Sound is bad in places, but McPherson is a great player with a lot of experience and wisdom.
Showing posts with label musician. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musician. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Buddy Rich Bus Tapes
For many years these were an underground secret, secretly recorded in the early 80s (1983?) on the band bus while Buddy Rich chewed them out.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Funk legend Sly Stone now homeless and living out of a van in LA
NY Post says he's living in a van in Los Angeles;
Funk legend Sly Stone now homeless and living out of a van in LA
By WILLEM ALKEMA and REED TUCKER
Last Updated: 5:33 AM, September 25, 2011
Posted: 2:05 AM, September 25, 2011
In his heyday, he lived at 783 Bel Air Road, a four-bedroom, 5,432-square-foot Beverly Hills mansion that once belonged to John Phillips of The Mamas & the Papas.
The Tudor-style house was tricked out in his signature funky black, white and red color scheme. Shag carpet. Tiffany lamps in every room. A round water bed in the master bedroom. There were parties where Stevie Wonder, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Miles Davis would drop by, where Etta James would break into “At Last” by the bar.
Just four years ago, he resided in a Napa Valley house so large it could only be described as a “compound,” with a vineyard out back and multiple cars in the driveway.
But those days are gone.
Today, Sly Stone -- one of the greatest figures in soul-music history -- is homeless, his fortune stolen by a lethal combination of excess, substance abuse and financial mismanagement. He lays his head inside a white camper van ironically stamped with the words “Pleasure Way” on the side. The van is parked on a residential street in Crenshaw, the rough Los Angeles neighborhood where “Boyz n the Hood” was set. A retired couple makes sure he eats once a day, and Stone showers at their house. The couple’s son serves as his assistant and driver.
Inside the van, the former mastermind of Sly & the Family Stone, now 68, continues to record music with the help of a laptop computer.
“I like my small camper,” he says, his voice raspy with age and years of hard living. “I just do not want to return to a fixed home. I cannot stand being in one place. I must keep moving.”
Stone has been difficult to pin down for years. In the last two decades, he’s become one of music’s most enigmatic figures, bordering on reclusive. You’d be forgiven for assuming he’s dead. He rarely appears in public, and just getting him in a room requires hours or years of detective work, middlemen and, of course, making peace with the likelihood that he just won’t show up.
There was a time when Sly was difficult to escape. Stone, whose real name is Sylvester Stewart, was one of the most visible, flamboyant figures of the late 1960s and early 1970s.
The multiracial, multi-gender band that Stone assembled fused funk, soul and psychedelic rock and became one of the most influential acts ever. The San Fran-based group released a string of hits beginning with the 1968 album “Dance to the Music,” followed by “Everyday People,” “Family Affair,” “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” and “Stand!”
The group’s costumes and showmanship were just as memorable. The members favored giant afros, flashy capes, Beatle boots, neon vests and leopard-print jumpsuits.
Read the full post HERE.
Funk legend Sly Stone now homeless and living out of a van in LA
By WILLEM ALKEMA and REED TUCKER
Last Updated: 5:33 AM, September 25, 2011
Posted: 2:05 AM, September 25, 2011
In his heyday, he lived at 783 Bel Air Road, a four-bedroom, 5,432-square-foot Beverly Hills mansion that once belonged to John Phillips of The Mamas & the Papas.
The Tudor-style house was tricked out in his signature funky black, white and red color scheme. Shag carpet. Tiffany lamps in every room. A round water bed in the master bedroom. There were parties where Stevie Wonder, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Miles Davis would drop by, where Etta James would break into “At Last” by the bar.
Just four years ago, he resided in a Napa Valley house so large it could only be described as a “compound,” with a vineyard out back and multiple cars in the driveway.
But those days are gone.
Today, Sly Stone -- one of the greatest figures in soul-music history -- is homeless, his fortune stolen by a lethal combination of excess, substance abuse and financial mismanagement. He lays his head inside a white camper van ironically stamped with the words “Pleasure Way” on the side. The van is parked on a residential street in Crenshaw, the rough Los Angeles neighborhood where “Boyz n the Hood” was set. A retired couple makes sure he eats once a day, and Stone showers at their house. The couple’s son serves as his assistant and driver.
Inside the van, the former mastermind of Sly & the Family Stone, now 68, continues to record music with the help of a laptop computer.
“I like my small camper,” he says, his voice raspy with age and years of hard living. “I just do not want to return to a fixed home. I cannot stand being in one place. I must keep moving.”
Stone has been difficult to pin down for years. In the last two decades, he’s become one of music’s most enigmatic figures, bordering on reclusive. You’d be forgiven for assuming he’s dead. He rarely appears in public, and just getting him in a room requires hours or years of detective work, middlemen and, of course, making peace with the likelihood that he just won’t show up.
There was a time when Sly was difficult to escape. Stone, whose real name is Sylvester Stewart, was one of the most visible, flamboyant figures of the late 1960s and early 1970s.
The multiracial, multi-gender band that Stone assembled fused funk, soul and psychedelic rock and became one of the most influential acts ever. The San Fran-based group released a string of hits beginning with the 1968 album “Dance to the Music,” followed by “Everyday People,” “Family Affair,” “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” and “Stand!”
The group’s costumes and showmanship were just as memorable. The members favored giant afros, flashy capes, Beatle boots, neon vests and leopard-print jumpsuits.
Read the full post HERE.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Bob Dylan's The times They Are a-Changin' on his 70th Birthday
Dylan composed and recorded this in 1963 when he was twenty-two years old. Some of his commentary on the song makes sound as if he was working on intuition, not really getting what it was about to some degree. It's simple musically, though I dig the rhyme scheme. But man, for all its stark simplicity Dylan instinctively nailed the sea change that was in the air and coming.
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's naming.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's naming.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Bacteria in brass instruments
on man, this is disgusting. And if you have ever been around a lot of brass players, you know that wherever they play, they slow condensation and saliva onto the floor via their spit valves. Keep that in mind when you read this:
NPR
Think Music Heals? Trombone Player Begs To Differ
by Diane Orson
September 8, 2010 from WNPR
Each day, thousands of music students head to band practice with their trumpets, trombones and saxophones. But they may want to pay a bit more attention to the way they clean out their instruments when rehearsal is over. One musician in Connecticut learned the hard way about the dangers of not cleaning his horn — after he developed a condition that's being called "trombone players' lung."
