Passing Notes - PN 2.13 - MJ and The Ram

Well I'm an axegrinder, piledriver
Mother says that I never never mind her
Got no brains, I'm insane
Teacher says that I'm one big pain
I'm like a laser, 6-streamin' razor
I got a mouth like an alligator
I want it louder, more power
I'm gonna rock ya till it strikes the hour


Michael Jackson died on June 24. I spent much of the weekend that followed trying to avoid the cable chatter about Jackson’s musical career, personal issues, and the circumstances of his death. Anyone who grew up in the past four decades would have had some MJ song or another as part of the soundtrack to his or her childhood. As a little kid, I can remember singing The Jackson Five’s “ABC” over and over again along with “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Old MacDonald.” And, like most people, I didn’t mind, couldn’t avoid, sort of liked, then grew weary of that long train of hits from Off the Wall and Thriller. Others have written about the huge cultural significance of MJ as a crossover artist, and I know it’s too soon for me to form any definitive opinions of my own about the music.

It just so happened during that weekend that I watched Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler. Better late than never. In the title role, Mickey Rourke plays Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a pro wrestler whose best days are two decades behind him but who still grapples it up in regional action, hulking from ring to ring in his tanning-bed tan and long blond hair. In his more sedate moments, he wears a hearing aid and reading glasses. For a social life, he courts a stripper (But she’s a mom! But she’s a stripper!) played by a wriggly, irresistible Marisa Tomei. Awesome film. Go see it right now; I’ll wait.

So you heard all that music on the soundtrack -- Quiet Riot and Ratt and Slaughter and the Scorpions. Watching The Wrestler that weekend with MJ’s death buzzing around in the back of my head, I came to realize that all that pop metal was more the soundtrack to my teenage life than Jackson’s music was. I grew up in the boondocks of Maine, after all, and most of the guys I knew were obsessed with a certain type of masculinity best embodied by “metal” and pro wrestling. I wasn’t into pro wrestling so much, but most of my friends were. I suppose I was hung up on the notion that pro wrestling was “fake,” my standards for realism and authenticity were so naïve.

This notion of what is fake and what is real lies at the root of the questions I keep asking myself about Michael Jackson, and the radically unreal world that mega-fame creates, the world he lived in from the age of five. A man with Jackson’s talent, imagination, and passion having reached a degree of fame and material means that few of us can understand, well, MJ must have gone crazy; that is, his relationship with the world fundamentally shifted, and, over the years, made him less and less like the rest of us. Like Kurtz in Heart of Darkness, he went up the river and never came back. He became the God of Pop. The surgeries, the money problems, the questions of sexual misconduct, the increasingly extraneous new music – all of it at the end became grotesque and simply tragic. Jackson’s death made me sad and anxious. Still sadder was the fact that he appears to have been on the verge of a comeback, and we all know how America loves a comeback.

It was strange that weekend to watch Mickey Rourke, another – albeit far lesser -- pop icon from the eighties, an actor now scarred and wrinkled and grotesque. Part of The Ram’s appearance is craft, I realize, but Rourke himself is a distorted – not just aged -- version of the man he was some 30 years ago. In high school and college I remember Rourke as a cool, handsome-but-not-pretty, intense actor who had roles I admired in films I liked a great deal: Boogie Sheftell in Diner, Harry Angel in Angel Heart, and Henry Chinaski in Barfly. And as fame touched him, Rourke he may have gone a little crazy as well. But after his early 90’s boxing career and some sketchy plastic surgery, Rourke has found his way back to relevance in his craft. There’s still a lot of wildness in Rourke, even if it is tempered now by a sense of humility and even faith in God. One wonders how much of Rouke was talking about himself when, in The Wrestler, The Ram tells his estranged daughter that he’s little more than “a broken down piece of meat.”


In both the death of Michael Jackson, the comeback of Mickey Rourke, and the story of The Ram there is the appeal of the redemptive value of suffering, particularly when the person involved in touched by the tragedy that happens to some when talent and fame intersect. And MJ’s death is a comeback of sorts. In the myth develops, the success of his 2010/2011 tour is a now foregone conclusion, it seems, and the ongoing questions about his death now make him into a victim of handlers rather than a self-destructive eccentric. The King of Pop keeps his throne in the end, reborn even as he is taken from the world.

Early in The Wrestler, in a slightly forced thematic moment, Marisa Tomei’s stripper drops a few lines from The Passion into her post lapdance chit chat with The Ram. “He was pierced for our transgressions. He was crushed for our iniquities. The punishment that brought us peace was upon him and by his wounds we were healed.” Later, she adds, “Sacrificial ram.”

At the memorial service for Michael Jackson, the Reverend Al Sharpton, who appears to have become a personal spokesperson for the MJ’s parents, had this to offer: "I want to say to Michael's children, there wasn't nothing strange about your daddy, it was strange what your daddy had to deal with. He dealt with it anyway. He dealt with it for us."


These allusions to self-sacrifice are strange and wonderfully telling about how deeply so many of us believe in the comeback, the fresh start, in rebirth, and how we are willing to create martyrs where there may be none. Or maybe there’s the possibility that we’re all martyrs. Be it the Phoenix, Osiris, Dionysus, Jesus, Michael Jackson, or Randy the Ram, the stories of life, death, and rebirth have a power to return to us in the strangest of forms. Me, I'm going to keep banging my head and listening for the beat.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.12 - George Russell

With the recent death of jazz composer, teacher, and MacArthur fellow George Russell, there's been a great deal of lazy linking in the blogosphere, but here's the skinny: Russell's theoretical contribution is a concept of organization that paved the way for the modal style of music most prominently featured on Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. You also hear modal playing in much of the work of John Coltrane as he moved away from bebop, for instance, in his number "Impressions" and his reworking of Rogers and Hammerstein's "My Favorite Things."

Over at NPR's A Blog Supreme, there's a decent tribute to Russell as well as a video from jazz guy Brett Primrack.

All About Jazz has a very detailed obituary on Russell, and you would do well to check out the man's own web page, as well as his Wikipedia entry.

Many years ago, I finally bought Ezz-thetics after my friends at WDNA kept telling me about Russell. Although here and there I'd heard the name and seen a writing credit ("Cubano Be/Cubano Bop"), I suppose that because he lacked the star power of Miles or Coltrane, I remained plainly ignorant of how important and interesting Russell's work was. I was truly blown away by the album's third track, "The Lydiot," and always made a point of playing something from George Russell every few weeks. I had joined that club, I suppose. I invite you to do the same.

Barcalounge Skipper - PN 2.11 - Jim Rice, Hall of Famer

In Little League, I proudly wore the number 14 -- the dorsal digits of Jim Rice, slugging Red Sox left fielder of my childhood. I was the left fielder for the Farmington Braves. I didn't know then (as I definitely do now) that the kids who played left field in Little League were, for the most part, the hopeless cases. I couldn't hit particularly well, and I couldn't throw very far but had good accuracy. Afer my first season, my coach, seeing that I was bright enough and big enough, made me a catcher.

After my baseball playing days ended when I turned 13, I became a fan of the game. Living in New England, this meant following the Red Sox during those transitional years between what I think of as the Yaz-Fisk period (1967-1980) to the Boggs-Clemens period (1986-1992). Jim Rice, my hero, spans both those periods, as he played from 1974-1989, pretty much alongside the great and underappreciated Dwight Evans (my brother's childhood favorite) who played for Boston from 1972 to 1990. The early eighties Red Sox were sort of fun to watch, kind of, in a Ralph Houk-ishy way. Most of the time, it seemed to me they got the crap kicked out of them by the Brewers or the Orioles.

As with great players of the 70s and 80s whose statistics are now overshadowed by the players of the Juiced Era, Rice's election this year to the Hall of Fame will remain an apparently undeserved honor to fans under the age of 30. I've been the the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, and it's a wonderful tourist attraction, but the history of that institution is filled with flim-flam and fundamental unfairness. I don't have much to offer on the Hall of Fame that hasn't already been said.

Looking back now, when I condsider the years during which Jim Rice played, I understand much more clearly why he kept had a quiet, intense persona in the midst of the Boston sports world. In 1974, the year Rice, a young man from South Carolina, broke into the majors, the Supreme Court also handed down its decision on the appropriateness of busing as a means to desegregating schools. In 1976, the year after Rice helped the Red Sox reach the World Series, Boston was one of the many cities in the United States struggling with civil unrest as it tried to integrate its schools. What's a guy like Rice to think when he opens his Globe in the morning and sees this image on the front page?

The Red Sox, of course, were the very last major league team to integrate in 1959, when they added Pumpsie Green to the roster and used him mostly as a pinch runner and give-the-regulars-a-day-off fielder. A dozen years later, the Sox drafted Rice, who, with the retirement of his number at Fenway on Tuesday night, is the only African-American player so honored by the team. Rice was the only guy on the list. As of today, there is no other black (or Latin player) who could meet Boston's requirements for number-retirement. If David Ortiz plays for Boston for eight more years and reaches the Hall of Fame, he'd get his number on the Fenway facade.

