Listening to Jazz – 2

 

 

This is the second of the extracts from my writing dealing explicitly with jazz, chosen by Sascha Feinstein to accompany his interview with me which appeared in the Summer, 2017 issue of the journal of jazz and literature, Brilliant Corners.

 

Sloane, skinny in Levis and a plaid shirt, had stood on line at the Five Spot for the best part of an hour and missed most of the first set. Inside, the only seat he’d been able to find squashed him close to several others on a table right up against the stage. Monk soloing against the rhythm, fingers held stiff above the keyboard then jabbing down, the bright percussive sound chiming through the buzz of conversation, clink of glasses, the occasional shout of laughter from the back of the crowded room.

Monk wearing a pale jacket loose across the shoulders, pale green, silver and grey striped tie knotted snug against the collar of his white shirt, dark hair neatly, recently trimmed, no hat tonight, no hat, goatee beard and moustache, dark glasses shielding his eyes. Fingers rolling a little, feeling for a rhythm in the bottom hand, rocking back upon the piano stool and then thrusting forward, elbows angled out, playing with his whole body, and the drummer, seated at Monk’s back, following each movement, listening to each new shift and shuffle, quick and careful as a hawk. Monk’s foot, his right foot, skewed wide and stomping down, punctuating the broken line as, stationed at the piano’s curve, the bassist, eyes closed, feels for the underlying pulse. And Coltrane, John Coltrane, horn hooked over his shoulder, head down, fingers fluttering from time to time over imaginary keys, stands mute, focused, waiting his time.

It comes from a stand alone crime novel, In a True Light, which was originally published by William Heinemann in 2001. Beginning with the release of its central character from prison …

They let Sloane out of prison three days short of his sixtieth birthday. Three years for deception, reduced on appeal to two; six months in Brixton, the remainder in Ford open prison.Naturally lean and wiry, Sloane walked out through the gates a fitter man than when he’d walked in.

A painter, the particular deception of which Sloane was found guilty was that of forgery; of late, he had found other people’s work, in his own exact interpretation, more saleable than his own. The novel works on two time frames, one in the present, following Sloane to New York in search of the daughter he never knew he had, the other tracing him back to the late 50s when he was a young, aspiring abstract expressionist painter in Greenwich Village – which is where and when he gets to listen to Monk.

In my opinion, it’s not a wholly successful novel – I’m not sure now well the different parts fuse together, the contemporary crime scenes in particular – but it does have some scenes of which I’m very fond and even, dare I say it, some writing of which I’m proud. And, of course, it gave me the opportunity to think and write about the art, jazz and poetry of New York during a period that has long held a strong fascination. Frank O’Hara, Jackson Pollock, Helen Frankenthaler, Thelonious Monk.

iPod Shuffle December 2016

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  • Ko-Ko : Duke Ellington and His Famous Orchestra (1940)
  • Edgar Bergen : Joe Henry from Scar
  • Feeling Blue : James P. Johnson (1929)
  • So Cold in Vietnam : Johnny Shines w. Otis Spann & Big Walter Horton (1966)
  • They Say (Alternate Take) : Teddy Wilson & His Orchestra with Billie Holiday, vocal refrain (1939)
  • The First Time I Ran Away : M. Ward
  • From Hank to Hendrix : Neil Young from Neil Young Unplugged
  • Your Song : Elton John from Tumbleweed Connection
  • Summertime : Miles Davis from Porgy & Bess
  • Railroad Bill : Billy Bragg & Joe Henry from Shine a Light
  • How Could We Dare To be Wrong : Colin Blunstone
  • Crepuscule with Nelly  : Thelonious Monk from The Complete 1961 Amsterdam Concert71flw7fvjdl-_sx425_

W Eugene Smith & the Jazz Loft Project

w-eugen-smith-dream

W. Eugene Smith: Dream Street, Pittsburg 1955

This was the photograph, seen on a postcard I suppose, that first brought Eugene Smith to my attention. The late 70s it would have been, possibly early 80s; I was living in Nottingham and working sporadically towards a Ph D thesis on post-war America, film noir and noir fiction. It barely got started, never mind finished. But if it had and if the published version had needed a cover, then this would surely have been a contender. Extremes of black and white, car titled at an angle in a narrow lane, Freudian analysis of dreams, the letter that never came or perhaps it did, the postman who rang twice. How much more noir can you get?