Scott Bean spends hours each day performing, practicing and teaching the trombone. But for years, Bean struggled with health problems that made it hard to play his instrument.
"I coughed. I had a horrible deep barking cough — especially when I played trombone. I had a sore throat, lost 60 pounds at a time, had a low-grade fever," he says. "It was a huge hindrance."
The Stuff Inside
Doctors thought Bean had asthma, but none of the usual therapies worked. After 15 years, Bean went on vacation for the first time without his trombone — and felt better. He began to wonder if the instrument could be making him sick.
A doctor at the University of Connecticut took a culture from inside his horn.
"Then he calls me up and says, 'Scott, we know what's in your trombone,'" Bean says.
It was a mold called fusarium, says Mark Metersky, a professor at the University of Connecticut Medical School's division of pulmonary and critical care.
"He also grew a type of bacteria called a mycobacterium, sort of a cousin of tuberculosis," Metersky says.
This stuff inside the trombone was causing an allergic reaction, which led to hypersensitivity pneumonitis, a severe inflammation of the lungs. Microscopic organisms were breaking off and getting into Bean's lungs each time he inhaled.
Bean admits brass players are often lax about cleaning their horns.
"You talk about cleaning out your instrument, and they laugh and make some funny remark about it," he says. "I never cleaned out my trombone — maybe once every other year. We never clean it out."
Not Alone
Mold and bacteria could grow in any brass instrument. And for most players, it wouldn't matter much, except maybe aesthetically. But for a subset of people who react to these organisms, it's no joke. Metersky set out to see how common a problem it was. He asked several professional musicians if he could culture the insides of their trombones and trumpets for a pilot study.
"Things plopped out," Metersky says. "It was disgusting. Imagine the worst thing you've found in your refrigerator in food that you've left for a few months, and that was coming out of these instruments."
Metersky stopped testing after 10 instruments, because they all were contaminated....
.....
Doctors have known about this disease for a while, but Cecile Rose, a hypersensitivity pneumonitis expert at National Jewish Health in Colorado, says no one has ever thought to connect it to musical instruments.....
Read and hear the entire story HERE.
NPR
Think Music Heals? Trombone Player Begs To Differ
by Diane Orson
September 8, 2010 from WNPR
Each day, thousands of music students head to band practice with their trumpets, trombones and saxophones. But they may want to pay a bit more attention to the way they clean out their instruments when rehearsal is over. One musician in Connecticut learned the hard way about the dangers of not cleaning his horn — after he developed a condition that's being called "trombone players' lung."
Scott Bean spends hours each day performing, practicing and teaching the trombone. But for years, Bean struggled with health problems that made it hard to play his instrument.
"I coughed. I had a horrible deep barking cough — especially when I played trombone. I had a sore throat, lost 60 pounds at a time, had a low-grade fever," he says. "It was a huge hindrance."
The Stuff Inside
Doctors thought Bean had asthma, but none of the usual therapies worked. After 15 years, Bean went on vacation for the first time without his trombone — and felt better. He began to wonder if the instrument could be making him sick.
A doctor at the University of Connecticut took a culture from inside his horn.
"Then he calls me up and says, 'Scott, we know what's in your trombone,'" Bean says.
It was a mold called fusarium, says Mark Metersky, a professor at the University of Connecticut Medical School's division of pulmonary and critical care.
"He also grew a type of bacteria called a mycobacterium, sort of a cousin of tuberculosis," Metersky says.
This stuff inside the trombone was causing an allergic reaction, which led to hypersensitivity pneumonitis, a severe inflammation of the lungs. Microscopic organisms were breaking off and getting into Bean's lungs each time he inhaled.
Bean admits brass players are often lax about cleaning their horns.
"You talk about cleaning out your instrument, and they laugh and make some funny remark about it," he says. "I never cleaned out my trombone — maybe once every other year. We never clean it out."
Not Alone
Mold and bacteria could grow in any brass instrument. And for most players, it wouldn't matter much, except maybe aesthetically. But for a subset of people who react to these organisms, it's no joke. Metersky set out to see how common a problem it was. He asked several professional musicians if he could culture the insides of their trombones and trumpets for a pilot study.
"Things plopped out," Metersky says. "It was disgusting. Imagine the worst thing you've found in your refrigerator in food that you've left for a few months, and that was coming out of these instruments."
Metersky stopped testing after 10 instruments, because they all were contaminated....
.....
Doctors have known about this disease for a while, but Cecile Rose, a hypersensitivity pneumonitis expert at National Jewish Health in Colorado, says no one has ever thought to connect it to musical instruments.....
Read and hear the entire story HERE.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Cartoon classic: David Byrne runs into Paul Simon
Classic world music zinger of a comic.
David Byrne and Paul Simon as modern-day Stanley and Livingston (armed with microphones and recorders rather than rifles), searching the world for hip and exotic inspiration:
By Drew Friedman from Spy Magazine, date unknown.
David Byrne and Paul Simon as modern-day Stanley and Livingston (armed with microphones and recorders rather than rifles), searching the world for hip and exotic inspiration:
By Drew Friedman from Spy Magazine, date unknown.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Springsteen's Born In the USA (live and acoustic)
It's easy to see in hindsight how Springsteen's post-Vietnam Rust Belt anthem got mistaken for a jingoistic rock tune. Funny how music has a way of doing that (making one misinterpret or overlook the words). I remember seeing Springsteen doing this acoustic version a long time ago on the Charlie Rose Show (PBS). The show was an hour-long interview and then they finished with this,no introducing it, no comment afterword, just the titles (at least that's how I remember it). It was the first time I had seen the acoustic version and I was floored. I recently found the show version on YouTube:
And here is another live acoustic version from a concert. The twelve-string sounds great:
And here is another live acoustic version from a concert. The twelve-string sounds great:
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Jason Marsalis: The Definition of a Jazz Nerd
"The Definition of a Jazz Nerd"
by Jason Marsalis
Note posted on the Facebook page of Jason Marsalis
Reposted by permission of Jason Marsalis
June 16, 2010
originally posted to Facebook today at 12:20pm
I’ve been lucky to grow up as a privileged musician. I’ve been surrounded by a considerable amount of information and various influences from different genres of music. As a high school and college student, jazz students I knew were very knowledgeable about music and hungry for even more. Then in the early 2000’s, something happened. While performing with some of the new jazz students relocating to the New Orleans area, I noticed something missing in their music. As I became familiar with their compositions and solo performances, my suspicions were confirmed; while their music was often complex with a different mood, it was unfortunately lacking in knowledge of the Jazz tradition.