One Saturday in 1982, though, I remember most clearly. The Red Sox, in the midst of not quite winning the AL East title that year, were playing Saturday home game versus the White Sox one hot August afternoon. The game was on national television. Rice, who wasn't having a great year, did hit a double in the bottom of the third to tie the score 2-2. In the bottom of the fourth, a hard line drive went foul into the first base stands. A 4-year-old boy named Jonathan Keene was struck in the head by the ball, which caused serious and severe trauma. Rice climbed into the stands, picked up the little boy, whose head was bleedling badly, and carried him into the dugout, through the clubhouse, and out to a waiting ambulance. As the legend persists now, it was Rice's action that saved the boy's life. That may or may not be so, but there's something in Rice's urgently human action on that afternoon that made so many of us love and respect him.

Later in the game, of course, the Red Sox lost, with Rice grounding into a double play as he so often did. He led the league in GIDP, and would again for three more years. And the Sox, finished not in first place that year, as they so often did. But both the man and the team in those days reminded us of what we were and what we hoped to be -- part human and part hero.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.10 - Eisners and Asterios Polyp

Out in San Diego at Comic-Con 2009, the Eisner Awards have been announced, with Chris Ware (whose Jimmy Corrigan, the Smartest Kid on Earth, should be read by everyone) and Mike Mignola of Hellboy fame both having big evenings. With so many superhero, science fiction, and fantasy movies driving popular culture these days, it's always a good idea to keep an eye on Comic-Con. Plus you can always just ogle the people who dress up as characters. This year's Eisner Awards. . .

There's a South Florida tangent to these awards, as Tate's Comics of Ft. Lauderdale won the Spirit of Comics Retailer Award. I usually buy my comics in book form, but when I do visit the comic store, I tend to go to Outland Station here in the burbs. But I see that Tate's offers the occasional Japanese food tasting events, so I'll be sure to make the drive. Tate's website. . .

And finally, a graphic novel of note, as the hype tells us, TEN YEARS IN THE MAKING!!! I would be writing about David ­Mazzucchelli’s Asterios Polyp. There's a smart piece of criticism about it in the New York Times Book Review. For those of you who might remember Mazzucchelli's adaptation (with Paul Karasik) of Paul Auster's City of Glass, you should be happy to know you'll be travelling in a whole new realm of metafiction with Asterios Polyp. I've got my copy on the way today.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.9 - More Parenting Thoughts

I've been saving this wonderfully sarcastic piece from Claire Zulkey, a fine writer who (like me) wrote for the now largely retired Flak Magazine. She's constantly working. In reading this piece the other day, I became mindful of how truly annoying some parents can be, constantly talking kid-shop to anyone who will listen. By "some parents," of course, I mean myself. Claire offers all those child-skeptical folks out there a chance to join her club. And if you don't join her club, at least read her blog from time to time.

As a counterpoint to Zulkey.com and an offering for lovers of music, I hope you'll take a listen to an NPR feature on Diana Krall broadcast this morning. Ms. Krall talks about going on tour with her two toddlers. They don't play in the band, from what I hear, but they do eat and poop in a variety of hotel rooms. There's additional audio from Steve Inskeep's reporting, and the webpage comments are amusingly weird and gushy. Who doesn't know that Krall is married to Elvis Costello? Follow and listen! Radio is a sound salvation. Radio is cleaning up the nation.

Passing Notes - PN 2.8 - On Hiatus

I’ve been thinking about Michael Jackson and Lance Armstrong these days – that is, the comeback that never happened for the King of Pop and the comeback that might happen for Mellow Johnny. It’s not so much the struggle to reach the top again that intrigues me as much as that question, “Where have you been?”


In 2007, after a good eight years of freelancing as a writer, my wife and I had our first child. Although I kept my day job, I didn’t write anything for public consumption in almost two years. Anyone who has had a child and has been involved in the day-to-day details of parenting knows how unprepared even the most typically prepared of us feel when the baby bomb goes off and the little bundle arrives home. And, for us, before Baby One was even a year old, we learned that Baby Two was on the way, necessitating a big move to a bigger home just around the corner from my day job. Between baby care and home relocation, I had no spare time to write, much less read. Much less think.


Let me just say that I know for sure nobody misses my written (or radio) work to an extent that is in any way analogous to the pop culture void left my Michael Jackson's death or the lack of drama in cycling in the years Lance Armstrong didn't wear those tight shorts. )


Now, I know there are people – men in particular – who would get their writing done, regardless of the demands of a day job and a rapidly expanding home population. I am simply not one of those men, and that’s not because of the writing I want to do, it’s because of the parenting I want to provide to my two boys. I just can't manage it all; if you can, that's great. You should write a book. Me, I'm figuring it out as I go.

My friend Bill told me a story about the other day about when he was out with his two little girls – both of whom are under five – and going into a neighborhood sushi place for supper. He met a guy at the front door who was leaving with a takeout order. Sushi Guy told Bill what cute little girls he had, and added that he had a couple of his own. Then Sushi Guy said, “Yeah, and I really hope they’re asleep before I get home tonight.” Bill’s reaction was exactly what mine would have been: a polite chuckle and a quick turn away. Whatever, Sushi Guy. How’s that working for you?


And then Bill had a lovely meal with his two lovely daughters. I don’t know if the little ones had raw fish – veggie tempura perhaps?


I know from talking to most of my male friends that, for us, fatherhood is different from what we received as kids. Not to fault our own dads, because, as my own father has noted, expectations were very narrow for dads even a generation ago. But I still meet a great many men who are like Sushi Guy, who, I suspect, take for granted the work done by others (a wife, a nanny, a relative, a day-care professional) in the parenting of their kids. And while there’s much to be said for career, there’s only so much time in each day. Whatever brilliant (or less-than-brilliant) work I might do career-wise would mean little to me if my kids and I weren’t close. Yes, Future Me notes, I have more money, but my kids find me remote and definitely non-cuddly.


Ah, my career. No, I can’t work late every night. No, I can’t work many weekends. No, I can’t go on extended out-of-town trips. I have to be damned efficient in my day job, get my ass home, handle the nitty-gritty in the household, and get ready for the next day. There’s not much room for goofing around, and there’s not much room for error. The burden has eased somewhat of late, but my wife and I aren’t taking up ballroom dancing in our spare time.


The dads who change diapers and do the nighttime bottles and puree carrots and suck boogers and give baths and snap those goddamned tiny snaps, day in day out, have a much greater appreciation for their own partners and parents, and for the challenges of getting it all done each day. And I know this: The dads who are involved from the very beginning – as incredibly hard as it can be – wouldn’t give it up for anything. Rather, I give up what I must to be in the moment with my kids.




For example, last Tuesday night, I had intended to respond, inning by inning, to the MLB All-Star Game, but when the top of the first arrived, my oldest son couldn’t get to sleep, so I turned off the baseball game and we put in his new favorite DVD, the old Disney animated adaptation of Winnie the Pooh. This was a favorite of mine when I was a little guy, as it was for many kids born in the 1960s. I’m sure I watched it every time it was on The Wonderful World of Disney those Sunday evenings. But I even had the record album and picture book when I was a kid, and I wore out both.

Now, my son and I hadn’t yet watched the DVD together, so when I started singing along with the theme song – “Winnie the Pooh/Winnie the Pooh,/Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff,” his eyes went wide and it appeared I had blown his two-year-old mind. How do you know this stuff, Daddy?

Kid, if you only knew. We’re going to have a lot to talk about, I’m sure of it.

So that’s where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to the past couple of years. Taking care of the daddy details and making friends with a couple of little boys. I don’t think of my writing again as any sort of comeback at all, I’m just coming back to the keyboard after some very good time spent on more important matters. I hope the boys, when they learn to read, might agree.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.7 - 100 Great But Overlooked Novels

On both Andrew Seal's Blograhpia Literaria and Mark Athitakis’ American Fiction Notes, we find the table of contents to a book of the 100 Greatest American Novels You've (Probably) Never Read, by Karl Bridges. Lists like these are always subjective and open to debate, and I believe that's why we love them so much. Defining the canon is so maddening in the first place.

As a reader, I do not particularly well as far as what I've actually read on this list (I've got five), although I have to say that while I've read some of these authors, the representative titles are perhaps not the best choices. I've got Brockden Brown under my belt -- I even teach Wieland -- but why Edgar Huntley? From the first page in the table of contents, Harry Crews, Don DeLillo, Philip K. Dick, Ernest Gaines, and John Hawkes I've all read, and several titles from each, but not the particular selections offered by Bridges. I suppose these are overlooked authors in some cases, overlooked works in others. Much head scratching.

