"I never truckled; I never took off the hat to Fashion and held it out for pennies. By God, I told them the truth. They liked it or they didn't like it. What had that to do with me? I told them the truth; I knew it for the truth then, and I know it for the truth now." Frank Norris.
I certainly don't mean to diminish the tragicness of Whitney Houston's death, but we could please ratchet down the hyperbole? Yes, she had a great voice, but to say there was no one like her - as Gladys Knight did - merely displays one's ignorance.
There was another singer from Newark, who had a long and storied career, who had a voice with a range that extended from baritone to soprano, whose discography spans 43 years and has two recordings in the Grammy Hall of Fame. Her name is Sarah Vaughan, and if you're not familiar with her, you ought to give her a listen.
Several years ago I read an interview with Billy Cobham in Downbeat in which he said that he didn't want to be known only as a timekeeper. That was never a problem for him, nor was it ever a problem for Papa Jo Jones:
He may not have been as popular as Herbie Hancock, Art Tatum or Oscar Peterson. He may not have been as influential as Bill Evans. He may not have played with as many stellar leaders as McCoy Tyner. Nevertheless, I was always a fan of George Shearing, who died on Monday at the age of 91. The obit nails exactly why he was so pleasant and intriguing to listen to:
With Margie Hyams on vibraphone, Chuck Wayne on guitar, John Levy on bass and Denzil Best on drums, Mr. Shearing recorded “September in the Rain” in 1949. The distinctive sound of both the quintet and Mr. Shearing himself — he used a so-called locked-hands style in which his hands played melody and harmony in close quarters, with the melody line harmonized by the right hand and doubled by the left hand an octave below — caught listeners’ fancy, and stardom soon followed.
So he lacked rather more obvious fire, but he could play bebop as well as anyone:
My favorite of his recordings was a solo piano recording titled Grand Piano, in which he recorded what may be the saddest standard ever composed, It Never Entered My Mind, and interpolated Erik Satie's Gymnopedie #3 and quite beautifully so:
I can assure you, you've never heard a version of Mack the Knife quite like this:
Since Erik Loomis posted Lee Morgan in a performance of Bobby Timmons' Moanin', I thought I'd follow with Morgan's arguably most beautiful composition Ceora. No visuals, but a lovely, lovely melody. That's Herbie Hancock playing the lilting, lyrical piano intro.
Here's another version I just pulled in from YouTube in a piano trio setting. This woman has terrific chops. I hope we hear more from her:
I was always a big fan of Dr. Billy Taylor, not just for marvelous playing, but for his hard work promoting jazz. He passed away yesterday and the jazz world is just a bit dimmer as a result. Check him out here with another one of my favorite pianists, Tommy Flanagan. Rest in peace.
I am deeply saddened to hear of the passing of James Moody, the incomparably, brightly toned and personally warm and affable saxophonist/flutist. I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with him for about ten minutes between sets at Birdland when it was on the Upper West Side in the late 1980's and early 1990's. I called him Mr. Moody and he corrected me: "I'm just Moody." It's not surprising that he was so close to Dizzy Gillespie: they were both such ebullient personalities with warm senses of humor:
Of course Moody is perhaps most famous for an improvisation on the chord progressions of the dreadful I'm in the Mood for Love, made even more famous and ending up in the standards category when Eddie Jefferson added lyrics to the Moody improvisation resulting in Moody's Mood for Love:
Now Moody and Dizzy are reunited for eternity. Rest in peace.
Recent Comments