These musicians did not take sufficient time to investigate jazz before 1990 nor did they have a belief in that music. I then realized that these musicians did not have many opportunities to play outside of the classroom situation. Therefore, playing Jazz for an audience was not part of their musical experience. As I traveled the country, I began seeing this as a trend. Jazz students would play an abundance of notes in an abstract manner without an understanding of basic melodic content.
During this time, I overheard a musician describe hearing music in which musicians played notes and patterns over complex chord changes as “nerd music”. That term struck a chord with me because that was same thing I was hearing from college students, and some professional musicians, around the country. At that moment I realized the trend that was happening with Jazz music and I coined the phrase the “JNA”, the Jazz Nerds of America.
As I traveled to Europe and Canada, I discovered common attitudes were pertinent my observations. Jazz musicians in both countries said the same thing is happening with music students in their respective regions. At this point I’m getting notoriously disturbed about the new music I’ve been hearing. Finally, in a conversation with my father, he told me of a set he attended at a New York Jazz club and heard music that I would describe as being played by JNA members. He noticed that the band members had their heads buried in the music and made no eye contact with the audience. He also observed a very attentive audience working hard to like what they were hearing. Basically, instead of enjoying the music, they were expending energy in an attempt to connect with what was being played.
At this point I decided to warn the Jazz audience about the JNA. When I would tell my story, it would be part musician/part raving street preacher to elicit laughs from the audience. I would advise them to run away from “nerd music” as fast as they can. One night in Toronto, I told my JNA story to the audience and Keita Hopkinson, someone who was helping put together the show, wanted to film my rant on his iPhone. I agreed and he posted it on YouTube.
I recently received a phone call from band mate and pianist Marcus Roberts and he mentioned that received an e-mail about my “jazz nerd” video and that it was getting a lot of attention over the Internet. I did a Google search on jazz nerd international and lots of entries appeared. It was humorous that JNA was getting this much attention. The articles were also interesting reads. The only troublesome aspect was that my views were misconstrued and misdirected into another conversation contrary to what the video was about. Some of the blame falls on me because a lot of the musical examples presented in the video were done in a vague fashion. This is why I have decided to write an essay to explain my problem with the “jazz nerd”
Let’s define a jazz nerd. A jazz nerd, or JNA for short, is a Jazz student who reduces all music to notes and concepts only. JNA worships complexity while ridiculing simplicity. JNA will hear groups lead by Dave Holland and Wayne Shorter and will marvel at the complex musical structure but ignore the historical substance behind their music. JNA saxophonists will listen to and worhsip the music of Mark Turner, Chris Potter, Michael Brecker, and other modern players but ignore the musicians that have influenced their music such as John Coltrane, Dexter Gordon, Warne Marsh, and Sonny Rollins. JNA will hear the music of James Brown and say that it’s no big deal because it only has two chords. JNA looks down on blues as “simple” while wanting to play endless non-melodic eighth and sixteenth notes over “All the Things You Are” in 7/4 straight feel. JNA finds a slow blues boring. Swing is uninteresting and straight feel is actually more “challenging” and “exciting”. Instead of embracing both, the JNA worships one while ridiculing the other. 4/4 is “old” while 9/8 is “new”. A basic drum groove is boring unless you fill it with lots of notes. For the JNA, that’s modern music-as many complex notes as possible while ignoring the simple elements and history behind the notes.
In the infamous video, it seemed as though I was attacking odd-meters. Anyone that knows my music would rightfully label that hypocrisy. It isn’t the time signatures I was attacking but rather the highly indifferent approach the JNA would employ in the name of creating music. They play all odd meters the same way, straight and medium-to-fast. They’re not interested in bringing a variety of grooves and mood to odd-meters. Furthermore, a jazz nerd will have music that will modulate from 5/4 to 9/8 to 7/4 in a matter of measures while playing a barrage of notes that make no sense. As an audience member you actually can’t tell what the band is playing since there’s no clarity of chord movement or rhythm. This approach to odd meters can work, as exemplified by tenor saxophonist John Ellis’ composition “Bonus Round”, but cluttering the space doesn’t help the music. The music student has fun but the audience has nothing with which to connect and therefore is sitting on their hands.
As far as today’s music is concerned, I do have a problem with another trend that isn’t exclusive to the JNA, but it affects jazz music and JNA members usually believe in it. It’s what I call “innovation propaganda”. It is rooted in the fact that starting in the 1980’s and through the 90’s, there were jazz musicians interested in the history of the music. They wanted to explore jazz music from the 50’s and 60’s, a period of music that there generation hadn’t previously explored. While there was an audience for this music, there were jazz writers and musicians who excoriated them as “neoclassicists” who were bringing jazz backwards and were not moving the music forward. Starting from 2000, the majority of today’s jazz started to reference rock, hip-hop, pop, R&B, and world music. That’s great except there’s a catch. Almost no jazz before 1990 is referenced in the majority of music played today. Jazz magazines and writers created this flavor of kool-aid named “innovation” and when a musician drinks “innovation kool-aid”, you believe the following principles.
1. Jazz has to move forward into the future
2. We can’t get stuck in the past with hero worship
3. Swing is old and dated. We have to use the music of today.
4. Jazz is limiting. You must take a chance by bringing in current styles.
5. I don’t care about the past. I have to do my own thing.
6. We’re past playing American songbook standards. That’s yesterday’s music.
This point of view actually mirrors the same narrow-minded point of view that the “traditionalists” are being accused of. “Traditionalists”, apparently, are only interested in music from 1900-1969. With the majority of the new music, music after 1969, and sometimes 1999, is the only period of interest. Here’s the reality about music. Genres are neutral, all music is old, and music is information. The 20th century has produced lots of music. Rather than dividing it up with categories like “traditional” and “modern” or “old” and “new”, it should be viewed as a century’s worth of information. There’s information in Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Louis Jordan, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Johnny Cash, The Beatles, Cecil Taylor, Jimi Hendrix, George Clinton, Art Ensemble of Chicago, Bob Marley, Stevie Wonder, Weather Report, Michael Jackson, Public Enemy, Genesis, Nirvana, Common, John Legend just to name a few. Hundreds upon thousands of artists in numerous genres were left out, but the point is this music is all available for any musician to employ. There are those that complain of narrowing music through categories; my complaint is about narrowing music through dates. There’s information that can be incorporated in music from 1900 to 2000 in today’s context. Jazz is an open architecture that includes everything from genres to history.
