted and tonic-ed up gym dude, but a much more confident, sure and straightforward style of bravado – one filled with countless hours honing, refining and redefining very personal and intimate skills and expression with a saxophone. A no-gloat type of bavado that comes from very few individuals in these times which we are now living.

“Mode For Joe” is a rather simple structure of a song; easy to follow, difficult to ascertain its complexities of nuance. This studio take hints at the future of the music (especially in the aforementioned bravado part), while still being firmly shaped and referencing of Hard Bop. I wonder how many times he played the song live, and if it took off towards the future more and more…? I don’t have the musical knowledge, or language, to describe the compositional structure of the tune, but I do have some language to express what I hear and feel when I’m in my bliss with it in my ears. Which, truth be told (the obsessive part), is at least several hours of each of the last many days (okay,13!).

First things first… we have Lee Morgan on trumpet, Curtis Fuller on trombone, Bobby Hutcherson on vibes, Cedar Walton on the piano, Ron Carter on bass and Joe Chambers on drums. All Masters of their instruments. All musicians with whom Joe loved playing. Of course, Joe Henderson on tenor. Francis Wolff and Reid Miles contributing the photo/design of a classic Blue Note cover. And, THE Rudy Van Gelder at the helm of the recording devices. Steller. Top notch. ‘Nuff said.

The tune… cooly tiptoes into the warmth of the sunlight, things sprouting and growing all around; a familiar language repeated. Buoyant, spiraling upwards, striving. At the 45 second mark we hear what I referred to above as a good kind of bravado, when 1966 Joe Henderson takes some bold moves towards the outer stratosphere before coming back earth-side for the gentlest of gentle entrances to his solo at the 1:05 mark. Bold, proud spiraling loftiness ensues in a so-glad-to-be-alive sort of way. The playing is friendly… in a familiar way, like greeting a person for which we have a particular fondness. Easy, everything just effortlessly falling into place. Excited. Happy.

Bobby Hutcherson’s solo follows Joe’s at the 3:00 minute mark and continues the familiar lope with a subtle shimmer of vibrato emanating from the motor-driven fan exposing and closing beneath the resonators of the impressive instrument. Gentle sway and swing ensues, with drum rim shots effected by Mr. Chambers at just the right moment to propel the conversation onto the next related topic. The vamp repeats several times with the horns before dropping out again to allow Bobby H. to lead us into an introduction of a new lively pal, Mr. Fuller and his full-throated, lush sounding trombone. Ron Carter’s sophisticated and elegant bass takes a turn next, and, as always, says just the right thing at the right time and nothing more. Again, maybe a lesson for many these days. I especially like the buoyant comping by both piano and vibes behind Mr. Carter’s spotlight.

Joe said of this particular track, “We got the feeling for this one right away. This was the first take.” No braggadocio, simply a statement of great musicians at the tops of their game, doing what they do (or did).

My only regret with the cut is that we can’t hear the song’s composer, Cedar Walton’s part of the conversation, as the track fades as he begins to really conversate fully in this group gathering. Ah well… always leave ‘em hanging a bit, I guess. As an aside, Cedar of course recorded his own version(s) of the song on “Roots” (1999) with the guitar of Mark Whitfield (and others), and with (bassist) David Williams-led session, “Up Front” (1987) featuring the classic trio including Billy Higgins. The latter being a top-notch cut. Joe Henderson did of course play the tune live, and it is featured on “Joe Henderson Quintet at The Lighthouse,” notably with Woody Shaw on trumpet and Lenny White on drums. The live take is livelier and does go out there a tad more. For my taste it’s a bit bottom-heavy/accent-heavy – meaning, too much drumming clutter. It is great drumming, don’t get me wrong, and it is more of what the future of the music became, I’ve just fallen madly and deeply in love with the uncluttered approach of Joe Chambers for this particular song.

So, having said all that, perhaps I can move on in my listening habits for a while. Maybe not, time will tell, but it’s surely been a pleasure to be ensconced in the beautiful world of this tune these last weeks. As you know though, there is just so much beautiful music out there; let’s keep finding it.

Reading: Orbital, by Samantha Harvey Eating: Rocket salad with goat cheese and pistachios Drinking: Negroni - substituting Cynar for the Compari

Inspiration. Beauty. Humanness. Kindness. Elegance, Passion, Light and Love. These are but a few of the words I use to describe the music of Charles Lloyd. There is simply no way to hear his tenor saxophone work (or flute playing) and not feel what it is to be human. It encompasses multitudes – art, life, history, the sensual, the natural, the past, the present, other realms, those that came before, but mostly the love we are capable of, pure, gentle and sure.