What I didn’t know at the time was that this was just one of 13,000 photographs Smith took in the course of the two years he spent documenting the city of Pittsburg for an assignment that was meant to take three weeks. There followed another two years in which he sought to print and lay out the resulting work. Not a man to do things by halves. Neither a man to suffer the needs and admonitions of picture editors at magazines like Life gladly. They wanted him to hand over the negatives, take his pay cheque and move on to the next job; he wanted to supervise – if not undertake himself – every step of the process, printing, lay out, everything.

The other thing I didn’t know, before seeing Sara Fishko’s recent documentary, was the extent to which Smith worked on images during the printing process; those bright white horizontals along the car’s bumper, for instance, the flare over the offside wheel, almost certainly the result of a skilful application of ferricyanide bleach.

Fishko’s film, The Jazz Loft According to W. Eugene Smith, which I saw as part of the London Jazz Festival, spends sufficient time on Smith’s earlier work – photo essays for Life magazine, including the remarkable photographs from his time with American forces in the South Pacific (where he was seriously wounded) towards the end of World War Two – for it to be clear why he was considered one of the masters of his field.

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W Eugene Smith: Wounded, Dying Infant found by American soldiers in Saipan mountains, June 1944

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W Eugene Smith: Three Generations of Welsh Miners, 1950

But Smith’s battles with those who sought to publish his work never seemed to become easier and his own perfectionism ensured that each new venture took longer and longer, expanding to the point where publication was all but impossible. Joining the Magnum Photo Agency doesn’t seem to have helped a great deal and earning a living to help support his family – he and his wife had four children – became more and more difficult. In 1957, he left them (to fend somehow for themselves apparently, the film isn’t clear about this) to live in a dilapidated loft high in a run down building in New York’s Flower District and there he stayed for seven years, sharing the premises with the composer and arranger Hall Overton and the artist David X. Young.

This was – this became – the Jazz Loft. Musicians would come by after work – which often meant around three in the morning – and jam. Beboppers, Dixielanders, Mainstreamers; Zoot Sims, Pee Wee Russell, Thelonious Monk et cetera. And Smith, more obsessive than ever, recorded everything. Recorded on film: 20,000 photographs taken inside the loft, 20,000 more looking down onto the street from the fourth floor window. Recorded on tape: close to 2,000 reel-to-reel tapes capturing not just the music that was played, but concerts from the radio, conversations, telephone calls.

Beautifully put together, Fishko’s film uses a succession of images and sounds, interlaced with recent interviews with those who were involved, to create a sense of creativity emerging from chaos, and never more clearly than in the section dealing with the collaboration between Monk and Overton which led to the successful concert at New York’s Town Hall on February,28th, 1959. We see Overton, whose students including a young Steve Reich, listening to Monk playing one of his compositions – Little Rootie Tootie – on the piano, then copying down the idiosyncratic voicings and intervals before scoring them for an orchestra comprising trumpet, trombone, French horn, tuba, three saxophones, bass and drums. Not easy to do; not easy to play. The musicians involved, including the alto player, Phil Woods, made it clear how difficult the music was to play, how much rehearsal time was needed – three weeks of rehearsing from three in the morning till early morning, and this, as Woods said, with musicians who hardly ever rehearsed at all.

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W Eugene Smith: Thelonious Monk Orchestra in rehearsal, New York, 1959. Monk at the piano, Overton standing alongside doorway.

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There’s more information about the movie here …

I’m not at all sure where it might be seen theatrically, but it seems to be available for streaming online. See it if you can.

 

Darkness, Darkness Soundtrack

Anyone who saw the recent production of Darkness, Darkness at Nottingham Playhouse will have been aware of the importance of music and sound in the creation of mood and the reinforcement of meaning. The soundscape – incorporating, in addition to  everything from police sirens and gun shots to the chants of Notts County supporters and striking miners, no less than 23 pieces of music – was created by sound designer, Drew Baumohl, working closely with other members of the design team, including filmmaker and video artist, Will Simpson, who was responsible for the projection design.