In closing, there are those who wonder why do I bother? Why am I so outspoken about music? Why not let the music speak for itself? Why am I wasting my time with this subject instead of practicing? Well, I’ve been inspired by music for many years from all walks of life and to be honest, I’m bored with the majority of the new music being played today. Newer musicians are being selfish by not including a wide range of history and only thinking of themselves over the music. But there’s a bigger problem; I’m not alone. Earlier, I mentioned that jazz had a larger audience with music that was apparently “retrogressive”. Now, today’s music is hailed by some as pushing jazz into the future but guess what? The audience has dwindled and there are magazine articles asking if the music is dead. Furthermore, the response to my “jazz nerd” video is interesting because there are musicians who disagree with me, but not as many non-musically trained jazz fans share the same view. They’re collectively known as the audience, remember? The jazz audience could care less whether any music is “new” or “innovative”. The audience pays its hard earned money to hear a good show. I’ve talked to many audience members who feel the exact same way I do and are just as frustrated as I am with most of the new music. The problem is that because of “innovation propaganda”, they feel guilty if they don’t like the music. They feel that it’s their fault for not understanding the “intellectual capacity” of it so they work hard at trying to enjoy the music when they aren’t in the first place. This, in my view, is part of the reason why the jazz audience is getting smaller.
Is there a way to solve this problem? One solution is to restructure the academic curriculum in university programs to be inclusive of all music and introduce students in elementary school, 4th through 12th grades, to music studies. The best thing for a musician to do is not to divide music by years or genres, but by basing it on at least a century’s worth of information. The more, the merrier. Where this will take the music, we shall see. But this approach of unity is more intriguing than division and Jazz music can truly grow into the 21st century. In the meantime, I would like to thank those who have commented on my impromptu video and I’m glad we are having this conversation.
by Jason Marsalis
Note posted on the Facebook page of Jason Marsalis
Reposted by permission of Jason Marsalis
June 16, 2010
originally posted to Facebook today at 12:20pm
I’ve been lucky to grow up as a privileged musician. I’ve been surrounded by a considerable amount of information and various influences from different genres of music. As a high school and college student, jazz students I knew were very knowledgeable about music and hungry for even more. Then in the early 2000’s, something happened. While performing with some of the new jazz students relocating to the New Orleans area, I noticed something missing in their music. As I became familiar with their compositions and solo performances, my suspicions were confirmed; while their music was often complex with a different mood, it was unfortunately lacking in knowledge of the Jazz tradition.
These musicians did not take sufficient time to investigate jazz before 1990 nor did they have a belief in that music. I then realized that these musicians did not have many opportunities to play outside of the classroom situation. Therefore, playing Jazz for an audience was not part of their musical experience. As I traveled the country, I began seeing this as a trend. Jazz students would play an abundance of notes in an abstract manner without an understanding of basic melodic content.
During this time, I overheard a musician describe hearing music in which musicians played notes and patterns over complex chord changes as “nerd music”. That term struck a chord with me because that was same thing I was hearing from college students, and some professional musicians, around the country. At that moment I realized the trend that was happening with Jazz music and I coined the phrase the “JNA”, the Jazz Nerds of America.
As I traveled to Europe and Canada, I discovered common attitudes were pertinent my observations. Jazz musicians in both countries said the same thing is happening with music students in their respective regions. At this point I’m getting notoriously disturbed about the new music I’ve been hearing. Finally, in a conversation with my father, he told me of a set he attended at a New York Jazz club and heard music that I would describe as being played by JNA members. He noticed that the band members had their heads buried in the music and made no eye contact with the audience. He also observed a very attentive audience working hard to like what they were hearing. Basically, instead of enjoying the music, they were expending energy in an attempt to connect with what was being played.
At this point I decided to warn the Jazz audience about the JNA. When I would tell my story, it would be part musician/part raving street preacher to elicit laughs from the audience. I would advise them to run away from “nerd music” as fast as they can. One night in Toronto, I told my JNA story to the audience and Keita Hopkinson, someone who was helping put together the show, wanted to film my rant on his iPhone. I agreed and he posted it on YouTube.
I recently received a phone call from band mate and pianist Marcus Roberts and he mentioned that received an e-mail about my “jazz nerd” video and that it was getting a lot of attention over the Internet. I did a Google search on jazz nerd international and lots of entries appeared. It was humorous that JNA was getting this much attention. The articles were also interesting reads. The only troublesome aspect was that my views were misconstrued and misdirected into another conversation contrary to what the video was about. Some of the blame falls on me because a lot of the musical examples presented in the video were done in a vague fashion. This is why I have decided to write an essay to explain my problem with the “jazz nerd”
Let’s define a jazz nerd. A jazz nerd, or JNA for short, is a Jazz student who reduces all music to notes and concepts only. JNA worships complexity while ridiculing simplicity. JNA will hear groups lead by Dave Holland and Wayne Shorter and will marvel at the complex musical structure but ignore the historical substance behind their music. JNA saxophonists will listen to and worhsip the music of Mark Turner, Chris Potter, Michael Brecker, and other modern players but ignore the musicians that have influenced their music such as John Coltrane, Dexter Gordon, Warne Marsh, and Sonny Rollins. JNA will hear the music of James Brown and say that it’s no big deal because it only has two chords. JNA looks down on blues as “simple” while wanting to play endless non-melodic eighth and sixteenth notes over “All the Things You Are” in 7/4 straight feel. JNA finds a slow blues boring. Swing is uninteresting and straight feel is actually more “challenging” and “exciting”. Instead of embracing both, the JNA worships one while ridiculing the other. 4/4 is “old” while 9/8 is “new”. A basic drum groove is boring unless you fill it with lots of notes. For the JNA, that’s modern music-as many complex notes as possible while ignoring the simple elements and history behind the notes.