However, the word that most frequently comes to mind when I think of Charles Lloyd, the man, is decency. There sure does seem to be a lack of it, in a general sense, as there are always specific small displays on-hand. What I mean is it is distinctly not our time’s first-impulse, we Americans; we are simply in too much of a hurry most of the time. Decency takes a brief moment. It also acknowledges our commonalities; certainly not something currently in-vogue, at least politically.

While I can’t say I know the man, only chatted briefly with him a time or two, one can certainly come to know his spirit, generosity and decency through his lovely music and his camaraderie with other great, great musicians and artists. Through his thorough appreciation of his family (he is part African, Cherokee, Mongolian and Irish), his family’s struggles, his partner in life and all of the musicians he has shared a stage with, we see a being of deep character, of wisdom, creativity and strength and devotion. He develops deep bonds with the musicians he has played with, and those he is still playing with. His Instagram is a delight, with shout-outs to birthday people (mostly musicians), an appreciation of the conversations he has on stage musically, and most dear are his remembrances of those that have left this plane. While he has always surrounded himself with fellow exceptional players, he remains beyond adept at making music with a wide ranging team of music makers; it is for this very reason, in addition to his interest in other song structures and rhythms, that he has often been credited by other musicians as being amongst the first to anticipate the the World Music movement. He develops significant relationships with all he plays with, but there are several connections that go deeper than deep. Booker Little, Michel Petrucciani (“Who came through here for a brief time and sparkled.”); Zakir Hussain (“I have lost a piece of my heart. A great soul has merged with the infinite.”); Bill Frisell, Phineas Newborn - the J.S. Bach of Memphis (“The seeds he planted still grow.”); Billy Higgins (“Our bond in the music and in friendship was profound.”). I think his symbiotic tie with Jason Moran, Bill Frisell and Julian Lage has led to some of his most interesting, touching, refined and expressive music of his later-in-life period. African, Eastern European, Greek, Southeast Asian, you name it, Charles has explored and played with the musicians and music’s of the world.

I’ve been thinking quite a lot about the arc of a life, or more specifically, one’s legacy, as my Father-In-Law passed away recently and we’ve just returned from the celebration of his long life. His was with quiet purpose and dedication to what he thought was just and right – starting a Planned Parenthood clinic, founding a school for other-gifted, learning challenged kids, marching to Selma with MLK are but a few of his beliefs expressed with focus and resolve. A Humanist to the core.

In Mr. Lloyd’s journey through life (thus far! He’s still vibrant at 86.) we see a similar focus and dedication to a different form of a higher calling for the purpose of beauty and expression; a High Art. The depth of this expression is reflected in a whole lifetime of experiences. The unfathomable lynching of Emmit Till in 1955 made an indelible mark on him which he still carries…. Coming to prominence musically in the 1960’s, he rode a wave of continuing evolution, and, I’m guessing here, probably some pretty wild experiences; it was the 60’s after all! He was musical director for the Chico Hamilton band in the early 60’s, where he composed and arranged prolifically. There was then a stint with the Cannonball Adderley Sextet towards the mid-decade, which played a significant role in his development as a musician. He signed to CBS Records as a leader in ’64, and left Cannonball’s band in 1965 to form his own 4’tet with Keith Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette and Cecil McBee – wow! The Quartet released a studio recording and then followed with Forest Flower: Live at Monterey in 1966. This record went on to make history as one of the first jazz records to sell a million copies, and it became a complete crossover hit gaining a popular mass market audience that gave it appeal to the album-oriented rock FM radio stations of the time. The band played the West Coast rock institution, The Filmore, in San Francisco, and was one of the first jazz groups to share the bill with the likes of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Cream and the Grateful Dead. He was voted Jazzman of the Year by Downbeat Magazine in 1967, (and Artist of the Year in 2023 - a bit of longevity there!). The Quartet was then invited to tour the world, with very warm receptions in Europe, before playing in the Far East, the Eastern Bloc nations of Europe and the Soviet Union; in many of these places it was the first time an audience had seen or heard an American jazz ensemble in a live setting.

At the height of his career, as a jazz superstar, he dropped out of the scene and decamped to Big Sur to pursue a spiritual inner-journey. There were moments of playing in public, but his “bandmates” were not rhythm sections, but poets instead. He improvised at readings during this period with the likes of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Charles Bukowski, Dianne di Prima, Ken Kesey and Gary Snyder. He also played with the Beach Boys, on record and as a member of the touring band.