The initial idea of using the noirish slowcore music of the German band, Bohren & Der Club of Gore and the ambient post rock of the Canadian Godspeed You! Black Emperor to provide the atmospheric interludes and backgrounds, came from the show’s director, Jack McNamara, while the more obviously jazzy selections were mine. I think they work well together.

Here, for anyone wishing to follow up, is a listing of the music used …

Bohren & Der Club of Gore

  • Midnight Black Earth
  • Vigilante Crusader
  • The Art of Coffins
  • Grave Wisdom
  • Maximum Black
  • Skeletal Remains: all from the album, Black Earth
  • Cairo Keller: from Gore Motel
  • Im Raunch
  • Fahr Zur Hollie : from Piano Nights
  • Staub: from Dolores

Godspeed You! Black Emperor

  • Moya: from Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada
  • Asunder, Sweet: from Asunder, Sweet & Other Distress

Thelonious Monk

  •  (I Don’t Stand) A Ghost of a Chance With You: from Thelonious Himself (1957)
  • These Foolish Things: from Thelonious Monk Trio (1954)

Billie Holiday

  • These Foolish Things: from The Quintessential Billie Holiday, Vol 2 (1936)
  • For All We Know: from Lady in Satin (1958)

Joe Temperley

  • I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart: from Easy to Remember (2001)

Coleman Hawkins

  • One Note Samba: from Desafinado (1963)

Pablo Casals

  • Suite No. 1 in G Major, Prelude
  • Suite No. 1 in G Major, Allemande: from Bach Cello Suites (1939)

Cyprien Katsaris

  • Waltz No. 10 in B minor, Op. 69. No. 2: from Chopin-Waltzes

Human League

  • Together in Dreams

Frankie Goes to Hollywood

  • Two Tribes

 

 

 

Jumpin’ with Jazz Steps: Blue Territory Returns!

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October looks as if it’s going to be a busy month, one way or another, with most of my activities – just for a change – centred around Nottingham. Darkness, Darkness is at  Nottingham Playhouse for the first two weeks of the month, and, during the second of those weeks, the band, Blue Territory, [that’s us in action, above] and I will be repeating out previously successful mini-tour of Nottinghamshire libraries [No band bus, no Smarties in the Green Room, and positively no groupies] following the estimable Dave O’Higgins to  Worksop, Southwell and West Bridgford.

Along with some of the familiar pieces about Chet Baker, Thelonious Monk and Charlie Parker, we’ve been working on some new material, including a small tribute to Jack Kerouac, whose poetry and jazz readings with the likes of Al Cohn and Zoot Sims in the 1950s lay at the heart of much that we do.

jazz steps

 

 

Resnick & All That Jazz

 

Jazz Radio

Not so long ago, my daughter and I spent a fascinating hour listening to a programme on the Danish internet radio station, Radio Jazz, enjoying the music but otherwise barely understanding a word, save for the occasional name in English – Chet Baker, Charlie Parker, Charlie Resnick, John Harvey. The broadcast was based around an article by Age Hedley Petersen, Jazz i crime literature – Resnick, and All That Jazz, which was published in the April/May/June issue of the Danish magazine, Jazz Special. In the article, Petersen, a retired music librarian from Fredensborg Bibliotek, traces in some detail the influence and importance of jazz in the Resnick novels and on Resnick’s character, drawing links also with other crime writers, such as Michael Connelly and Bill Moody, for whom jazz is important, even vital.

What follows is a slightly shortened version of the original article in a translation largely by Petersen himself.

Jazz in Crime Literature – Resnick and All That Jazz.

It is always exciting when more than one of your interests are treated simultaneously in what you are reading! I am an incarnate crime reader – not so much of “who-done-its”, but more the ramifications of the American school, Chandler, McBain and others. The authors should also have some opinions on society; and personal portrayal must outweigh the normal stereotypes. Such persons could also often be interested in music, which immediately gives reading a new dimension.

Colin Dexter’s Morse worships opera – and that does not interest me so much. Ian Rankin’s John Rebus listens to a wide variety of rock – and that sounds a lot better to my ears; but when the protagonists wholeheartedly worship jazz and even use themes from the history of jazz in the intrigues, it becomes really exciting.