In the infamous video, it seemed as though I was attacking odd-meters. Anyone that knows my music would rightfully label that hypocrisy. It isn’t the time signatures I was attacking but rather the highly indifferent approach the JNA would employ in the name of creating music. They play all odd meters the same way, straight and medium-to-fast. They’re not interested in bringing a variety of grooves and mood to odd-meters. Furthermore, a jazz nerd will have music that will modulate from 5/4 to 9/8 to 7/4 in a matter of measures while playing a barrage of notes that make no sense. As an audience member you actually can’t tell what the band is playing since there’s no clarity of chord movement or rhythm. This approach to odd meters can work, as exemplified by tenor saxophonist John Ellis’ composition “Bonus Round”, but cluttering the space doesn’t help the music. The music student has fun but the audience has nothing with which to connect and therefore is sitting on their hands.
As far as today’s music is concerned, I do have a problem with another trend that isn’t exclusive to the JNA, but it affects jazz music and JNA members usually believe in it. It’s what I call “innovation propaganda”. It is rooted in the fact that starting in the 1980’s and through the 90’s, there were jazz musicians interested in the history of the music. They wanted to explore jazz music from the 50’s and 60’s, a period of music that there generation hadn’t previously explored. While there was an audience for this music, there were jazz writers and musicians who excoriated them as “neoclassicists” who were bringing jazz backwards and were not moving the music forward. Starting from 2000, the majority of today’s jazz started to reference rock, hip-hop, pop, R&B, and world music. That’s great except there’s a catch. Almost no jazz before 1990 is referenced in the majority of music played today. Jazz magazines and writers created this flavor of kool-aid named “innovation” and when a musician drinks “innovation kool-aid”, you believe the following principles.
1. Jazz has to move forward into the future
2. We can’t get stuck in the past with hero worship
3. Swing is old and dated. We have to use the music of today.
4. Jazz is limiting. You must take a chance by bringing in current styles.
5. I don’t care about the past. I have to do my own thing.
6. We’re past playing American songbook standards. That’s yesterday’s music.
This point of view actually mirrors the same narrow-minded point of view that the “traditionalists” are being accused of. “Traditionalists”, apparently, are only interested in music from 1900-1969. With the majority of the new music, music after 1969, and sometimes 1999, is the only period of interest. Here’s the reality about music. Genres are neutral, all music is old, and music is information. The 20th century has produced lots of music. Rather than dividing it up with categories like “traditional” and “modern” or “old” and “new”, it should be viewed as a century’s worth of information. There’s information in Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Louis Jordan, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Johnny Cash, The Beatles, Cecil Taylor, Jimi Hendrix, George Clinton, Art Ensemble of Chicago, Bob Marley, Stevie Wonder, Weather Report, Michael Jackson, Public Enemy, Genesis, Nirvana, Common, John Legend just to name a few. Hundreds upon thousands of artists in numerous genres were left out, but the point is this music is all available for any musician to employ. There are those that complain of narrowing music through categories; my complaint is about narrowing music through dates. There’s information that can be incorporated in music from 1900 to 2000 in today’s context. Jazz is an open architecture that includes everything from genres to history.
In closing, there are those who wonder why do I bother? Why am I so outspoken about music? Why not let the music speak for itself? Why am I wasting my time with this subject instead of practicing? Well, I’ve been inspired by music for many years from all walks of life and to be honest, I’m bored with the majority of the new music being played today. Newer musicians are being selfish by not including a wide range of history and only thinking of themselves over the music. But there’s a bigger problem; I’m not alone. Earlier, I mentioned that jazz had a larger audience with music that was apparently “retrogressive”. Now, today’s music is hailed by some as pushing jazz into the future but guess what? The audience has dwindled and there are magazine articles asking if the music is dead. Furthermore, the response to my “jazz nerd” video is interesting because there are musicians who disagree with me, but not as many non-musically trained jazz fans share the same view. They’re collectively known as the audience, remember? The jazz audience could care less whether any music is “new” or “innovative”. The audience pays its hard earned money to hear a good show. I’ve talked to many audience members who feel the exact same way I do and are just as frustrated as I am with most of the new music. The problem is that because of “innovation propaganda”, they feel guilty if they don’t like the music. They feel that it’s their fault for not understanding the “intellectual capacity” of it so they work hard at trying to enjoy the music when they aren’t in the first place. This, in my view, is part of the reason why the jazz audience is getting smaller.
Is there a way to solve this problem? One solution is to restructure the academic curriculum in university programs to be inclusive of all music and introduce students in elementary school, 4th through 12th grades, to music studies. The best thing for a musician to do is not to divide music by years or genres, but by basing it on at least a century’s worth of information. The more, the merrier. Where this will take the music, we shall see. But this approach of unity is more intriguing than division and Jazz music can truly grow into the 21st century. In the meantime, I would like to thank those who have commented on my impromptu video and I’m glad we are having this conversation.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Mohammad Reza Shajarian: Iran's soulful voice stings hardline regime
CNN
Iran's soulful voice stings hardline regime
By Azadeh Ansari, CNN
June 12, 2010 1:42 p.m. EDT
(CNN) -- A year after a fierce crackdown silenced erupting street protests, not many Iranians living in the country can defy the hardline Islamic government without fearing for their life.
But Mohammad Reza Shajarian, is using his voice like never before.
"Art by its nature is a form of objection," the legendary musician said in an interview during his tour of the United States. "It can object against love, life, or governments and when art becomes rebellious, it can intimidate governments."
Shajarian, 69, sparked his a high-profile protest last year when he publicly objected to state TV and radio broadcasting one of his most popular anthems, "Iran, Ey Saraye Omid" (Iran, the land of Hope), to celebrate the contested re-election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
The song was first performed by Shajarian back in the early days of the 1979 revolution when a popular movement dethroned the Shah. Shajarian was outraged the current Iranian government used his work to drum up patriotic support.
"I'm not going to allow my own work to be used against me," said Shajarian, an outspoken critic of the hardline regime.
In order to channel his own discontent with the escalating violence at the time, Shajarian collaborated with his colleagues and within a day composed "Zabaneh Atash" (Language of Fire) to capture the political and social climate of the post-election fallout. The song begins this way:
Lay down your guns!
I am tired of this gruesome needless shedding of blood
Whether the gun is in your hand or another's
It is the language of fire and mayhem
Shajarian's new release became an instant hit as a battle cry especially for Iran's youth, many of whom are clamoring for change.
"You shouldn't beat people over the head with guns, you have to talk to them logically," Shajarian said.
Shajarian spent most of his life in Iran and was one of a handful of musicians the Islamic regime allowed to stay and perform in the country after the 1979 revolution. But he has also been met with opposition and has only been able to perform in fewer than a dozen concerts in Iran over the past three decades.