In 1981 he came back publicly to the jazz world, to bring to light the effervescent talent of the 18 year old French pianist, Michel Pettruciani. Tours of the U.S. Europe and Japan followed in 1982 and ’83. Jazz critics hailed his return as “one of the events of the ‘80’s.” After an illness, and a near-death experience, he rededicated himself to his musical art in 1988. It began a very creative period on ECM (see earlier post) that began to express some of his spiritual path, as well as a continuing interest in World Music – as he liked to “dance on many shores,” because music especially, knows no borders.

“What I heard in my mind was what I heard on the tape, it was captured. You can hear every instrument clearly, and the whole thing is what I’m trying to get at. It’s all a union, ya know. It’s an amalgam of spirits on a human journey.” Is how he describes the beauty of the 1990 ECM recording, Fish Out of Water.

Other recordings from this period worth putting an ear to, IMHO, are:

Montreux ’82 and A Night in Copenhagen both with Michel Pettruciani. Fish Out of Water, Notes From Big Sur, Canto, Mirror (with The New Quartet, featuring Jason Moran, Reuben Rogers, Eric Harland), Sangram (with Zakir Hussain, Eric Harland) from the ECM era.

He signed with Blue Note Records in 2015 and released the first of many almost annuals, Wild Man Dance. This live recording was followed by I Long to See You (2016), Passin' Thru (2017, again with The New Quartet), Vanished Gardens (2018), and 8: Kindred Spirits (Live from The Lobero) (2020). Trio of Trios (three records with three different trio formations) in 2022. In 2024 (the longer delay was due to the pandemic) Lloyd released The Sky Will Be There Tomorrow.

The first cut on that last release is entitled Defiant, Tender Warrior which I think perfectly describes the arc of Mr. Lloyd’s life thus far. He wants to change the world with the beauty of music. I think he’s gone a long ways towards achieving that lofty goal. Give his music a listen and see where it takes you.

Charles Lloyd, The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow – For as long as Mr. Lloyd keeps putting out music it will be my #1 record of the year! This is about as human of a record of all that came out in 2024. What a crew of musicians surrounding him, and what an ethereal sound they came together to make. Tracks of note (though they’re all good!): Defiant, Tender Warrior; Sky Valley, Spirit of the Forrest; When The Sun Comes Up, Darkness Is Gone.

Joshua Redman featuring Gabrielle Cavassa, where we are – J.R.’s first recording with a vocalist, and what a voice to partner with for his expansive look at where we stand right here, right now, as a people, a nation and a culture. Gabrielle Cavassa’s voice was/is a revelation to me upon first hearing it here; I’ve since heard her sing in other settings and still I am beguiled by the sound of her instrument, her phrasing and her presence. Hard to pick a favorite, but I found After Minneapolis (face toward mo(u)rning) haunting, and oh so beautiful.

Out Of/Into, Motion I – The All-Star collective of younger musicians that was put together by the Blue Note record label to celebrate its 85^th anniversary. The band toured the world fairly extensively and made this studio record during that tour. All these guys are amongst my favorite current jazz players, and I’ve seen all of them independently in their own projects and in this band. As the name of the band indicates, they come out of the tradition of the musicians that came before them, but also they are guides for the music’s journey from here into the future. Track of note: Radical P.S. listen carefully to drummer Kendrick Scott’s playing; it’s amongst the most beautiful sounding and articulated drumming of the era.

Abdullah Ibrahim, 3 - 89-year-old Abdullah Ibrahim played the Barbican Centre in London in the summer of 2023 with two of his bandmates from his group Ekaya; this live recording came from that evening’s performance and was released the first month of 2024. I was lucky enough to see these three play on this same tour. An almost deity in the world/jazz music realm, Abdullah Ibrahim has been a very favorite of mine since I first heard his playing in the early 80’s. Track of note: The Wedding does what most Ibrahim pieces do, touching me in a deeply soulful way.

A Solid Category: Piano Trios – A bit of a list here, but there were some astoundingly good piano trio releases that grabbed me this year. In no particular order: Cornelia Nilsson, Where Do You Go? Swedish drummer/composer’s beautiful trio recording with mostly Aaron Parks at the piano; also features Gábor Bolla on the 88’s. Steps Ahead, the single off Balancing Act by Danish pianist/composer Rasmus Sørensen, with the brilliant drumming of Kendrick Scott. Petter Bergander Trio, Watershed Yet another Scandinavian trio, this one bringing in elements from traditional Swedish folk music. Jacky Terrasson, Moving On The title track moves at a different pace than the previous trios listed here. Drummer/Composer Tyshawn Sorey, The Susceptible Now is an absolutely gorgeous trio recording with Aaron Diehl on piano and double bassist Harish Raghavan. (not currently streaming so I’ll point you to Vijay Iyer’s 2024 record, Compassion, and the song Arch, with Tyshawn on drums and Linda May Han Oh on bass).