Six months ago I started to read Michael Connelly’s The Drop from 2014 in which Harry Bosch is investigating the death of a man who has fallen (jumped? pushed?) from a high balcony. This made me think of the late Chet Baker and his tragic death in Amsterdam in 1988. And indeed, home from a long day at the job Bosch is greeted by his daughter who asks him about a poem that sits, framed, in the hallway of his apartment. The poem, titled Chet Baker, was written, he tells her, by the English poet, John Harvey, whom he heard read it in a restaurant in Venice Beach.

Chet Baker

looks out from his hotel room
across the Amstel to the girl
cycling by the canal who lifts
her hand and waves and when
she smiles he is back in times
when every Hollywood producer
wanted to turn his life
into that bitter-sweet story
where he falls badly, but only
in love with Pier Angeli,
Carol Lynley, Natalie Wood;
that day he strolled into the studio,
fall of fifty-two, and played
those perfect lines across
the chords of My Funny Valentine,
and now, when he looks up from
his window and her passing smile
into the blue of a perfect sky,
he knows this is one of those
rare days when he can truly fly.

John Harvey! I was startled at Connelly using one of my other favorite authors, John Harvey, as a person in a novel; was it the same John Harvey, whose protagonist through 12 novels, Charlie Resnick, is an out-and-out jazz aficionado? I decided to email Harvey to satisfy my curiosity, and less than an hour later I received the following response:

Hello! And thanks for getting in touch with your query. The incident in the book is based on an actual occasion; Mike came to hear me reading at a bookshop on Venice Beach, LA – oh, it must be a good 15 years ago now – heard me read the poem, which at that time had not been published, asked how / where he could get a copy, and I happily gave him the sheet of paper I’d been reading from. I doubt if he actually kept the paper, though, or has it framed on his wall!

Of course, Mike contacted me before the book went to press and asked my permission, which I was only too happy to give.

Incidentally, the poem appears in another crime novel by Bill Moody, Looking for Chet Baker, where it is used as a forward to the story. You might like to track down the novel, as it does provide a fictional answer to the riddle surrounding Baker’s death.

The Chet Baker poem is published in Out of Silence, my New & Selected Poems, published by Smith / Doorstop last year. [ Poems also on Roland Kirk, Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk Parker and Lester Young!]”

 I immediately wrote back that I was pretty interested in acquiring the collection, and a few days later I received the following message:

—Book, signed, on its way in the next couple of days. For payment, would you be happy to send a donation the equivalent of £10 sterling to Médecins Sans Frontières? It’s easily done via their web site.

Best wishes, John

This story gave me the urge to reread the novels about the jazz-loving cop Charlie Resnick from Nottingham, and I have “borrowed” a few quotes to prove my points:

The first time the jazz theme is used is in Lonely Hearts (p. 17, Arrow), when Resnick is inspecting a crime scene and …

There were several posters on the walls, clip-framed; from one Monroe looked out, slump-backed on a stool, black clothes, white face. Resnick glanced into her empty eyes and turned away. Words from a song of Billie Holiday nudged away at his mind, images of winter through the slight distortion of glass.

Then, at the beginning of the next chapter (p. 24, Arrow) Resnick is sitting with one of the cats on his lap and listening to music while he eats … (After his wife left him, Resnick acquired four cats and gave them the names Bud, Miles, Pepper and Dizzy; the cats appear in all volumes, except the last where there is only Dizzy)

Billie Holiday and Lester Young were doing it through the headphones, making love to music without ever holding hands.

A short but striking interpretation of what it is all about between those two. In a later book, Cold Light (p. 60, Arrow) it’s again about Billie:

For Christmas, Resnick bought himself [whoever buy Christmas presents for themselves !?] The Complete Billie Holiday on Verve, a new edition of Dizzy Gillespie’s autobiography and The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, LP and Cassette. What he still had to acquire was a CD player.

It takes a while before he purchases the player! Not until two volumes later in Easy Meat (p. 59, Arrow) do we read:

As he ate it he stared across the room at his new acquisition, a brand-new CD player to complement his stereo; his nightly project, working through the tracks of the ten-disc Billie Holiday set he bought himself the Christmas before last.