Shajarian's interpretations of Persian poetry is lyrical, his voice soulful. He music has captivated Iranians for decades but he has also earned international accolades, including the UNESCO Mozart Medal, the Golden Picasso Medal and two Grammy nominations.
In an effort to encourage cross cultural dialogue and reinvigorate Iran's traditional music profile, Shajarian recently toured Australia, the United States and Canada with 16-member Shahnaz Ensamble, comprised of some of Iran's finest classical musicians.
.......
Read the full original post (including video) HERE.
Iran's soulful voice stings hardline regime
By Azadeh Ansari, CNN
June 12, 2010 1:42 p.m. EDT
(CNN) -- A year after a fierce crackdown silenced erupting street protests, not many Iranians living in the country can defy the hardline Islamic government without fearing for their life.
But Mohammad Reza Shajarian, is using his voice like never before.
"Art by its nature is a form of objection," the legendary musician said in an interview during his tour of the United States. "It can object against love, life, or governments and when art becomes rebellious, it can intimidate governments."
Shajarian, 69, sparked his a high-profile protest last year when he publicly objected to state TV and radio broadcasting one of his most popular anthems, "Iran, Ey Saraye Omid" (Iran, the land of Hope), to celebrate the contested re-election of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
The song was first performed by Shajarian back in the early days of the 1979 revolution when a popular movement dethroned the Shah. Shajarian was outraged the current Iranian government used his work to drum up patriotic support.
"I'm not going to allow my own work to be used against me," said Shajarian, an outspoken critic of the hardline regime.
In order to channel his own discontent with the escalating violence at the time, Shajarian collaborated with his colleagues and within a day composed "Zabaneh Atash" (Language of Fire) to capture the political and social climate of the post-election fallout. The song begins this way:
Lay down your guns!
I am tired of this gruesome needless shedding of blood
Whether the gun is in your hand or another's
It is the language of fire and mayhem
Shajarian's new release became an instant hit as a battle cry especially for Iran's youth, many of whom are clamoring for change.
"You shouldn't beat people over the head with guns, you have to talk to them logically," Shajarian said.
Shajarian spent most of his life in Iran and was one of a handful of musicians the Islamic regime allowed to stay and perform in the country after the 1979 revolution. But he has also been met with opposition and has only been able to perform in fewer than a dozen concerts in Iran over the past three decades.
Shajarian's interpretations of Persian poetry is lyrical, his voice soulful. He music has captivated Iranians for decades but he has also earned international accolades, including the UNESCO Mozart Medal, the Golden Picasso Medal and two Grammy nominations.
In an effort to encourage cross cultural dialogue and reinvigorate Iran's traditional music profile, Shajarian recently toured Australia, the United States and Canada with 16-member Shahnaz Ensamble, comprised of some of Iran's finest classical musicians.
.......
Read the full original post (including video) HERE.
Monday, June 07, 2010
(Cuban singer) Silvio Rodriguez: Nostalgia Merchant
Cuban singer Silvio Rodriguez is touring the US for the first time in thirty years. Cuban blogger Yoani Sanchez has an blog post at HuffPo
Silvio Rodriguez: Nostalgia Merchant
Yoani Sanchez
Award-Winning Cuban Blogger
Posted: June 2, 2010 09:52 PM
While young people around the world enjoyed the music of the sixties, for Cubans it was forbidden to hear anything that had imperialist echoes, including the Beatles. Just at that time there appeared in our island what ended up being called the Nueva Trova -- New Minstrel -- Movement. Silvio Rodriguez has been its signature performer with songs full of poetic lyrics and music that mixes the tonalities of our traditional minstrel songs with the chords of Bob Dylan.
Silvio's generation, touched by the euphoric effects of the Revolution, was considered anti-establishment, based on between-the-line meanings one could read into his lyrics. He was banned on some television programs and many of his songs were never broadcast. Little by little, before the eyes of followers and detractors, the Movement was absorbed by the ruling ideological apparatus to the point where there came a time when no political event lacked the accompaniment of his songs. He won admirers and spawned imitators, girls swooned over him, and requests for concerts came from all over Latin America.
.....
The 1980s, when at any hour of the day or night, you could turn the radio dial and hear Silvio's songs, are long gone. In those days he won every popularity contest and seemed like a star whose light would never fade. But the demands of tourism and Cubans' own weariness with protest songs, set the stage for the creation and spread of danceable music which, in all its rawness, is the anthem of these times: reggaeton. While Nueva Trova still has its adherents, it has been relegated to niche audiences.
Today, Silvio Rodriguez is the living representative of nostalgia for a utopia that never materialized. Some of his fans come to his concerts decked out in their Che Guevara T-shirts and sing the choruses as if they could roll back history; it's as if they are saying, "This is not dead." Increasingly rare are those who can reconcile his musical expression with his civic behavior, as few can forgive the many years he has been sitting in parliament without raising his hand to ask for an end to the immigration restrictions, the elimination of the dual currency system, or the decriminalization of political dissent.
......
Read the full post HERE.
Silvio Rodriguez: Nostalgia Merchant
Yoani Sanchez
Award-Winning Cuban Blogger
Posted: June 2, 2010 09:52 PM
While young people around the world enjoyed the music of the sixties, for Cubans it was forbidden to hear anything that had imperialist echoes, including the Beatles. Just at that time there appeared in our island what ended up being called the Nueva Trova -- New Minstrel -- Movement. Silvio Rodriguez has been its signature performer with songs full of poetic lyrics and music that mixes the tonalities of our traditional minstrel songs with the chords of Bob Dylan.
Silvio's generation, touched by the euphoric effects of the Revolution, was considered anti-establishment, based on between-the-line meanings one could read into his lyrics. He was banned on some television programs and many of his songs were never broadcast. Little by little, before the eyes of followers and detractors, the Movement was absorbed by the ruling ideological apparatus to the point where there came a time when no political event lacked the accompaniment of his songs. He won admirers and spawned imitators, girls swooned over him, and requests for concerts came from all over Latin America.
.....
The 1980s, when at any hour of the day or night, you could turn the radio dial and hear Silvio's songs, are long gone. In those days he won every popularity contest and seemed like a star whose light would never fade. But the demands of tourism and Cubans' own weariness with protest songs, set the stage for the creation and spread of danceable music which, in all its rawness, is the anthem of these times: reggaeton. While Nueva Trova still has its adherents, it has been relegated to niche audiences.