Sarah Hanahan, Among Giants – The up-and-coming young artist’s debut has some vibrance, energy and bounce to it. Well worth catching her live in NYC with her own ensemble, or with the Mingus Big Band. Track of note: We Bop! Which has some elements of Jackie McLean’s playing.

Maude Caillat et al, Follow The Camel – I needed a lot of music like this towards the year’s end. Track of note: Dystopian Dream

William Parker, Universal Tonality – Truly the kind of music I long to hear, live or on record; all the best of my New York years at the Knitting Factory and such. Track of note: Tails of a Peacock

Wayne Shorter, Celebration, Volume 1 (Live) - 2014 live recording, finally released in 2024, captured Shorter's acclaimed quartet with pianist Danilo Perez, bassist John Patitucci, and drummer Brian Blade. Track of note: Edge of the World.

Julian Lage, Speak To Me – I listened to a lot of guitar music this year; more than usual. I love his band with Dave King on drums, Jorge Roder on bass, and on this record the the sound is expanded on several cuts with the additives of saxo/clarinet, keyboards and piano by three additional musicians. Tracks of note for the range on this record: Speak To Me; Northern Shuffle; and the gorgeous melody of Omission.

Ron Miles, Old Main Chapel (with Bill Frisell and Brian Blade) – Recorded in September of 2011 at Old Main Chapel in Boulder, Colorado; it was posthumously released this year. His quiet virtuosity pervades, as does the gorgeous and perfect accompaniment provided by Frisell and Blade. They had quite the beautiful conversation that autumn’s eve. Track of note: Mr. Kevin

Stanley Turrentine & The Three Sounds, Blue Hour – This is definitely low-light late-night music. My wish for a reissue finally came true when Blue Note added this to their Classic Vinyl Series. Originally recorded in 1960 when Alfred Lion had the brilliant idea to pair the big tenor man from Pittsburgh, PA with the smoothly hip and swingin’ Three Sounds. Track of note: Since I Fell For You (which played at both mine and my son’s weddings!)

Greg Spero/Nicole McCabe, Saudade (single) – many younger folks are releasing singles along the way; this one really hit me right.

Patricia Brennan, Breaking Stretch – The vibraphonist/marimbaist expanded her core quartet to a sextet, upping the game harmonically and rhythmically to (possibly/probably) create a modern jazz masterpiece. Track of note: Five Suns

Pat Metheny, 80/81 – This is probably my most played jazz record of my lifetime of listening; and I listened to it a lot this year. I’m not gonna gas on, because I already did! See: https://open.substack.com/pub/throughmusic/p/ecm-from-around-8081w-a-little-paiste?r=f5cxa&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true Track of note: Two Folk Songs (placed at end of list due to sound level from streaming platform).

The edited playlist of this list:

Longer (much!) playlist of more 2024 jazz faves:

And, the “other” music list, otherwise known as alternative/pop (which is now more folky):

Enjoy! Support the Arts, now MORE than EVER. Get outside and feel the pace of nature. Breathe (through your nose). Tell someone you LOVE them. And please, just be kind to one another.

Imagine Peace.

c

The label hooked me in early on my explorations beyond Brubeck and Miles. It was through ECM releases I first heard The Art Ensemble of Chicago, Keith Jarrett, the post-60’s (i.e. post-Miles and Charles Lloyd) Jack DeJohnette, Marilyn Crispell, and a young Pat Metheny.

To continue on the path begun in the last piece with the Paiste cymbal focus, here the forward-facing highlight is the record label, and specifically the recording that changed a lot of my understanding of improvised music, Metheny’s masterpiece, 80/81. Every tune, all 8 of them, are excellent, but here I wanted to especially call out 3 of my personal favorites

It all begins with Two Folk Songs; 1^st and 2^nd (woven together) and every time I listen it’s the same, “What a way to start a record!” reaction. Written by Metheny and bassist Charlie Haden, it incorporates the landscapes of great plains and busy folk-strumming, for which Pat was known in his early years. It also hangs on a gorgeous bass line of ringing truths, of space and beauty, for which Mr. Haden was known (as well as for being simply a genuinely lovely fella). For me and my ear it is also driven in large part by DeJohnette’s rolling thunder of tom toms and snare, and his lightning strikes on an array of Paiste cymbals. Check out his dominant playing behind Michael Brecker’s sax solo at about the 7:40 mark through 9:45 (about when his feature as a soloist starts queuing into place) This is stellar playing, an absolute master class in what jazz drumming is, or at least can be in the hands of brilliant musician. The A-side of the record, which holds T.F.S. 1 and 2 is an almost 21 minute exploration of every possible thing it means to be an artist, a musician and a human.