Still, I would have to disagree outright with many of these choices. As one comment on Blographia pointed out, DeLillo is thought to be good by some, but few few readers would offer The Players as his best work. I can think of a half dozen DeLillo works that are more rewarding. I've even taught DeLillo's End Zone to high school students with great success, and very few people have ever heard of that one. Let the discussion begin.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.6 - First Pitch

No Barcalounge Skipper for me on this year's All-Star Game -- I prefer a lower profile game and a more ordinary setting. But of all the coverage I've seen, I enjoyed Deadspin's presentation of the analyses of President Obama's work on the mound in throwing out the first pitch. Obama's an athletic guy (and a southpaw), and he certainly didn't embarrass himself, but his basketball roots clearly showed in his delivery.

Tommy Craggs's detailed Deadspin article is here, and don't neglect reading the comments.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.5 - Pareidolia

Over at Cracked.com I've gotten to like the commentary from Gladstone in his "Hate by Numbers" video blog, and today he tries to find something amusing to say about the mediaverse event of Michael Jackson's death. He happens upon a a story about a psychological phenomenon, cognitive bias, mental fallacy -- call it what you will -- named pareidolia, in which vague or random stimulus, particularly images or sounds, are interpreted as being significant. Do you remember the story of the Virgin Mary appearing on a grilled cheese sandwich? That's where we're going.

"Hate by Numbers" is a regular feature on Cracked.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.4 - Paul Gonsalves

On this date in 1920, the great tenor saxophonist Paul Gonsavles was born. When he died in 1974, Gonsalves was long associated with the composer and bandleader he played with for the better part of 24 years, Duke Ellington. Best known for the compelling 27 chorus solo he took during an Ellington number at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival, he also had a fine touch with a ballad, and, in the decades after his death, has become to be seen as his own musician and not merely as a horn player with the Duke.

A more full biography of Gonsalves and a wide range of jazz coverage can be found at AllAboutJazz.com.

Barcalounge Skipper - PN 2.3 - Yankees at Angels

Yankees (51-35) at Angels (47-37)
Fox Sports Broadcast – July 11, 2009

Here's the view from the chair. . .

The game of the week is a fairly obvious choice for Fox: two contending teams from big markets, a decent pitching matchup in Pettitte versus Washburn, young manager Girardi versus mastermind Scioscia, Abreu going from the Yankees to the Angels, Teixera moving from the Angels to the Yankees. This matchup is a likely ALDS preview, though nothing is guaranteed, of course.

The night before, the Angels won a game in which Joba Chamberlain struggled. In the seventh, when the wheels came off for the Yankees, there was some curious fielding from the Yankees when Jeter dropped a popup, but Posada caught a popup without his glove, biatch. The Angels mashed the ball pretty well, but they also used six pitchers to get through the game.
Today, as announcers Dick Stockton, Eric Karros, and Chris Rose (who?) let us know over and over, it is hot – very hot – in Anaheim. Plus, to make the 4:00 broadcast time on the East Coast, they’ll be starting the game in the midday Southern California sunshine.

On a side note, I’m not sure I like the commercials Fox is running for Tuesday’s All-Star Game. So, to distill the visual analogy: giant magnet is to St. Louis Gateway Arch as iron shavings is to baseball fans. I suppose. Very middle school science project.

Top of the First
I haven’t seen much of the Angels this year, and I’m noting the “34” patch on the jerseys in honor of Nick Adenhart, whose death in April seems so very long ago. The Angels have a bunch of guys on the disabled list – recently including Torii Hunter and Vlad Guerro– so it looks like we’ll see some newer faces from the Halos. Jeter flies out, Damon walks. A-Rod pounds a home run, Yankees 2-0. Matsui, who’s not good for much these days but standing at the plate and maybe hitting – and not consistently – strikes out looking.

Bottom of the First
Pettitte walks the leadoff hitter, Chone Figgins, who has speed. And although Pettitte is the all time leader in pickoffs, Scioscia always makes sure his baserunners are a pain in the butt for opponents. Sure enough, there’s a hit-and-run on, but Aybar’s hit stayed up, and Figgins had to hustle back to first. Figgins was also out, but the umpire missed the call. First base coach Alfreo Griffin was no help. Still pestering Pettitte, Figgins steals second, then goes to third on a productive out by Abreu. Nicely done: a runner 90 feet away from scoring. And then, shamefully, Mike Napoli swings AT THE FIRST pitch and flies out.

Top of the Second
Neat play from Posada in faking out everyone by staying put on a fair ball he bounced off the plate, getting another pitch or two, although he struck out in the end. Eric Hinske, Official Good Luck Charm of the American League East, hits a solo home run, Yankees 3-0.

Bottom of the Second
Pettitte settles in with another one pitch out and works an inning by letting his fielders do their jobs.

Top of the Third
Weaver also settles in a little bit with a hitless inning, including two strikeouts, but he’s up to 50 pitches already. It is a hot day, Dick Stockton – you said it!

Bottom of theThird
A leadoff walk by Pettitte sets up a double play. I meant to do that, he tells himself. Close call, but he finishes the inning at 47 pitches. It’s looking to be a long day.

Top of the Fourth
A-Rod leads off the inning with a walk, and then the game starts to slow down. An errant throw to first allows Rodriguez to go to second, but Posada doesn’t advance the runner, which is not like him. The Angels pitching coach comes out for a conference with Weaver, presumably about how to pitch to Cano, a good contact hitter. And Cano hits the second pitch of the at bat, bringing home A-Rod, Yankees 4-0. Weaver gets out of the inning, but his pitch count is 73.

Bottom of the Fourth
Scioscia appears to be concerned about the game getting out of hand, and so you see an aggressive hitter, Aybar, lead off and square to bunt on the first pitch. Then he hits the next one for a solid double. Next up, Abreu, takes a pitch the opposite way and scores Aybar. Pettitte, who appears to have been pitching to contact, is giving up better contact to the hitters. Mike Napoli strikes out on a high high pitch, and he has not looked good in two at bats. Pettitte finishes the inning with no more damage, and he may have a little gas in the tank. Next inning may tell.

Top of the Fifth
Aside from the double from Jeter, Weaver moves through the lineup. Get those Angels hitters back up there.

Bottom of the Fifth
Pettitte looks to be running out of gas. Single, homer , fielder’s choice, single. Yankees, 4-3. Pettitte comes out after four and a third innings and, surprisingly, just 61 pitches. David Robertson comes in for the Yankees, a fairly generic right-handed reliever, and gives up a big double to Mike Napoli. Where did that come from? Napoli, who didn’t look good at all in his first two at-bats, might have delivered the key hit of the game, giving the Angels the lead. And there’s the second out of the inning. Oh, and a walk to Matthews, who then steals second. Kendrick singles to score two more runs, so the lead goes to the Angels, 8-4. Going for the throat, the Angels send Kendrick to second, but he’s thrown own. A brutal inning in which the Yankees give up seven runs.

Top of the Sixth
Weaver, who’s been working deep counts and striking out batters, seems to have gotten his wind and strikes out the first two Yankees, although one of them is Matsui. Posada flies out. Weaver’s thrown 110 pitches, but with the All-Star break coming up, we still might see him in the 7th inning. In the Angels bullpen, only Matt Palmer and Rich Thompson haven't pitched the night before.

Bottom of the Sixth
It appears to me that something’s gone out of this game. They’re in the third hour of this game. Strikeout, then another strikeout but the runner advances on a wild pitch. Then a strikeout and a stolen base. Interesting: Will Robertson get one of those rare four strikeout innings. Ah, no. Aybar triples and scores and Willits scores, Angels 9-4. Here comes the Yankees’ Brett Tomko.

By the way, here’s a great statistical page from DailyBaseballData.com that presents a very clear record of each club’s bullpen usage from the previous four days.

Top of the Seventh
Weaver can earn a win, but he’s out of the game. Lefty Darrin Oliver, who pitched for just one out last night, comes in to face Cano, hitting from the left side. Cano singles, and here’s Hinske, also hitting lefty. Wha-BAM. I know the numbers say you should do it when you can, but do these matchup moves really work when you’re throwing Darrin Oliver out there? I guess Oliver’s been okay this year, but still. Oliver gets out the two guys batting from the right hand side, and then left-sider Johnny Damon. Not a great inning, but the lead still is with the Angels, 9-6.

Bottom of the Seventh
Tomko versus Napoli. Mike Napoli – he’s awful, he’s great, he’s awfully great! Damn, he hit one out. Angels, 10-6. I’m going to shut up now. I’m curious: is Brett Tomko just happy to be out there on the mound? One hit, two hits. There’s a double play. Thanks, Derek!

Top of the Eighth
It appears that Just for Men hair coloring is taking advantage of the recession to encourage all those out-of-work middle aged guys to spruce up their look with an awkwardly dark dye job. Anyway, Jason Bulger, who pitched a full inning last night, gives up a home run to A-Rod. Hideki Matsui manages to avoid a strikeout and hits one over the fence, back-to-back dingers. That’s five homers for the Yankees today, and the Angels lead has been cut to two runs. The game is now going into its fourth hour, and it’s 91 degrees in Anaheim. With the walk to Cano, Scioscia goes to the bullpen for George Jetson – I mean Kevin Jepson, who also worked last night. Man, those last two guys in the Angels bullpen must be scratching their heads. Jepson’s arm appears to have been made by Spacely Sprockets. Here’s Hinske, the tying run at the plate, to hit again. It would be very cool to see Hinske hit a third homer, but I’m getting tired of this game. Howie Kendrick’s brilliant snag of a line drive ends the inning, Angels 10-8.