All through the 12 volumes, jazz is deliberately used to describe the mood Resnick is in. For example, in Cold Light (p. 118, Arrow) …

 There were times, Resnick knew, what you didn’t do was play Billie Holiday singing “Our Love is Here to Stay”; when it was self-pitying, not to say foolish, to listen to her jaunty meander through “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” because it felt as if they already had. What was okay was listening to Ben Webster wailing through “Cottontail”, the version with Oscar Peterson kicking out on the piano; Jimmy Witherspoon reassuring the audience at the Monterey Jazz Festival “Tain’t Nobody’s Business What I Do”. Or what he set to play now, Barney Kessell’s “to swing or not to swing’ with its lower case title and definitions on the cover. The tracks he liked best were uptempo, carefree, Georgie Auld sitting in on tenor, “Moten Swing”, “Indiana”.

 By the way, Resnick is already listening to Webster’s solo on Cottontail – this time from Ellington album Jack the Bear – in Cutting Edge (p. 59, Arrow):

 Ben Webster was just beginning his solo on “Cottontail”, rolling that phrase over the rhythm section, springy and strong from Blanton’s bass, round and round and rich, like rolling it round a barrel of treacle. Just when it seemed to have become stuck, sharp little phrases from the brass digging it out, and then the saxophone lifting itself with more and more urgency, up, up and into the next chorus.

Lester Young is obviously one of his great heroes. In Still Water (p.136, Arrow) Resnick has returned home again after a long day “at the office” and…

 … the room was overlarge, heavy, almost unwelcoming. When he sat, his eyes were drawn to the Herman Leonard photograph of Lester Young framed on the wall; Lester looking tired, older than his forty-something years, either he had grown out of his suit, or his suit had grown out of him.

When, not so very much later, Resnick went up to bed, he left the stereo playing, Lester in his youth and glory, the sound of his saxophone , light and sinuously rhythmic, tracing him up the stairs” “I Never Knew”, “If Dreams Came True”, “I’ve Found a New Baby”, “The World is Mad” parts one and two.

 In the first books, with a few exceptions, it is thus mostly the big swing names Resnick listens to; but later he expands the repertoire with bebop and Thelonious Monk becomes the big favorite: Easy Meat (p. 124, Arrow) …

It was a bad sign, Resnick knew, when he played Monk last thing at night, the pianist’s fractured attempts at melody obeying no logic but their own. A big man, as Resnick was big, Monk’s fingers stabbed down at single notes, crushed chords into the beauty of an abstract painting, twisted scaffolding seen in a certain light.

It is so precise a description of Monk’s playing, that it is enough to listen with one’s inner ear to understand!

In the “swan song”, Darkness, Darkness – according to the author the final novel about Charlie Resnick and unfortunately not yet translated into Danish – Resnick comes home deeply affected by a personal tragedy that should not be divulged here (p. 77, Heinemann):

—Inside, he shrugged off his coat, walked the house from room to room. Made coffee and left it untouched. Finally, in the living room, he burrowed through the shelves of albums and CDs, searching, not for something calming, consoling, nothing that might trigger a memory, happy or sad, but this: the Eric Dolphy / Booker Little Quintet: Live at the Five Spot, New York, 16. July 1961. Track three: “Aggression”. 16 minutes and 40 seconds.

Resnick even attends concerts on rare occasions. In Darkness, Darkness, for instance, he mentions a trip he made in his youth, in 1969, from Nottingham to Manchester’s Free Trade Hall to listen to Duke Ellington’s orchestra, and he can still accurately remember the orchestra’s personnel. And the novel Still Water (pp.1 & 2, Arrow) begins with the following:

It was the night Milt Jackson came to town: Milt Jackson, who for more than twenty years had been a member of one of the most famous jazz groups in the world, the Modern Jazz Quartet; who had gone into the studio, Christmas Eve, 1954, and along with Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk, recorded one of Resnick’s all-time favourite pieces, “Bag’s Groove”.

Milt Jackson had formed a new quartet and Resnick has cleared his calendar. But unfortunately Resnick’s pager starts bleeping as soon as Milt Jackson raises his felt mallet to start playing:

And there is a moment, Resnick bulkily rising from his seat near the centre of rwo four and fumbling inside his coat as he excuses himself, embrarrassed, past people’s knees, in which Jackson, expression shifting between annoyance and amusement, catches Resnick’s eye and grins.

In Living Proof (pp. 270-271, Arrow) Resnick plans to go to the Old Vic in Nottingham to listen to the new Stan Tracey Duo, but after dinner decides he does not want to go anywhere. Later in the evening he regrets his decision, however, and changes his mind.