Turnaround, the Ornette Coleman tune that Haden and DeJohnette co-captain to a rollickin’ good-time ebullience. The dynamic between the two is like a casual walk in the park with a good friend that starts to light up with a lot of laughs; I especially like the accents DeJohnette tosses in during Pat’s sinewy, flowy, ecstatically bluesy solo, over the walking bass line that Charlie sets as the pace for the moment. Such a grand old time was had that as the song sizzles to its end Charlie can’t help but sing Jack’s praise with a “Woo-hoo, boy Jack DeJohnette man!” A human voice emanating from a true moment of joy amongst what must have been many such moments for the players.

Every Day ( I Thank You ) is a song that feels like the start of a Sunday morning. Gentle, peaceful, soft and loving with a feeling of expectancy and hope; it exudes rays of beauty and warmth. And, it is a song about connection and appreciation. Metheny wrote it in his hotel room as a gift and tribute to his friend, and saxophonist on the record, Michael Brecker, who was famously coming out on the positive side of a battle with drug addiction at the time. It’s quite an expression on the instrument and Brecker himself said around the time of its release that it was a real and distinct turning point for him and his playing

In this one tune we feel an encapsulation of the record as a whole. From the song’s gentlest of beginnings to a fierce, full-throated scream of on-the-edge rollercoaster-like thrill and exhilaration (after Metheny’s solo, in its continuance of the Sunday mornin’ gentle sunshine) at about the 4:20 mark the build begins, and crescendos with the full-on attack of strings, skins and cymbals behind the whaling, searching – momentarily Coltrane-like, but most firmly set in his own ways and own sound - of M.B. on the saxo. It culminates around 8:30 with Metheny taking us back to gentle, to harmonics and repetition of theme. Where fingers on string squeak, reminding us, like creases down the center of blue jeans, of the pure human touch of it all. Years later Metheny said of Brecker at his memorial service, “The real thing that made Mike so special as a musician, as a player, was his incredible ability to communicate what it is to be human. The complications of it. The struggle of it. The joy of it. To manifest a sound that could describe things about what it is to be here on earth that everyone, musician or not, could feel and recognize as being true.”

Like all great Art, the human-ness of it rises above the all of it in exceptional ways on certain days. This was a one day coming-together (like Bird, Monk, Mingus, Roach setting aflame swing to birth Be-Bop; Coltrane, Tyner, Chambers, Jones setting us all on a journey to a higher purpose; or Miles, Coltrane/Shorter, Evans/Hancock, Chambers/Carter, Philly Joe Jones/Tony Williams - The Great I and II’s – defining a new, original take on composition and modern jazz) where greatness and human nature coalesced into something for the ages, defining, extraordinary… human expression at transcendent heights.

I did not come away with a left-hand ride with rivets. Instead, I am now the proud owner of a 1978 or ’79 Paiste Flat Ride. You see, I’ve always longed for a dry, stick-heavy, articulated ride cymbal sound; the bell-less flat ride offers that in multiples of many. And this is something, because I’ve always picked a lane, and my lane has always been Zildjian Cymbals.

To go back even a bit further, loyalty has been forever a thing for me. Pro teams stayed in their location, and for the most part, so did the players. Hank Aaron played in Milwaukee (sure, Braves, then the Brewers filled the same space); Packers, owned by the fans, and enforced by the likes of Ray Nitschke, are still in Green Bay; Oscar Robertson and Lew Alcindor played for the Bucks (until purple and gold changed it for one of them). Friends were made, and held, based on the shoe question; I was, and remain, an Adidas guy. Bands and genres came later, but those all-important monikers stood for an allegiance – punk, alternative, grunge, indy, West Coast, East Coast. Cymbal devotion was equally as important as kicks and brand of jeans, and I was firmly on the Avedis Zildjian team.

There are now a “Big Four” of cymbal-making brands, with literally dozens of other small boutique makers. But when I was forging my loyalty, there were only two, if you were going to be serious about your instrument, Zildjian and Paiste.  Zildjian, long known as the Gold Standard was begun in 1618 when alchemist Avedis Zildjian was trying, literally, to make gold. Instead he formulated arguably the best cymbal composition in the world. Yes, that’s over 400 years ago! Paiste, the new kid on the block, was begun at the very beginning of the 20^th Century, but didn’t really come to its modern day stature and relevance until the late 50’s with the development of Formula 602, and the 2002 in the late 60’s. For me it was quite simple, Zildjians had an exquisite, elegant look, feel AND, most significantly, sound. Paistes were cool, for sure (just that 2002 logo alone…!) and some pretty bossa-nova players used them, but they had a brash, harsh, metallic sound to my ear. As much as I loved Bruford, Stewart Copeland, John Bonham and Carl Palmer, and later, after I learned who Pierre Favre, Paul Motian, Vinnie Colaiuta, and Jack DeJohnette were, and sorta wanted to be like them, I just couldn’t get into that sound from those cymbals.