Bottom of the Eighth
It’s refreshing to see Phil Coke come in to pitch for the Yankees; he’s a strong lefty, and should make quick work of the inning. In fact, Coke is so strong, he threw it away on a pickoff move. There’s the pressure of the running game even when you don’t steal a base outright. The announcers have beaten me this point. Wild pitch, runners now at first and third. Coke is insanely powerful – too strong for his own good. Abreu manages a sacrifice fly to score Willits, and then Figgins steals second. Scioscia is just relentless. I like the intentional walk here, which sets up the force out, provided Coke can keep his composure. But Morales pulls a pitch to left field and plates Figgins. And, brother, would you believe Gary Matthews Jr. singles to left to score two more runs. Coke is overthrowing at this point, but he manages to get a ground out for the final out. The inning ends with a commanding lead for the Angels, 14-8.

Top of the Ninth
Does Scioscia go with All-Star Brian Fuentes to shut the door on the game, or does he save his closer to work tomorrow or Tuesday in Philadelphia? Me, I’ve got things to do tonight, so I’m a little disappointed to see Matt Palmer in there, especially when he gives up a leadoff single. Hey there, double play. Thanks, Derek! All that stands between me and getting away from the keyboard is Johnny Damon, and he conveniently strikes out. Matt Palmer is very happy, and gives a little hop on the mound. I give a little hop, too.

That was 22 runs, 9 pitchers, and 3 hours and 28 minutes. Everybody find a place to cool off and get some liquids in you. We'll see you next week and do this again. Hopefully, we can get a nice brisk pitchers' duel next time around.

Reader's Notes - PN 2.2 - Giving it Away

Virginia Postel's review of Free: The Future of a Radical Price by Chris Anderson pretty much sums up my attitude about almost anything I plan on writing or producing these days. After eight years of watching freelancing opportunities dwindle and the payment-per-piece remain largely flat, the age of free creative content is upon us. This is no earth-shaker, I know. But it is an adjustment for those of us trained way back in the 20th Century.

I'm happy to write all kinds of things for all kinds of people, and I always have been. Moving to the free content model has required a little bit of technological savvy -- but at least I get to own the shop. The learning curve hasn't been that steep, and it's well worth the trouble to end up with complete creative control. These days, the ease with which I can publish in any number of media and reach any number of people means that, with the proper advertising program and retail partnering, there's even money to be made -- if only pennies at a time. But 10,000 pennies is still $100, and that'll buy me more server space. Of course, this approach is based on trends Anderson wrote about in his previous book, The Long Tail.

To be honest, I already have a day job ("Don't quit it!" Thank you, wiseguys.), and I'm just happy to have readers. Or listeners. Or even a reader or a listener. (Yes, you're the one.)

Postel's piece is in the New York Times Sunday Book Review.

One more time. . .

Returning to the mediaspehere in 2009. . .











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Monk's Music

Monk’s Music: Thelonius Monk and Jazz History in the Making
by Gabriel Solis
University of California Press

Here at the start of the 21st century, it’s no great shock to anyone to observe that pianist and composer Thelonious Sphere Monk (1917-1982) was one of jazz’s most enigmatic figures and is now one of its greatest. But that greatness was not always so – not at all. Monk’s Music: Thelonius Monk and Jazz History in the Making, by Gabriel Solis, examines the origin, evolution, and current standing of Monk’s place in the jazz world.

Solis, an assistant professor of music at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, blends cultural theory, biography, and musical analysis to show how Monk's importance has grown -- first in the closely focused avant-garde, to the present where he’s declared as an influence by musicians of all kinds.

First and foremost, the author concisely explains what is generally understood to be as Monk’s distinctive compositional and interpretive style – its developmental logic, musical unity, call-and-response, and riff-based, as well as Monk’s unusual feel for time – his sense of swing – and the playfulness of his work. As many musicians have observed, Monk’s music inhabits its own world – its own sphere, let’s call it – and Solis effectively examines the dimensions of that world.

Solis spends some time discussing Monk as a pianist and bandleader, and how Monk was at the center of modern jazz's creation during the 1940s, how he proved to be an influential teacher to many leading musicians of the 50s (Coltrane and Rollins, to name a pair), and how the canon of Monk’s work – not a tremendously large number of songs but certainly unique ones -- set the stage for the all kinds of experimentalism in the 1960s and '70s. As much as Monk contributed to bebop, he also pointed to realms beyond it.

The much of the weight of Solis’s discussion in the later parts of the book falls on the jazz canon itself, the mainstream and the margins, as well as the ways in which Monk, an outsider in many ways, came to be seen as one of the music’s truly original geniuses and, as such, a sort of emblematic figure of the entire genre -- along with Miles, Satchmo, and the Duke.

Chalk it up to Monk’s appearance on the cover of Time in February of 1964 and a sustained campaign on Monk’s behalf by cultural critic Martin Williams. In the move to make jazz into “serious music,” it needed to have “serious composers,” the idea of the composer modeled after European icons like Mozart and Beethoven – the artist as solitary hero. Solis is most engaging in his discussion of Monk’s work into the context of “conservatory jazz” and neoclassicism – embodied in the institutions of Jazz at Lincoln Center – and the mainstream.

Solis examines how musical lineages are created and, in the process, addresses the issue of how musicians use performance itself to continue, interpret, and dispute the history of musical tradition. He develops in great details the work of pianists Fred Hersch, Danilo Perez, and Jessica Williams in their relation to Monk’s music. The Art Ensemble of Chicago’s performance of “‘Round Midnight” provides Solis with a rich discussion of Monk and the avant-garde. And more contemporary performers like Steve Lacy and Roswell Rudd are presented as finding different and countermainstream directions through the vehicle of Monk’s music.

As to any musician’s place in the “jazz canon,” whatever that term may mean, Solis wisely gives Monk the final say in the afterword, quoting the composer’s answer to the question of where jazz was going. “I don’t know,” responded Monk. “Maybe it’s going to hell. You can’t make anything go anywhere. It just happens.”

Always light but carrying weight, never easy to figure out despite its apparent simplicity, Monk’s musical legacy receives a fair-minded and thoughtful treatment in Solis’s book, which is well worth the trouble of both the casual listener and the serious musician.

Barcalounge Skipper - The Alou Urine

BOS at LAD - 3/9/2008 - Vero Beach

Spring training in Florida is a glorious thing. The Grapefruit League plays during the best weather of the year in this part of the country, and if you live south Interstate 4, there are training facilities for 18 major league teams. Although competition for tickets is tougher than in years past for some teams (Yankees, Red Sox), in most cases you can snag tickets at the last minute and for a reasonable price. While not luxurious, the ballparks are small and friendly, and many of the best baseball experiences happened at spring training games. In fact, at the first game I ever attended (Red Sox at Phillies, 1997), I caught a foul ball. The ball was hit by a guy that never made it out of the minors, but there you go. I was hooked.

This year, my wife and I have an eight-month-old at home, so I won’t hit the half dozen or so games I usually manage each spring, but I’ve already got the MLB.TV package for all my full-season online viewing needs. This afternoon I’m taking in the Red Sox at Dodgers from Vero Beach, and I’m writing this as I watch.

The broadcast is from KCAL, Channel 9 in Los Angeles, so I’ll have the pleasure of listening to the timeless Vin Scully, who’s been the voice of the Dodgers since – wait for it – 1950. Amazing.

On the downside, the pregame ceremony honoring Vin Scully and Spanish-language broadcaster Jaime Jarrin was hosted by Larry King, who to my mind is as awful a broadcaster as Scully is great. King’s introductions of both announcers were typical models of King-ly sycophancy, sloppiness, and simple-mindedness.

So here we are in the bottom on the first and the Red Sox, having blown a scoring opportunity in the top of the inning, and Matt Kemp takes Dice-K deep for a three run homer. Kemp is a good young player, to be sure. Let’s hope Daisuke was just working on his control today and nothing more.

At this point, it’s appropriate for me to come clean. Disclosure time: Yes, I am a Red Sox fan, but I am not one of these bandwagon fans of the ’04 and ’07 championships. These days, I usually describe myself as a fourth-generation Sox fan – the original fanatic in the family being my great-grandfather Harry Lawrence Hayes, born in 1880, a lifelong resident of Portland, Maine, and a young man at the time of the Boston Americans won the first World Series in 1903. That team, which played its games at the Huntington Avenue Grounds and beat the Pirates. Cy Young, Jimmy Collins, and Chick Stah played for the ’03 champs. Imagine that. The guy who could win the Cy Young on your team is actually Cy Young.