He arrived at the pub in time for the last two numbers, Stan Tracey, hunched over the keyboard, angularly manoeuvring his way through “Sophisticated Lady”, taking the tune into seemingly impossible blind alleys ad then escaping through a mixture of finesse and sheer power. Finally, Tracey and an absurdly young-looking Gerard Presencer on trumpet had elided their way along a John Coltrane blues, the audacity of Presencer’s imagination more than matched by his technique.

Yes, “our” Gerard Presencer, who at that time would have been about 20 years old and a star in the making. The two numbers Resnick was in time for – Coltrane’s “Some Other Blues” with piano and trumpet, and Ellington’s “Sophisticated Lady” for solo piano, can be heard on the truly breathtaking CD: Stan Tracey: Live at the QEH (EMI, 1994)

In Still Water (p. 97, Arrow) Resnick visits London in connection with a case of art fraud; and one evening he visits the jazz club, The Rhythmic, that has a guest from the US – Coltrane-inspired pianist Jessica Williams.

 Tall, red-haired, and wearing a long, loose flowing dress, she sat at the piano and for a moment fidgeted with the height of the stool. Even before she began playing, fingers hesitating above the keys, Resnick had noticed the size of her hands. Then, without introduction, she launched into “I Should Care”. Almost deferentially at first, brushing the tune around the edges, feeling her way freshly into a melody she must have played – and Resnick heard – a hundred times. Ten minutes later, when she had exhausted every variation, left hand rocking through a stride pattern that would have made James P. Johnson or Fats Waller beam with pleasure, she finished to a roar of disbelieving applause.

By the time he walked back out into the London night some hours later, he knew he had been in the presence of something – someone – special.

Finally, to return to Bill Moody, whom Harvey mentioned in his original answer to my inquiry, and who is mentioned in Harvey’s 2006 novel, Cold in Hand (p. 70, Arrow).

Resnick listened to some more music, reading for the second time a book by Bill Moody about Chet Baker, while Lynn took a bath.

Later, in the same novel, when a colleague visits Resnick’s house and studies his bookshelves, she finds Moody’s novel there in the company of another Moody novel, The Sound of the Trumpet, Art Pepper’s autobiography, co-written with his wife, Laurie, Straight Life, and a biography of Thelonious Monk.

Bill Moody is a writer and jazz drummer residing in California, who has played with, among others, Maynard Ferguson and Lou Rawls. His novel Looking for Chet Baker, released in 2002, is the fifth of six novels about jazz pianist and amateur detective Evan Horne (none of them, sadly, translated into Danish). In the novel, Horne goes to Amsterdam to play a concert with tenor saxophonist Fletcher Paige and while he is there he is asked by a friend to do some research into Chet Baker’s death. The novel is definitely worth reading. Here in Moody’s novels, jazz is actually the main theme!

Thus, we see that the mystery surrounding Chet Baker’s death traces through the works of at least three authors – Connelly, Harvey and Moody; and the comparison with the Danish poet Michael Strunge’s death two years earlier is obvious. At the memorial plaque at the entrance to Webersgade 17 in Copenhagen his last words are inculcated: “Now I can fly”.

Bibliographical notes:

At the end of the 10th volume in the Resnick series, Last Rites (p.355, Arrow) , which, at the time, was thought to be the last Resnick novel, there is a coda in which Harvey clarifies his sources of inspiration, and it ends with:

The odd sandwich aside, I think it was jazz that kept Charlie sane, that provided him with both release and inspiration. Me, too. In the writing of these books I have relied, again and again, on the music of Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Thelonious Monk, Spike Robinson, Ben Webster with Art Tatum, and Lester Young. Let it live on.

In 2009 Harvey published the collection Minor Key (Five Leaves Press, Nottingham) – in 500 copies, numbered and signed, the royalties going to charity. The book opens with the essay, Resnick, Nottingham, and All That Jazz, a greatly extended coda in which Harvey sets out his approach to jazz, which began with a schoolmate’s uncle’s collection of 78’s by names like Ellington, Earl Bostic, Louis Jordan and Billie Holiday.It also contains five short stories including four with Resnick as the protagonist, and six poems-among others, “Chet Baker” and “Art Pepper”.