Today, Silvio Rodriguez is the living representative of nostalgia for a utopia that never materialized. Some of his fans come to his concerts decked out in their Che Guevara T-shirts and sing the choruses as if they could roll back history; it's as if they are saying, "This is not dead." Increasingly rare are those who can reconcile his musical expression with his civic behavior, as few can forgive the many years he has been sitting in parliament without raising his hand to ask for an end to the immigration restrictions, the elimination of the dual currency system, or the decriminalization of political dissent.
......
Read the full post HERE.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Big M.I.A. feature in New York Times Magazine
Very lengthy and ultimately unflattering story on pop star M.I.A., which she has apparently retaliated against by posting the writer's contact via Twitter and adding an insult directed at the writer in a song.
NYT
May 25, 2010
M.I.A.’s Agitprop Pop
By LYNN HIRSCHBERG
On the Grammy Awards in 2009, Maya Arulpragasam, also known as M.I.A., performed her biggest hit, “Paper Planes,” a rap song that infuses rebellious, defiant lyrics with the sounds of her native Sri Lanka, a riff lifted from the Clash, the bang-bang of a gun and the ka-ching of a cash register. Maya, as she is called, was nine months pregnant (to the day), and while she was onstage rapping about “some some some I some I murder, some I some I let go” — in a black skintight, body-stocking dress, transparent except for polka-dot patches that strategically covered her belly, breasts and derrière — she began to experience contractions. As the pain hit, Maya was performing with the male titans of rap (Jay-Z, Kanye West, Lil Wayne, T.I.) and she later told me that she thought all the free-floating testosterone caused her to go into labor. While American rappers today tend to celebrate sex, wealth and status, Maya, who grew up listening to the politicized rhymes of Public Enemy, takes international dance beats and meshes them with the very un-American voice of the militant rebel. In contrast to, say, Bono or John Lennon, with their peacenik messages, Maya taps into her rage at the persecution of Tamils in Sri Lanka to espouse violence: while you’re under the sway of the beat, she’s rapping, “You wanna win a war?/Like P.L.O. I don’t surrender.”
Although her publicist had a wheelchair ready and a midwife on call, Maya, who has a deep and instinctive affinity for the provocative, knew that this Grammy moment was not to be missed. It had everything: artistic credibility, high drama, a massive audience. The baby would just have to wait. The combination of being nearly naked, hugely pregnant, singing incendiary lyrics and having the eyes of the world upon her was too much to resist. And she was riveting, upstaging the four much more famous guys and dominating the stage. “That’s gangsta,” said Queen Latifah, one of the show’s presenters.
Three days later, her son, Ikhyd (pronounced I-kid) Edgar Arular Bronfman, was born. His father is Maya’s fiancé, Ben Bronfman, son of the Warner Music Group chief executive and Seagram’s heir Edgar Bronfman Jr. In one of many contradictions that seem to provide the narrative for Maya’s life and art, Ikhyd was not, as she had repeatedly announced he would be, born at home in a pool of water. As usual, she wanted to transform her personal life into a political statement. “You gotta embrace the pain, embrace the struggle,” she proclaimed weeks before Ikhyd was born. “And my giving birth is nothing when I think about all the people in Sri Lanka that have to give birth in a concentration camp.”
As it happened, Maya, who is 34, gave birth in a private room in Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. “Ben’s family insisted,” she told me a year later, when we met in March for drinks at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, in nearby Beverly Hills. Before the Grammys, Maya and Bronfman moved to Los Angeles from New York, buying a house in very white, very wealthy Brentwood, an isolated and bucolic section of the city with a minimal history of trauma and violent uprisings. “L.A. is a lovely place to have a baby,” Maya said. She’s surprisingly petite and ladylike, with beautiful almond-shaped dark brown eyes and full lips that she painted a deep red the day we met. Maya has a unique tomboy-meets-ghetto-fabulous-meets-exotic-princess look that, like her music, manages to combine sexy elements (lingerie peeks out from under her see-through tops) with individual flourishes (she designs elaborate patterns for her nails) and ethnic accents (the bright, rich prints of Africa are her wardrobe staple). Like all style originals, Maya wears her clothes with great confidence — she knows how to edit her presentation for maximum effect. At the Beverly Wilshire, she was wearing high-heeled pumps with leggings under a hip-length, sheer white tunic woven with gold threads and an outsize black jacket that looked as if it might be on loan from her boyfriend. Her only jewelry was a simple diamond engagement ring.
“We went to the Grammys, we had the baby and we bought the house,” Maya said as she studied the menu, deciding on a glass of wine and French fries. “A month later, all this stuff was happening in Sri Lanka” — the Tamil insurgency was being defeated amid reports of thousands of civilian casualties — “and I started speaking up against it. And then, within a month, I found out my house was being bugged, my phones were being tapped and my e-mails were being hacked into. I was getting death threats, like ‘hope your baby dies.’ The biggest Sinhalese community is in Santa Monica, people who are sworn enemies of the Tamils, which is me.” She paused. “I live around the corner from Beverly Hills, and I feel semiprotected by Ben and, if anything happens to me, then Ben’s family will not take it. Jimmy Iovine, who runs Interscope, my record company, said, ‘Pick your battles carefully — don’t put your life at risk,’ but at the end of the day, I don’t see how you can shut up and just enjoy success when other people who don’t have the fame or the luxury to rent security guards are suffering. What the hell do they do? They just die.”
Maya’s tirade, typical in the way it moved from the political to the personal and back again, was interrupted by a waiter, who offered her a variety of rolls. She chose the olive bread. Maya’s political fervor stems from her upbringing. Although she was born in London, her family moved back to Sri Lanka when she was 6 months old, to a country torn by fighting between the Tamil Hindu minority and the Sinhalese Buddhist majority. In the ’70s, her father, Arular, helped found the Tamil militant group EROS (Eelam Revolutionary Organization of Students), trained with the P.L.O. in Lebanon and spearheaded a movement to create an independent Tamil state in the north and east of the country. EROS was eventually overwhelmed by a stronger and more vicious militant group, the Tamil Tigers. In their struggle for political control, the Tigers not only went after government troops and Sinhalese civilians but also their own people, including Tamil women and children. “The Tigers ruled the people under them with an iron fist,” Ahilan Kadirgamar at Sri Lanka Democracy Forum told me. “They used mafialike tactics, and they would forcefully recruit child soldiers. Maya’s father was never with the Tigers. He stayed away.”