Both great-grandad Harry and my grandfather Phil could remember the 1918 title, and yes, they went to their graves waiting for the next one. The sad litany of lost championships from 1946, 1967, 1975, and 1986 rings a little hollow now for many new fans, but the decades of hope and frustration were something that bound us all together.

With history in mind, watching the Sox and the Dodgers at Holman Stadium in Dodgertown, it seems appropriate to point out that this is the Dodgers last spring in their facility in Vero Beach. When Dodgertown opened in 1948 – a converted military base no longer in use with the end of World War II – it was home to a over 20 teams worth of players, the total of the Dodgers professional system, and the material demonstration of Branch Rickey’s vision about what a baseball organization should be. Broad and deep in talent, and always with the idea that they were developing not just baseball players – but Dodgers.

More importantly, however, Dodgertown and Vero Beach were the leading edge of Branch Rickey’s efforts to desegregate baseball, first in the person of Jackie Robinson, then Don Newcombe and Roy Campanella, and then scores of other players. Although it took far too long for most of the black players – all the way through the 50s – eventually the stadium and, following that, the community of Vero Beach gave up its Jim Crow ways.

Bottom of the third now. Matsuzaka looks fit and strong – maybe more than last year – but he seems to still have that problem of getting a little mental in certain mundane situations. I won’t say that he’s a choker, exactly – but he has a tendency to over-think, over-pitch, and just have the wheels come off the cart in the middle of obviously everyday baseball situations. Too many pitches, not enough efficiency.

Clayton Kershaw, top of the fourth, eats up the Boston hitters. A big stud lefty, Kershaw throws a fastball in the mid- to high-90s and has a wicked hook. He struck out 29 batters in 24 2/3 innings in AA ball last season. Brutal stuff. Ah, here in the bottom of the fourth, Dice-K is out after 72 pitches and Bryan Corey is now on the mound for the Sox. Corey, who arrived in a low-level trade with the Texas Rangers, is a right-hander who has very good splits against left-handers – and in that sense he’s an “oddball” pitcher for the Sox staff, along with Tim Wakefield. Corey’s uniform number – 30 – suggests a spot on the team is his to lose.

All right, top of the fifth and the guys with the high numbers are starting to appear on the field. Mirabelli thrown out for the first out of the inning. Mirabelli’s career stolen base stats: 12 seasons, three steals in three attempts, all of which we can assume happened because of the “surprise factor.” When we speak of high numbers and Mirabelli, we’re talking about his weight. And now Non-Roster Invitee Joe Thurston is picked off first.

Bottom of the fifth. Manny catches a fly ball to end the inning, which makes six in a row for Bryan Corey. I'd say he makes the team -- and that's just the sort of question that a spring training game like this can answer: Who's going to take that 5th spot in the Red Sox bullpen?

We’re getting into those dead innings of spring training, the 5th, 6th and 7th – but the ends of games can be quite spectacular with the entrance of players who are talented and eager to impress or, conversely, marginally talented and desperate to hold onto a roster spot.

Here at the end of the sixth, I’m thinking about the annoyance of injuries this time of year – to fans and teams with an eye on the strong season, but, more significantly, to all the fantasy players out there. The Red Sox are little nervous about Josh Beckett’s back, but the Dodgers really have their worries. Joe Torre has to contend with Andy LaRoche’s thumb, Jeff Kent’s hamstring, Nomar Garciaparra’s wrist, and, er, Tony Abreu’s, er, ass. His ass hurts – that’s what the official word is: pain in the buttocks and upper groin area. Good luck with all that.

Top of the seventh and the Dodgers are on their fifth pitcher. If then Men in Blue have anything, they have pitching. Mirabelli hits a two-out double and, whaddaya know – there’s a pinch runner whose number is 78, Jonathan Van Every, who’s been kicking around the Indians organization for a half-dozen years. And Non-Roster Invitee Joe Thurston strikes out. Pack your bags, Number 64.

At any rate, all this talk of injury brings to mind Moises Alou – often injured himself – but who I recently read has one of the most disgusting practices I’ve ever heard of in baseball. Alou, who’s a freakishly good hitter at times, is one of those rare players who doesn’t wear batting gloves. He gets a better feel for the bat without them. To keep his hands tough, however, he makes sure each day to treat his hands with a very special substance: his own urine.

Speaking of “oddball” pitchers, the Dodgers open the top of the eighth with their sixth pitcher of the day, 38-year-old Mike Meyers – who was with the Red Sox in 2004. In fact, Mike Meyers was the specialist versus lefthanders -- the very job it appears Bryan Corey may have nailed down today. The circle is complete.

Of course, Alou, who now plays for the Mets, will be out with a hernia problem. Now, my question is that, if The Alou Urine does such a good job of protecting his hands, why doesn’t Moises just pee on those other parts of his body that are constantly breaking down? Including the hernia, as contorted as that might be. Why didn’t Nomar Garciaparra just have Moises pee on his knee (or whatever) when they were with the Cubs in 2004?

As for all of Alou’s injuries, did it ever occur to him that part of the reason he keeps getting hurt is because he is slathered in his own urine? Does urine slather? You bet it does.

All right, bottom of the eighth. Sunstroke and dehydration are setting in for the fans – especially the elderly. Most of the players on the field now have numbers better suited for football linesman. Manny is already on the bus talking with the fellas about what strip club they'll be going to tonight. And the Dodgers score on a passed ball by backup-backup catcher Dusty Brown. No, not that Dusty Brown.

Top of the ninth. Great play at third by Number 94. He doesn’t have a name on the back of his jersey, but that was a hell of a nice play. And the sixth pitcher for the Dodgers ends the game with a strikeout, sending the Red Sox to their sixth consecutive loss in spring training – which, anyone will tell you, means absolutely nothing.

Still, maybe Moises Alou is available for a little freelance work.

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Sunday

Song, Artist, Album

Jack Baker, Branford Marsalis, Braggtown
Everything Happens To Me, Sonny Rollins, Sonny Rollins - On Impulse!
Limehouse Blues, The Very Tall Band, What's Up?
The Frim Fram Sauce, Nat King Cole Trio, Jumpin at Capitol
Hard Day's Night, Rene Marie, Serene Renegade
Whirling, Antione Roney, Whirling
Isn't This a Lovely Day, Diana Krall, From This Moment On
Maria, Eric Reed, Pure Imagination
Birk's Works, Nnenna Frelon, Shaking Free
Come Together, Lynn Arrialle Trio, Come Together
Red Mask, Tony Williams, The Best of (Blue Note)
Hackensack, Jimmy Smith, Jazz Profile
Layin' a Strip for the Higher-Self State Line, The Bad Plus, Give
Tricky Rides Again, Ben Allison, Cowboy Justice
I Wanna Ride You, MMW, Uninvisible
Ripple Sole, Will Bernard, Party Hats
Screamin' the Blues, Oliver Nelson, Screamin' the Blues
Twisted, Lambert Hendricks and Ross, The Best of (Rhino)
Sassy's Blues, Sarah Vaughan, In the City of Lights
Fine and Brown, Roosevelt Sykes, The United Records Story
Lonesome Hour Blues, Sippie Wallace, Women Be Wise
Pride and Joy, Lil' Ed and the Blues Imperials, Alligator Records 35 x 35
Flip Flop and Fly, Big Joe Turner, Best of Gene Norman's Blues Jubilees
I Want a Tall Skinny Papa, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, The Gospel of the Blues
Mannish Boy, Muddy Waters, The Story of the Blues (Legacy)
Walkin Blues, RL Burnside, Acoustic Stories
The Thrill Is Gone, BB King, The Thrill Is Gone (St. Clair)

This Week

I have mixed emotions announcing this, but I've made the decision to cease with my radio work in the next few weeks. My wife and I are expecting a baby this summer -- so there's a great deal of planning and moving and adjusting to be done in the next six months. Happy things! All of my work for 88.9 requires about 10-12 hours a week, and as a volunteer, as much as I enjoy it all, I simply need the time to devote to "baby prep," freelance writing, and simply resting. I am not quitting my civilian job as a teacher, of course!

Passing Notes -- Fridays at 7:06 pm on 88.9 FM or seriousjazz.org -- will run for three more weeks. I'll be picking my personal favorites from the past three years. March 23 will mark the last broadcast. If and when Passing Notes returns, it will be as a podcast feed, in a form more suitable for syndication. We'll see how I feel in the fall once things settle down.

Early Jazz Weekend and Straight, No Chaser will roll ahead as usual onthe weekends until March 24, when Ed Blanco and I will do our last show together. Ed is talking to WDNA right now about continuing Straight, No Chaser on his own. It was great to start the new music program with Ed -- however brief it may have been.

As for the blog, it will still be operational, if a little less active in the months to come. I'm working on other freelance projects, as always. For instance, you might want to read my latest spring training book roundup from the Miami Herald -- here. I'll also be gearing up for more work in High Country News, the Atlanta Journal Constitution, AllAboutJazz.com, and other places. And, as usual, who knows what might be posted on the blog from time to time.