Harvey’s and Connelly’s novels in Danish are best found at the website: bibliografi.dk and can be borrowed via the danish public libraries. This also applies to the non-translated 12th volume of the Resnick series: Darkness, Darkness (London, Heinemann, 2014). John Harvey can be followed on the website http://www.mellotone.co.uk and his blog “Some days you do …” which has a link to his “Ten records for a Desert Island”, number one of which is Thelonious Monk Plays Duke Ellington.

John Harvey: Minor Key, Nottingham, Five Leaves, 2009.
John Harvey: Out of Silence, New & Selected Poems, Sheffield, Smith / Doorstop Books, 2014.
Bill Moody: Looking for Chet Baker, New York, Walker & Company, 2002.

Jazz Colour p2

Needless to say, I’m extremely grateful to Age Hedley Petersen for all of the research and enthusiasm that went into his essay, just as I am to Jazz Special for publishing it so beautifully, with wonderful illustrations by Agnete Morell, and to Radio Jazz for affording Charlie an hour of air time.

Thank you, Denmark! I can’t see – or hear – it happening here.

iPod Shuffle, April 2016

  1. Easter Parade : Jessica Williams
  2. My One & Only Love : John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman
  3. Beautiful Love : Anita O’Day
  4. Sunny Afternoon : The Kinks
  5. Blueprint Man : Liz Simcock
  6. Morning Song for Sally : Nanci Griffith
  7. Lights of Laramie : Ian Tyson
  8. Old Man : Neil Young
  9. Under a Blanket of Blue : Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong
  10. Frost & Fire : Everything But The Girl
  11. Worried Life Blues : Johnny Shines
  12. Joe Turner Blues : Mississippi John Hurt

Jessica Williams’ take on Easter Parade lifts it a long way from memories of Fred Astaire and Judy Garland and no small blessing in that. I’ve always enjoyed the way she takes tunes and gives them a good old shake up and runaround before easing them down and leaving them relatively unscarred. She usually includes a couple of Monk compositions in any set and makes as good use of them as most. I’ve seen her perform live twice, once at the Purcell Room on the South Bank in London, and once at a free gig in a park in Sacramento. Ace, both times.

Johnny Hartman is a singer I’d never really listened to until his voice was featured prominently in Eastwood’s The Bridges of Madison County [and what a good and under-rated film that is] but after that I sought him out and found at least two fine albums, one with Coltrane and one with the trumpeter, Howard McGhee. Anita O’Day, on the other hand, has always been a favourite, and this track comes from her 1955 album, Anita – one of the first 12″ LPs I owned – with, if my memory serves, Barney Kessel’s guitar on some tracks and a ‘choir’ of four trombones on others.

61Vknas-g1L._SS280

Blueprint Man comes from singer/songwriter Liz Simcock’s 2008 album Beachcomber and finds Liz is nicely ironic mood in a song and arrangement (nice banjo! not something I say often) that bring to mind some of the late Dory Previn’s work, pieces like A Stone for Bessie Smith and Mary C. Brown and the Hollywood Sign. Tough whether Liz knows Previn’s work at all I’ve no idea.

Incidentally, if you’re within reach of the Poetry Café in London’s Covent Garden on Friday evening, April 22nd, you can hear Liz playing a couple of sets either side of poetry readings by Danielle Hope and myself.

https://fourthfriday.wordpress.com

iPod Shuffle, March 2016

Okay, on this blisteringly cold but sunny morning on Hampstead Heath, this is what my iPod delivered.

  1. I Want You : Bob Dylan from Blonde on Blonde
  2. Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me : Mose Allison from M0se Allison Sings & Plays
  3. You’re Gonna Quit Me : Bob Dylan from Good As I Been to You
  4. Cold Hearts/Closed Minds : Nanci Griffith from Lone Star State of Mind
  5. Hospital Food : Eels from Electro-Shock Blues
  6. I’m Old Fashioned : Ella Fitzgerald from Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Jerome Kern Songbook
  7. Blues for Humph : Humphrey Lyttelton Band with Pat Halcox from Remembering Pat Halcox
  8. Baby Sister Blues : Johnny Shines from Standing at the Crossroads
  9. Dancing Dave : Henry Allen & His Orchestra from Swing Out
  10. Trinkle Tinkle : Thelonious Monk from Thelonious Monk Trio
  11. Reputation : Dusty Springfield from Goin’ Back
  12. Goodbye : Art Pepper from Unreleased Art Vol. III