As a drummer sitting behind a kit, what we hear vs what an audience hears can be two very different things. With Paiste there is the concept of near-field and far-field; meaning that the sound is designed to be heard out in front of the cymbals, not from the drummer’s perspective behind them. Had I known this then, who knows… maybe I would now be a Paiste guy. I mean, beyond my new flat ride, of course. Had I known this a number of years ago, I may also have understood how Jack DeJohnette could get such a lovely sound out of his Paiste cymbals.

Mr. DeJohnette was (and still is) a master of cymbal sound, of articulation, propulsion, accent, power and purpose, gentleness and beauty; a whole world of storytelling bouncing from stick through metal. Though I certainly had some concept of this earlier, it was made bang-over-the-head obvious with his playing on the quintet recording led by Pat Metheny, 80/81, on ECM Records.

A very long preamble, I suppose, to get to the heart of the matter – my most-played, possibly favorite, definitely most inspiring to my own playing, jazz record – Pat Metheny, 80/81. It’s not all about cymbals and drums, as maybe it was for me before this record came out. This was the record that taught me about improvisation, about a whole conversation amongst the separate musicians/instruments, and the power and joy that can come out of that conversation.

The record bridges together some of the most fundamental transitions in modern jazz music: the shape and sound shifting explorations of Ornette Coleman, with Charlie Haden’s bass playing on the essential record, The Shape Of Jazz To Come; the influence of Ornette on music to come in the late 70’s and 80’s with Dewey Redman in Old & New Dreams; to the volatility of the next generation plowing through the 70’s and 80’s as band members, band leaders and studio musicians, with Michael Brecker’s SNL Band’s influence and fire; to stints in the 60’s and 70’s with two of the music’s best selling auteurs, Miles Davis and Charles Lloyd, before setting the ground afire with his own ensembles (especially Special Edition and New Edition) with Jack DeJohnette. Pat Metheny spanning the influences of Wes Montgomery to Ornette Coleman (he would record and work with the latter just six years after this record) to create his own original, and prolific voice.

DeJohnette’s playing, and specifically his deft hand across the range of cymbals was the beginning, the entry point, to this mind-expanding experience of learning about jazz. His rhythmic pulse has the distinct repeating circular feel of an oblong pedal-stroke on a bicycle. He reacts to both the rhythm of the songs, as well as the melody, and it is his playing that unites the quintet’s energy. Metheny totes along his roots from the Midwest, mixing in his “folk jazz” stylings with fellow Heart lander Charlie Haden’s proclivity for absolute beauty in sound and space; this other-land take on jazz, combined with the remainder-three’s outward-pushing improvisational fire, give the recording its effervescent dynamic, and lasting appeal.

But, for me, it was here, with this record that Metheny truly began to make his name (at age 26!) beyond just the next hot music school kid with stellar technique. This record is a sonic vision between past and present, between the heart and the mind, between feeling and non-feeling. It is pure beauty at each turn, and fully humanistic in it’s journey from beginning to end.

To me, this IS indeed a thing I say, but it’s almost exclusively used with things from the rock genre from a long-time-ago point in my life; I still listen to The Clash (though undoubtedly way less than I used to); I still listen to Van Morrison (he’s taken some strange turns along the way); I still listen to Live In The Air Age by Be Bop Deluxe ( I mean, why not? Hook-filled almost perfect pop-rock). I still listen to Yes (though really only two from their oeuvre). It is, however, not a thing I say about improvisational music.

Okay, sure, I don’t hardly ever put one of the all-time great records, Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, on the old turntable. I love it, but maybe don’t long to hear it anymore; I certainly do not mind at all when it comes on in a café or in a playlist. To me, “still listening” to x, y or z record is part of the comparative progression of learning this music, falling in love with this music, and falling in love some more.

As already stated, I go through phases, real grooves on the same record, or few, over and over again. At the moment it’s two fairly different records – Jack DeJohnette’s Special Edition Live in Europe, and Ahmad Jamal’s Awakening. I suppose I could say I still listen to these two well-loved records, but actually this is what I do – I listen to ALL the music in my collection, though obviously not at the same rate.