Stay tuned for news as well about South Florida's Promethean Theatre's summer show, Cyrano, with which I've been happy to help out.

Peace,

Mark

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Sunday

Song, Artist, Album

Say The Brother's Name, Metheny Mehldau, Metheny Mehldau
West Hartford, Brad Mehldau, Places
Broad Way Blues, Lovano & Osby, Friendly Fire
Party Hats, Will Bernard, Party Hats
Fly Mr. Freakjar, Fly, Fly
White Fang, Bill Frisell, Unspeakable
New Amsterdam, Kenny Werner, Lawn Chair Society
Swiss Cheese D, Ben Allison & Medicine Wheel, Riding the Nuclear Tiger
Blue Monk, Dexter Gordon, Blue Dex
Body and Soul, Dexter Gordon, Dexter Gordon featuring Joe Newman
Sticky Wicket, Dexter Gordon, Blue Dex
Scrapple from the Apple, Dexter Gordon, Complete Blue Note Sixties Sessions
Love for Sale, Dexter Gordon, Complete Blue Note Sixties Sessions
Clear the Dex, Dexter Gordon, Complete Blue Note Sixties Sessions
Confirmation, Dexter Gordon, Daddy Plays the Horn
Work Song, Cannonball Adderly, The Best of. . .
Everybody Lives the Blues, Calvin Owens, Stop Lying in My Face
Gee Baby, Ain't I Good To You?, Jimmy Witherspoon, Blues for Easy Livers
Black Water, Charlie Musselwhite, Delta Hardware
Future News Blues, Nnenna Freelon, Maiden Voyage
Three Sides to Every Story, Coco Montoya, Dirty Deal
The Same Old Story, Big Maybelle, The Same Old Story
Tin Pan Alley, Big Pete Pearson, I'm Here Baby
When I Am Drinking, J. B. Lenoir, Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues
Smiling Face Hiding A Weeping Heart, The Holmes Brothers, State of Grace

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Saturday

Song, Artist, Album

The Pharoah, Wallace Roney, Village
Piggies, Melvin/Kikoski/Grenadier/Scofield, BeatleJazz: A Little Help. . .
Black Diamond, Wayne Shorter, Introducing Wayne Shorter
Road Trip, Anthony Wilson, Our Gang
Blue Daniel, Russell Malone, Live at Jazz Standard, Volume 1
Temporary Enrollment, Rodolfo Zuniga Quintet, Premonition
Dirty Bird, Mark Shim, Turbulent Flow
Ripple Soul, Will Bernard, Party Hats
Body and Soul, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis, The Best of. . . (Prestige)
Just One of Those Things, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis, The Heavy Hitter
Tin Tin Deo, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis, Afro-Jaws
Straight, No Chaser, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis & Johnny Griffin, Tenor Scene
Untitled Blues, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis, Straight Blues
Last Train from Overbrook, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis & Shirley Scott, Bacalao
The Chef, Eddie ''Lockjaw'' Davis, The Cookbook, Vol. 1
Naima, David ''Fathead'' Newman, Life
Blue Fable, Larry Willis, Blue Fable
Bags' Groove, Miles Davis/Milt Jackson, Bluing: Miles Davis Plays the Blues
Just A-Sittin' and A-Rockin', Joe Williams, Jump for Joy
Stack and the Devil, Cephas and Wiggins, Somebody Told the Truth
Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burned, Corey Harris, 35 x 35 - Alligator Records
Dying Drapshooter's Blues, Blind Willie McTell, Original Blues Classics - Bluesland
Mr Lucky, Calvin Owens, Stop Lying in My Face
Paying the Cost to Be the Boss, B. B. King`, Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues
I Got What It Takes, Koko Taylor, 35 x 35 - Alligator Records
One More Break, Louis Meyers, Tell My Story Movin'
Damn Right I've Got the Blues, Buddy Guy, Can't Quit the Blues

This Week. . .

Passing Notes and Early Jazz resurface this weekend. I’ve been locked down in the bunker putting the finishing touches on the first draft of a theatre piece that, hopefully, will be produced this summer by my friends at one of the better theatre companies in South Florida. More on that in due time.

If you’re looking for the playlist from “Straight, No Chaser: The New Music Hour,” check here tomorrow.

The PN Friday broadcast was a “Best Of. . .” but in future installments I’m lining up reviews of Tim Dorsey’s latest novel, another Future of Music piece, some conversation with Stanley Crouch, and the baseball season preview.

On the air for Early Jazz this weekend, Saturday’s show is the usual mix of blues, jazz, with some funk on the side, and featuring the work of Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis. On Sunday, more of the same, plus an extended set of Dexter Gordon.

www.seriousjazz.org

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Saturday

Song, Artist, Album

Una Mas, 3osity, 3osity
Maynard & Waynard, Wayne Bergeron, Plays Well With Others
Collard Green and Black-Eyed Peas, Shelly Manne, The Best of. . . (Contemporary)
Footprints, Jon Faddis, Remembrances
The Singing Song, George Shearing, The Best of. . . (Vol. 2) (Capitol)
Lady Iris B, Dexter Gordon, Clubhouse
Sand Jewels, Charles Fambrough, The Proper Angle
Dear John, Ingrid Jensen, Higher Grounds
Mil Dew, Johnny Griffin, Introducing Johnny Griffin
Sofa #1, The Ed Palermo Big Band, Plays the Music of Frank Zappa
Free Willy, Brad Mehldau, Largo
Your Name is Snake Anthony, Medeski Martin & Wood, Uninvisible
Priority, Orbert Davis, Priority
Hit the Bricks, John Fedchock, Hit the Bricks
New Shoes, Eric Bibb, Home To Me
Can't Stand a Broke Man, Ruth Brown, A Good Day for the Blues
Driftin' Blues, Chrales Brown, Trouble Blues
Down the Big Road Blues, Sue Foley, Where The Action Is
Big Leg Woman, Big Pete Pearson, I'm Here Baby

Let's Get To The Nitty Gritty - Horace Silver

Broadcast June 2006

Horace Silver was born in Norwalk, Connecticut in 1928. His mother died when he was nine, so for the most part Silver was raised by his hardworking, principled father – an immigrant from the Cape Verde Islands. Growing up in a small town and attending Catholic school until the eighth grade, Silver kept his nose clean and dreamed his dreams. By the time he entered high school, he had his own saxophone and was trying to learn to play like Lester Young. At the same time, he was taking piano lessons, so the young Silver was a valuable musician. He was willing to go anywhere his father would let him to play.

As Silver was coming out of his teen years in the early 1950s, New York City was home to dozens of jazz giants, the 52nd Street clubs, and the birth of bebop. Just 50 miles down the highway from small town Norwalk, the big city music scene was a magnet and a finishing school for the young Silver. Silver worked first with Stan Getz, then freelanced around the city with names like Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, and Oscar Pettiford. In 1953, Silver joined with Art Blakey to form the Jazz Messengers, and their first album created the mold for the rootsy style of modern jazz known as hard bop. But the use of drugs among members of the Messengers, including Blakey at the time, convinced Silver he should take another path.

It didn’t take long for Silver to find trumpeter Blue Mitchell and tenor Junior Cook to form the most famous version of the Horace Silver Quintet, which, on the Blue Note label, recorded now classic albums like Blowin the Blues Away and Song for My Father. From that point forward, Silver’s tight, imaginative, funky playing and his distinctive, harmonically sophisticated compositions would mark him as an influence on generations of players. In the 70s and 80s, however, although Silver continued to write and record, without the support of a major label, he fell out of the public’s awareness. In the 1990s, Silver returned to Columbia Records and has put out a string of first rate recordings – including Hard Bop Grandpop and Music Has A Sense of Humor. Sad to say, for a time, Silver was forgotten but not gone.

All the more reason for Silver himself – in his modest, graceful, and kind way – to take up his own cause in Let’s Get To The Nitty Gritty, written by Silver with help from Phil Pastras. In telling his own story, Silver never strays too far from music – Lady Music, as he calls her. The details of his childhood and his friendships and romances, his marriage and son – all of these are presented in a matter-of-fact way but without a great many, shall we say, sordid details. Not that there necessarily are sordid details. Silver says he has lived a clean and even spiritual life, to the benefit of both his music and his longevity. Nitty Gritty is shot through with appearances by and stories about jazz greats from the past 50 years, but the closest it comes to digging up any dirt is Silver’s parting of ways with Art Blakey. And even then, Silver always takes the high ground – in the end burying the hatchet.

Straightforward, with a light sense of humor and a genuine sense of the joy to be found in life, this autobiography should remind everyone just how important a pianist and composer Horace Silver is – and that his life is all the more remarkable for the well-lit path he walked each day.