The first track here is one of a very few I can remember hearing for the very first time – the place and the occasion, if not the precise date. The late 60s it would have been, several years after the album was first released, and I’d driven a minibus full of secondary school students up to London from Andover, where I was teaching, to the Roundhouse to see Nicol Williamson’s Hamlet, with Marianne Faithful as Ophelia. I’d promised the students that we would stop off, briefly, in Carnaby Street on the way home. And when I stepped into one of the then highly fashionable clothing stores they were playing I Want You at full, glorious volume. Why had I never heard it till then?

What else is especially interesting here? The Lyttelton track is a curiosity, Humph being laid low with some ailment or other and unable to make to trip to Prague and Pat Halcox, long time trumpeter with the Chris Barber Band, stepping in. It’s a longish track, recorded live, and, in addition to Halcox’s strong lead, features Malcolm Everson on baritone sax.

Johnny Shines has been one of my favourite blues singers ever since hearing the recordings he made for J.O.B. in 1953, his voice strongly reminiscent of Howling Wolf, his bottleneck guitar playing recalling his other main influence, Robert Johnson. After these recordings, he more or less gave up music, working in construction until, like many others, he was rediscovered in the blues revival of the mid-sixties, and began recording again, this time in a more contemporary Chicago style, working with musicians like Otis Spann and Big Walter Horton. This particular track comes from 1970 and finds him returning to the solo acoustic rural blues style of his earlier days.

And then, of course, there’s Dusty … sitting, perhaps incongruously, next to Art Pepper –but perhaps not. Two artists, two of many, whose particular demons laid them low too often, too soon.

Le Playlist de Jazz

For its summer issue, the French jazz magazine, Le JazzoPhone, asked me to choose my ten Desert Island jazz recordings, the ones I play most and would not like to live without. Here they are (with a little cheating around No 7) …

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1.Thelonious Monk Plays Duke Ellington

2. Art Tatum-Ben Webster : Art Tatum Masterpieces, Vol 8

3. Roland Kirk : We Free Kings

4. Art Pepper Meets the Rhythm Section

5. Count Basie : The Atomic Mr Basie

6. Serge Chaloff : Blue Serge

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7. Billie Holiday : The Quintessential Billie Holiday, Vols 1 – 9

8. Duke Ellington : Highlights of the Great 1940-1942 Band

9. John Lewis : Improvised Meditations & Excursions

10. Joe Temperley : Double Duke

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Albert Irvin 1922 – 2015

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It’s a testimony to my own ignorance that I hadn’t heard of Bert Irvin until, some dozen or more years ago, already in the later years of his life, he was a guest on Michael Berkeley’s Private Passions on Radio 3. What struck me immediately was the generous and cant-free way in which he talked about art, his unforced and clearly genuine enthusiasm for both painting and music, Shostakovich and Thelonious Monk as much an inspiration as Pollock and deKooning.

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It so happened that not long after hearing the programme I mentioned Irvin to the writer and sometime artist Trevor Preston, who, it turned out, not only knew him quite well but could furnish me with an address. I duly contacted Irvin, and, as a result, was invited to the opening of an exhibition of new work at his London gallery, Gimpel Fils, where we met and talked. Thereafter, we remained in touch, largely by virtue of an exchange of cards at Christmas – his, each year, a stunning print in his recognisably vibrant style.

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Trained at Northampton School of Art and at Goldsmiths in south-east London, where he was later to teach, Irvin was an RAF navigator during WW2, the experience of flying one he shared with the Cornish artist Peter Lanyon. to whose work he felt close,  and which may well have influenced – as it did Lanyon – the form and shape of his earlier abstract paintings.

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Although he had his first solo exhibitions in 1960, it wasn’t until the 1980s that Irvin’s work began to be more widely known and displayed, corresponding with a move from painting in oils to acrylics and the bolder and more vibrant use of colour that distinguished his later style; this period also saw the beginning of his relationship as a screenprinter with the Advanced Graphics studio in London which endured in the most positive manner until his death. A true formidable artist and a lovely man, it it was an honour for me to have known him to the small degree that I did.

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