It's not really a deserted island list of picks, but I do have a solid list of records whose various songs float into my head often and I need to hear ‘em again. Along with the two aforementioned records, also on the life enrichening list: Charles Lloyd, Notes From Big Sur; Woody Shaw, almost anything, but especially Master of The Art with Mysterioso on it, Woody Shaw & Freddie Hubbard, Double Take; Stanley Turrentine & The Three Sounds, Blue Hour; Eric Dolphy, At The Five Spot; Alice Coltrane, Journey to Satchidananda; Matthew Halsall, On The Go;  Art Ensemble of Chicago, Third Decade; Pat Metheny, 80/81; Coltrane’s Blue Trane and Coltrane, Melody Gardot, Currency of Man; Cassandra Wilson, Blue Moon Daughter; Ornette Coleman, The Shape of Jazz to Come; Jessica Williams, Orgonomic Music; Quin Kirchner, The Shadows and the Light; Kip Hanrahan, Desire Develops An Edge; Kendrick Scott, Corridors; Immanuel Wilkins, The 7th Hand; Betty Carter, The Audience With…and Look What I Got; Etta Jones, Don’t go To Strangers; Horace Tapscott, The Giant Is Awakened; Old And New Dreams, Play; Joshua Redman, Where Are We; Toshiko Akiyoshi Big Band; Buddy Rich, Keep The Customer Satisfied; Don Pullen and the African- Brazilian Connection, Kele Mou Bana; Abdullah Ibrahim, Like Water From An Ancient Well; Nubya Garcia, Source, and Nubya’s 5ive;

I suppose there’s more of a rhythm to this list than I suspected. It’s a lot of tangential flow out from the formative (for me) era of the 70’s/80’s. While I listen to a lot of brand new music too, I suppose it has not yet solidified enough in my brain to echo around from time to time (or, time after time!) and be included on my “Life Enricheners” list.

But then a Julian Lage song pops in my head, or The Bad Plus, or Walter Smith III, or Christian Scott (Chief Xian aTunde Adjuah), or Irreversible Entaglement, or jaimie branch… Brian Blade….

So whether I have synesthesia, stuck sound syndrome, musical ear syndrome, or just a constant case of öhrwurm, a.k.a. an ear worm, I’m perfectly happy  following the musical journey going on in my head. A sound can trigger an emotion, a feeling; it can present a picture in our head; it can give us that certain joy in our bodies that only getting’ up an’ dancin’ can make us feel. Who knows… it may actually make us just a little kinder, a little more welcoming to others, and quite possibly even make the world a better place.

Here's to still listening to THIS ONE!!!

-             Nick Hornby

Not only does this quote play into my last Substack entry, “the favourite,” https://throughmusic.substack.com/publish/post/146556813

spelling and all, it also defines my listening taste these days to a T. While I now listen mostly to what is commonly called jazz, perhaps better called, Black American Music, I am certainly still a very big fan of a well-crafted, catchy, musically interesting, pop song. I will one day make my catchy favourites pop song playlist and it will certainly include: Gene Chandler’s Groovy Situation (bass line alone makes this a gem!); The Jo Boxer’s Just Got Lucky; The Bluebells’ I’m Falling; Marvin Gaye’s Hitchhike; The Waitresses’ Christmas Wrapping; The English Beat’s Save It For Later; Redbone’s Come And Get Your Love… etc, etc… it’s topic for later as I try to unveil what this Substack is all about.

I should have introduced the subject matter of this space in my first post, but I never do things how they should be done! Since there are already so many excellent writers/reviewers on the topic of jazz, so many who know the intimate detail of the history of the music better than I, academics and musicians who can define the keys and harmonies in a much more studious mode than I can, what I am left with is my own experience and journey into the music that is a pure expression of the American (and beyond) experience.

Nick Hornby’s quote above about three-minute songs really grabbed me because that drained of surprise and delight part very much struck a chord. It helped me define, as also noted in my last post, what it is exactly about jazz that so captivates me; and that is, that element of unending surprise and delight. Be it a continuing education of knowledge, or experience with the genre, the time of day – Stanley Turrentine with The Three Sounds’ Blue Hour sounds so much better late at night – or just the mood in the moment, the creative expression of this music is unending in its provision of wonder and rapture. I appreciate the unexpected, and this music has this on offer in abundance.

A great pop song is not an easy thing to craft, I’m sure. A catchy ditty is a catchy ditty and doesn’t just come to every songwriter. But there is a depth to the conversation that goes on between musicians playing improvised music that simply cannot be captured in a placard tacked below the song. The dynamic between players is not precise; it’s an organic, living, breathing thing, with, depending on the number of folks in the band, unending sidebar conversations, pulses, shifts, changes and emotions emerging as a jazz song progresses. The unending interest in this music comes from these dynamics. Try a listening experiment with, say, Coltrane’s My Favorite Things, a quartet outing with McCoy Tyner on piano, Elvin Jones on drums and Steve Davis on bass. Focus, as I understand John Coltrane himself listened to music, on each instrument individually all the way through. In other words, listen to the song 4 times, intent on just the piano, then only the bass, drums and finally Coltrane’s big tenor saxophone. Next, while the true interplay is between all four of these creative players, now try to focus on just two instruments and how they twist and play together. I think with this particular tune, the interplay between bass and drums, and especially McCoy’s piano and Elvin’s drum parts are the most interesting to follow; not only in what they say together, but also what they leave out. Dimensions and dynamics, between four such musicians, the possibilities of sound and expression are endless.