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Saturday

Song, Artist, Album

Catch, Pat Martino, Interchange
Cheers, Jackie Maclean, Vertigo
You and Me, Wynton Marsalis Quartet, The Magic Hour
Macdaddy, Cyrus Chstnut, Revelation
I'm Yours, You're Mine, Betty Carter, I'm Yours, You're Mine
Newest Blues, McBride/Jackson/Cobb/Walton, New York Time
Soft Shoe, John Scofield, Groove Elation
Atlantis, Wallace Roney, Mystikal
Lotus Blossum, Lovano/Jones/Mraz/Motian, Billy Strayhorn: Lush Life
Monk's Dream, Thelonius Monk Quartet, Monk's Dream
Self-Portrait in Three Colors, Charles Mingus, Mingus Ah Um
Like Someone in Love, John Coltrane, Lush Life
Y2 Chaos, Trio 3, Open Ideas
Les, Eric Dolphy Quintet, Outward Bound
I Didn't Know What Time It Was, Curtis Fuller, Keep It Simple
What a Little Moonlight Can Do, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Live at Yoshi's
Parade du Funk, The Brubeck Brothers Quartet, Intuition
Tiny's Boogie, Tiny Grimes, The United Records Story
Maple Plank, Stanton Moore, III
In the Wee Wee Hours, Professor Longhair, Alligator Records: 35 x 35
Sailing On, Derek Trucks Band, Song Lines
Good Understanding, Willie Dixon, Bluesland - Original Classics Sampler
Down Home Blues, Jimmy Witherspoon, We [Heart] The Blues
Driftin' Blues, Johnny Moore's Three Blazes, Martin Scorsese Presents Piano Blues
On the Back Seat of a Greyhound Bus, Luther ''Guitar Jr.'' Johnson, Slammin' on the West Side
Boogie Overture, Matt Guitar Murphy, Lucky Charm
In the Dark, Magic Slim & The Teardrops, The Ain't Right
Send Me To The 'Lectric Chair, Bessie Smith, Martin Scorsese Presents Bessie Smith

Lessons Unlearned: Homophobia in Sports

Broadcast 1/16/2007

No doubt by now you’ve heard – or at least heard of – comments from a certain retired professional basketball player, a five time NBA All-Star who played the better parts of six seasons with the hometown Heat.

Now, make no mistake – there’s not much room for misinterpretation of this ex-Heat player’s comments. He said he didn’t care for gay people, that he didn’t want to be around them. In responding to a follow-up question, he very clearly said, ''I hate gay people. I let it be known. I don't like gay people. I don't like to be around gay people. I'm homophobic. I don't like it. There shouldn't be a world for that or [a place] in the United States for it. I don't like it.''

These statements might be expected from some professional basketball players, in light of the news revealed last week that a former NBA role player, John Amaechi, is gay. Amaechi said so himself. This information flies in the face of the image of professional athletes as touch guys, macho men, hypermasculine superheroes who perform great deeds on the field or the court and get all the ladies after the game.

As with gay men in pro sports, or gay men in the military, or the attempts to ban gay marriage in different parts of the country – what’s really at issue here is plain old bigotry attacking people who are trying to find a place for themselves in the world. That is, to my ear, people who complain so vociferously about how gays and lesbians shouldn’t have a place in the public sphere – that kind of talk sounds like antisemites who used to complain about Jews, or WASPs who hated Catholics, or those racists who are worried about “the Latins” or “colored people” getting ahead in the world.

The fact is – Ted Haggard’s cure aside – that a certain percentage of people on the planet are gay. It’s biology. In fact, most people’s straightness or gayness finds a place on a scale – you might be over here, you might be over there, you might be somewhere in between. That’s just how it works. I understand, buddy -- not you: You’re 100 percent man.

But what is a man, really – other that what he declares himself to be? What is a person in the land of the free and the home of the brave, if he or she can’t declare an identity that is authentic and honest and true. It’s not for anyone but a bigot to attempt to decide that this person “belongs” and that person does not. As long as who you say you are means that you can behave with respect towards others and respect for the laws – when the laws are just and fair – then who you are is okay with me. You can be straight or gay, female or male, white or black. No harm, no foul. But, sorry, if your actions include saying bigoted things in the national media, you have it coming.

As Martin Luther King Jr suggested, “Let us be judged by the content of our character and not by the color of our skin.” Or, to put it another way, “Let us be judged by the public actions we take, and not the private love we make.”

Playlist - Early Jazz Weekend - Saturday

Song, Artist, Album

Where or When, Sonny Rollins, Old Flames
The Best Things in Life Are Free, The Three Sounds, Standards
Life, David ''Fathead'' Newman, Life
Watermelon Man, Herbie Hancock, Head Hunters
Dozen Down, Pat Martino, Think Tank
Salt Peanuts, The Very Tall Band, What's Up?
11 Over 4, Muhal Richard Abrams, One Line, Two Views
Left Sided, Theo Croker, The Fundamentals
Official Silence, Henry Threadgill, Makin' A Move
Vivjanrondirkski, Henry Threadgill, Carry the Day
Land of Nod, Andrew Hill, Black Fire
Lydiot, George Russell Sextet, Ezz-thetics
If I Were A Bell, Steve Kuhn Trio, Live at Birdland
Communication, Ahmed Abdul-Malik, Jazz Sounds of Africa
Cryin' Blues, Charles Mingus, Blues and Roots
Yer Bounda Fara, Ali Farka Toure, Savane
These Hands (Small But Mighty), Bobby ''Blue'' Bland, Greatest Hits, Volume 1 (Duke)
Blues with a Feeling, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, Paul Butterfield Blues Band
All Your Love, John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues
Built for Comfort, Howlin' Wolf, His Best (Chess)
Eisenhower Blues, J.B. Lenoir, Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues
Church is Out, Charlie Musselwhite, Delta Hardware
Bill, Peggy Scott-Adams, Martin Scorsese Presents the Blues
Coin Operated Love, Coco Montoya, Dirty Deal

Django: The Life and Times of a Jazz Legend

Broadcast December 2004

Django Reinhardt was born into a Gypsy family in 1910. In the language of his family, Romany, the word django is a verb that means “to awake.” And the world that Django woke to would, in the end, be awakened by the new forms of music that would come from Django’s mastery of his instrument, the guitar, and his music, jazz. The writer Michael Dregni, who works primarily for Vintage Guitar magazine, has produced a truly informative and readable biography of this great musician. Django: The Life and Music of a Gypsy Legend, is entertaining, thoroughly researched, and filled with an expertise of both Django’s music and his instrument that leads to an examination of his work that can only be described as precise. Author Dregni has written an invaluable book.

This biography begins with a fascinating explanation of the Gypsy culture that Django was born into, a world of caravans and horses, of impromptu markets and entertainment, of stolen chickens and roasted hedgehogs. Django’s family was musical, often performing for crowds on a custom-build stage on the back of the family caravan. Django took up a traditional Gypsy instrument, the banjo, and by his early teens, he was a regular working musician, one of the best in and around Paris, where his family had settled. Django wasn’t playing jazz in those early days, but he was already one of the best at what he did – playing traditional and popular songs of all kinds in and around the dance halls of the City of Lights.

Around the age of 16, in 1926, Django began hearing—either occasionally in the Paris clubs or, eventually, on record—a new form of music from America called jazz. At first, much of what he could heard was not very good, but the freedom of improvisation appealed greatly to Django, who assimilated musical influences easily and who played largely impromptu styles of music in the first place. Sooner or later, though, Django heard a few Louis Armstrong records, and he was a convert for life.

He was about to make a big breakthrough in his career when two pivotal events occurred. First, he was caught in a fire that resulted in his left hand, the hand that frets the notes on the neck of a banjo, being badly scarred. After the fire Django had only the use of two fingers on that hand. Second, while he was recuperating in the hospital from his burns, he was brought a guitar on which to practice. Django altered his technique to suit his new left hand, and emerged from the hospital as a guitarist. It took a few more years, but by 1935, Django was a true jazz star all over Europe.

The book details Django’s musical and career path—his longtime partnership with the great jazz violinist Stephane Grappelli in the legendary Quintette du Hot Club de France, his continuing to play jazz through World War Two in Paris, his evolution with the arrival of bebop, and his tour of the United States with Duke Ellington. Most amusing—and frustrating, I suppose—are the subplots of Django and Grappelli fighting and making up over the years, and of the French jazz critics Hugh Panassié and Charles Delaunay going to war over bebop. All in all, though, a balanced and clear path of Django’s life is presented in this book, right up to his death, of what probably was a stroke, in the early 1950s at the age of 43. He may have been, arguably, the most influential European jazz artist ever.

This Week

The national sports spotlight falls on Miami again (but briefly) as former Miami Heat player Tim Hardaway lets the world know he’s homophobic. I can’t resist. This week’s Passing Notes has the title, “Hardaway Fears Teh Ghey,” and can be heard at 7:06 pm Friday night on 88.9 FM in Miami and in streaming audio magic on SeriousJazz.org.