So while I do indeed love a well crafted pop song, that 3 Minute thing just makes them come and go, ear worms and all. Improvised music, like a visual piece of art, speaks to me in different ways, depending on the mood and spirit I bring to a listening. I can feel uplifted, inspired, joy, pain, become reflective, get up and dance… or pretty much the full range of human emotion. Like a painting expressing emotion through the stroke of a brush, a musicians tones and shades also wordlessly express the human condition.

Give a listen, and ask yourself, how does it make me feel? Just perhaps, these moments of reflection might help bring about a little gentler, kinder world

.

More fascinating to me, and somewhat bewildering, is how something (or yes, someone) can not hit us quite right upon first meeting, yet somehow still creep past the gatekeeper part of our brain to sit among the pantheon of All-Time Favourites. I distinctly remember getting a recording of Ben Folds Five, Whatever And Ever Amen, gifted by my friend Steve, who thought for sure I would love it; I did not. Weeks, maybe months, after listening to its sides once or thrice, I decided, out of loyalty to our friendship, to go back and try to figure out what my friend possibly heard in this that I had not. I queued it up on my Discman( ! ) and headed into the garden for some weeding and digging. And suddenly digging I did; the music that is! From where did this newfound love arise, and why hadn’t I “gotten” it in those earlier listenings?

Time AND place. Who knows where I was at the moments of first listening to that record. My music habit has a certain pace, a steady repetition and focus on the same bands, styles, genres that wax and wane with no particular rhyme or reason; I sometimes listen to the same record only for weeks on end. I may have been in an alternative period, or a 70’s groove, or punk, or Eagles, or Yes/King Crimson, The Jam, or Be Bop Deluxe, or Bruce, or…whatever mood. Or, perhaps just solidly in a jazz mode…? Music is just ALWAYS a thing. But at that time, late 90’s, and that place, the garden of my new house, it simply sounded p e r f e c t.

So, time - Album Club (more on this later), 5:00pm, episode 78, and, “place” – Andrew Hill, Black Fire. Like many people, my album collecting shifted into high gear at the beginning of the pandemic (and, major hat-tip to a small shop in Des Moines, Iowa); it was also the beginning of exponential growth of a great number of re-issues and re-masterings from a large number of record labels – Black Jazz, Blue Note, Impulse, Craft… it was a boon for those with a habit. Along the way, I ordered the Tone Poet release of Andrew Hill’s Black Fire from Blue Note Records. Gorgeous object, like all Tone Poets, weighty, glossy, undeniably special B&W photos by Francis Wolff, and the sonic little masterpiece that is the vinyl. When I put it on, I liked it, of course, how could one not, what with Hill on piano, long-time favorite Joe Henderson on saxo, my old professor Richard Davis holding the bass, and Roy – uh! – Haynes with the sticks in his hands?! Perhaps it was more casual listening, but its lollygagged rhythmic feel coming in waves did not thoroughly grab me in my first 5 or 6 listens.

Some few months passed, not long, but just long enough that when it was selected by my pal Peter to be our next shared (there are 5 of us) listen, I was very ready to give it another shot. What I found, as is often the case with more careful listening, was incredible group dynamics telling an intricate story of improvisation, history and of the unique paths leading to the moment of this time and place.

What I also learned, after kinda coming at Andrew Hill backwards – my first “fall-in-love” record of his was the 1989 release, Eternal Spirit (in real-time; which was of course followed-up by Point of Departure) – was that (although it’s been said before) he had the rhythmic genius of Monk, the compositional chops akin to Wayne Shorter, and the specific and pointed arrangement finesse of Ellington. Thus the weird-sounding running-out-of-steam piano runs, the amazing pieces (everything on the record is written by Hill, and for me Pumpkin, Subterfuge, Black Fire, Land of Nod each stand out as special tracks), all arranged for Masters Henderson, Davis and Haynes to get the most out of this small group dynamic.

It swings, twists and turns, lollygags, pushes and pushes… further, but not all the way to out. It is just what this listener wants most in music. Give it a shot… and it may take several listens, but it will offer a bounty of pleasure each and every time.