Early Jazz Weekend looks to be pretty much open, aside from a little Henry Threadgill on Saturday’s show – in tribute to the avant-everything composer’s birthday this past week. We’ve got the Big Six Blues set both Saturday and Sunday, and the usual mix of jazz and funk.

Next week, we’ll roll out a fresh review of the latest novel from Tim Dorsey, a twisted tale called Hurricane Punch. I have posted a review of an earlier novel of Tim's here for your consideration.

Torpedo Juice by Tim Dorsey

Broadcast December 2005

Tim Dorsey was a reporter for the Tampa Tribune for a dozen years before he started finding success as a novelist, writing a series of strange and wonderfully funny novels based on the adventures of an amped-up crusading-for-justice serial killer named Serge Storms.

I can already tell I’ve lost some of you out there. You might remember seeing in your local bookstore one or two of Dorsey’s novels, with their bright covers, eye-catching graphics, and oddly compelling titles: Cadillac Beach, Stingray Shuffle, Triggerfish Twist, Orange Crush, Hammerhead Ranch Motel, and Florida Roadkill. Throughout them all, the stories were sordid, the plots twisted, the characters delightfully eccentric, and Serge Storms tore through them all, talking a mile-a-minute and killing the bad guys with his own colorful, amusing angel-of-death panache.

Dorsey’s seventh novel, Torpedo Juice, taken from the name of a drink: one part grain alcohol, three parts Red Bull. This time around, Serge and his drugged out friend Coleman find themselves in the Florida Keys. Serge is trying to reinvent himself, find a new walk of life, maybe a wife, maybe even settle down. But drug dealers, greedy developers, a couple of sex-starved librarians, and a religious cult that takes Serge as its savior all make his of the simple life rather hard to achieve. Without giving away much of the plot, please believe that Torpedo Juice is hilarious and bizarre from cover to cover, with a nifty ending that resolves the convoluted plot like a magic trick.

In each of his books, writer Dorsey, who is extremely fond of his home state, picks some part of Florida he would like to write about, starts doing his research, and soon enough a story beings to form around Serge in his new setting. Maybe it’s the old reporter in Dorsey that makes his novels, as outrageous as they are, deeply rooted in the weirdness that is life in Florida. In this sense, although I hate to make the comparison, he has a kindred spirit in Carl Hiaasen. Dorsey also shares Hiaasen’s outrage at the greed and corruption of those who would exploit Florida for their own power and profit.

Listen to the following passage describing the environment in southern Dade County:

“Below Miami, you’re on your own. Dixie Highway slants across a hot, dusty wasteland of Max Mad predators, where the famous roadside Coral Castle is now ringed with razor wire, and copulating dogs tumble past the doors of Cash Advance Nation. Above all this, another world away, are the elevated lanes of the Florida Turnpike. [A car] raced south just before dawn until the lanes ended and twisted their way down to merge with US 1. Welcome to Florida City, a franchised boomtown decided by automatic counters and satellite imagery. Mobile, Exxon, Wendy’s, Denny’s, Baskin-Robbins and a continuous row of chain motel signs indicating the cornerstones of the white race are free breakfast and AARP rates.”

Dorsey’s work has an anger and a recklessness that goes beyond Hiaasen’s, and at times readers may find themselves in the midst of passages that seem just this side of being completely out of control. At those times, Dorsey takes the reader places that only the likes of Hunter S. Thompson can go. Dorsey may be, in fact, too strong stuff for some people. Just like the drink – one part grain alcohol, three parts Red Bull. But once you try a sip, you might find you want the whole drink. And then another round, and then another.

Straight, No Chaser - February 10 Picks

Every other Saturday - 8:00 to 9:00 am

in Miami on 88.9 FM Serious Jazz

Song, Artist, Album

“Is What It Is,” Paul Brusger, Go To Plan B
A session of sizzling mainstream hard bop with charts by New York bassist Paul Brusger featuring the heavy baritone sax of fellow New Yorker, Ronnie Cuber in combination with the softer tenor of George Allgaier forming a rich ensemble recording bolstered by the piano play of the late John Hicks in a 2002 recording that was released late last year. (Ed's pick)


“Pistol Pete,” Dave Noland, Nomad
This diverse tenor from Texas brings a rich background of playing experience to his first release as a leader, featuring Dave Demotta on piano, Frank Hauch on bass, and Colby Inzer on drums, with Noland originals alongside standards. (Mark's pick)

“Like It Never Happened,” Jerry Kalaf, Just Like Old Times
One of those not new but overlooked albums, thus qualifying as new to our audience, by Los Angeles-based drummer Kalaf who puts together a piano trio with strings playing an excellent classical jazz sound very similar to the latest recording from Grammy Award winner Alan Broadbent’s “Every Time I Think of You” recorded with the Tokyo strings. (Ed's pick)


“RSVP,” Shirantha Beddage, Roots and Branches
The baritone, tenor, and soprano saxes provide a rich palate of sound for this young player – a Canada native-- with the monster chops. A composer and bandleader who plays many instruments, Beddage and is currently the Director of Jazz Studies at Columbus State University in Georgia. Playing also on this album are Michael Stryker (piano), Ryan Kotler (bass), and Jared Schonig (drums). (Mark's pick)

“Son of Feelings,” The Brian Pastor Big Band, Common Men
A riveting big band album by trombonist Brian Pastor and his Philadelphia-based nineteen-piece big band recording their debut CD blending a combination of jazz standards and original compositions producing a powerful big band sound that swings as evident by this particular tune. (Ed's pick)

“Blue Trane,” Ron Kearns, Looking Back - Stepping Forward
A release from a few years back by one of the DC-areas best tenors and a great teacher as well. Excellent small-group playing with guest Buck Hill on a number of tracks. (Mark's pick)

“Blue Summer,” Landon Knoblock, Listening Between
The debut album from Miami’s own pianist Landon Knoblock a graduate from the University of Miami’s School of Music and experienced sideman of the local jazz scene. The album contains introspective sophisticated music half improvised with light tempos and challenging moods. (Ed's pick)


“Don't Answer That,” The Jeff Gauthier Goatette, One and the Same
A pleasing mix of progressive jazz sounds – some acoustic, some electronic – from a great violin player and his accomplished group. Shades of Pat Metheny, but more textural than melodic when compared with the great guiatarist. Interesting writing and performances from Gauthier and the Goatette – keyboardist David Witham, bassist Joel Hamilton, and brothers Nels Cline on guitar and Alex Cline on percussion. It is jazz-rock? Not many listeners will care. Good stuff. (Mark's pick)

“After The Dance,” Wendy Luck, See You In Rio
Vocalist Wendy Luck offers the sounds of Brazil on a fourteen track new album of beautiful light jazz with a bossa nova and samba flavor recorded in Rio with several Brazilian masters. Luck not only provides the lush vocals but also plays the flute on a session of percussive Brazilian jazz. (Ed's pick)

Early Jazz Weekend - Playlist - Sunday

Song, Artist, Album

I Got Rhythm, Charlie Parker, The Essential. . . (Verve)
Bloomdido, Charlie Parker, The Essential. . . (Verve)
Love for Sale, Charlie Parker, The Cole Porter Songbook
They Can't Take That Away From Me, Charlie Parker, With Strings: The Master Takes (Verve)

Mama Inez, Charlie Parker, South of the Border
A Night in Tunisia, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, Diz & Bird at Carnegie Hall
Soft Lights and Sweet Music, John Coltrane with the Red Garland Trio, Traneing In
Interplay, Coltrane/Jaspar/Sulieman/Young, Interplay for 2 Trumpets and 2 Tenors
Song of the Underground Railroad, John Coltrane, Complete Africa/Brass Sessions
Bessie's Blues, John Coltrane, The Classic Quintet: The Complete Impluse! Recordings
Resolution - Part 2, John Coltrane, A Love Supreme
I Wish I Knew, John Coltrane, The Classic Quintet: The Complete Impluse! Recordings
Godchild, Miles Davis Nonet, Birth of the Cool
Solar, Miles Davis All Stars, Walkin'
Springsville, Miles Davis/Gil Evans, Miles Ahead
E.S.P., Miles Davis Quintet, Best of the Quintet - 65-68
Spanish Key (First Set), Miles Davis, Live at the Fillmore East
Tutu, Russell Gunn, Plays Miles
Shhh/Peaceful, Miles Davis, In A Silent Way
Leaving Trunk, Taj Mahal, The Best of. . . (Columbia/Legacy)
Double Trouble, Otis Rush, The Essential. . . (Cobra)
Roll of the Tumbling Dice, Lonnie Brooks, Roadhouse Rules
TV Mama, Big Joe Turner, The Sky Is Crying: Elmore James
Pick Up The Pieces, Eddie Kirkland, Lonely Street
Wham!, Lonnie Mack, Memphis Wham!
Same Old Blues, Clarence ''Gatemouth'' Brown, Back to Boogaloosa
Canned Heat Blues, Tommy Johnson, Masters of the Delta Blues