This is small portion of the article. Read the full article HERE.
NYT
May 25, 2010
M.I.A.’s Agitprop Pop
By LYNN HIRSCHBERG
On the Grammy Awards in 2009, Maya Arulpragasam, also known as M.I.A., performed her biggest hit, “Paper Planes,” a rap song that infuses rebellious, defiant lyrics with the sounds of her native Sri Lanka, a riff lifted from the Clash, the bang-bang of a gun and the ka-ching of a cash register. Maya, as she is called, was nine months pregnant (to the day), and while she was onstage rapping about “some some some I some I murder, some I some I let go” — in a black skintight, body-stocking dress, transparent except for polka-dot patches that strategically covered her belly, breasts and derrière — she began to experience contractions. As the pain hit, Maya was performing with the male titans of rap (Jay-Z, Kanye West, Lil Wayne, T.I.) and she later told me that she thought all the free-floating testosterone caused her to go into labor. While American rappers today tend to celebrate sex, wealth and status, Maya, who grew up listening to the politicized rhymes of Public Enemy, takes international dance beats and meshes them with the very un-American voice of the militant rebel. In contrast to, say, Bono or John Lennon, with their peacenik messages, Maya taps into her rage at the persecution of Tamils in Sri Lanka to espouse violence: while you’re under the sway of the beat, she’s rapping, “You wanna win a war?/Like P.L.O. I don’t surrender.”
Although her publicist had a wheelchair ready and a midwife on call, Maya, who has a deep and instinctive affinity for the provocative, knew that this Grammy moment was not to be missed. It had everything: artistic credibility, high drama, a massive audience. The baby would just have to wait. The combination of being nearly naked, hugely pregnant, singing incendiary lyrics and having the eyes of the world upon her was too much to resist. And she was riveting, upstaging the four much more famous guys and dominating the stage. “That’s gangsta,” said Queen Latifah, one of the show’s presenters.
Three days later, her son, Ikhyd (pronounced I-kid) Edgar Arular Bronfman, was born. His father is Maya’s fiancé, Ben Bronfman, son of the Warner Music Group chief executive and Seagram’s heir Edgar Bronfman Jr. In one of many contradictions that seem to provide the narrative for Maya’s life and art, Ikhyd was not, as she had repeatedly announced he would be, born at home in a pool of water. As usual, she wanted to transform her personal life into a political statement. “You gotta embrace the pain, embrace the struggle,” she proclaimed weeks before Ikhyd was born. “And my giving birth is nothing when I think about all the people in Sri Lanka that have to give birth in a concentration camp.”
As it happened, Maya, who is 34, gave birth in a private room in Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. “Ben’s family insisted,” she told me a year later, when we met in March for drinks at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, in nearby Beverly Hills. Before the Grammys, Maya and Bronfman moved to Los Angeles from New York, buying a house in very white, very wealthy Brentwood, an isolated and bucolic section of the city with a minimal history of trauma and violent uprisings. “L.A. is a lovely place to have a baby,” Maya said. She’s surprisingly petite and ladylike, with beautiful almond-shaped dark brown eyes and full lips that she painted a deep red the day we met. Maya has a unique tomboy-meets-ghetto-fabulous-meets-exotic-princess look that, like her music, manages to combine sexy elements (lingerie peeks out from under her see-through tops) with individual flourishes (she designs elaborate patterns for her nails) and ethnic accents (the bright, rich prints of Africa are her wardrobe staple). Like all style originals, Maya wears her clothes with great confidence — she knows how to edit her presentation for maximum effect. At the Beverly Wilshire, she was wearing high-heeled pumps with leggings under a hip-length, sheer white tunic woven with gold threads and an outsize black jacket that looked as if it might be on loan from her boyfriend. Her only jewelry was a simple diamond engagement ring.
“We went to the Grammys, we had the baby and we bought the house,” Maya said as she studied the menu, deciding on a glass of wine and French fries. “A month later, all this stuff was happening in Sri Lanka” — the Tamil insurgency was being defeated amid reports of thousands of civilian casualties — “and I started speaking up against it. And then, within a month, I found out my house was being bugged, my phones were being tapped and my e-mails were being hacked into. I was getting death threats, like ‘hope your baby dies.’ The biggest Sinhalese community is in Santa Monica, people who are sworn enemies of the Tamils, which is me.” She paused. “I live around the corner from Beverly Hills, and I feel semiprotected by Ben and, if anything happens to me, then Ben’s family will not take it. Jimmy Iovine, who runs Interscope, my record company, said, ‘Pick your battles carefully — don’t put your life at risk,’ but at the end of the day, I don’t see how you can shut up and just enjoy success when other people who don’t have the fame or the luxury to rent security guards are suffering. What the hell do they do? They just die.”
Maya’s tirade, typical in the way it moved from the political to the personal and back again, was interrupted by a waiter, who offered her a variety of rolls. She chose the olive bread. Maya’s political fervor stems from her upbringing. Although she was born in London, her family moved back to Sri Lanka when she was 6 months old, to a country torn by fighting between the Tamil Hindu minority and the Sinhalese Buddhist majority. In the ’70s, her father, Arular, helped found the Tamil militant group EROS (Eelam Revolutionary Organization of Students), trained with the P.L.O. in Lebanon and spearheaded a movement to create an independent Tamil state in the north and east of the country. EROS was eventually overwhelmed by a stronger and more vicious militant group, the Tamil Tigers. In their struggle for political control, the Tigers not only went after government troops and Sinhalese civilians but also their own people, including Tamil women and children. “The Tigers ruled the people under them with an iron fist,” Ahilan Kadirgamar at Sri Lanka Democracy Forum told me. “They used mafialike tactics, and they would forcefully recruit child soldiers. Maya’s father was never with the Tigers. He stayed away.”
This is small portion of the article. Read the full article HERE.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Musician Paralyzed with ALS Still Makes Music
Inspiring and heartbreaking all at the same time. What an awful disease.
May 15, 2010 | Photo by John Gastaldo
Ned Mann, who is unable to speak and is paralyzed from the neck down as a result of ALS, spent six months mixing and mastering a two-CD set of music for an ALS Society fundraiser. He used a special computer program operated by movements of his head to produce the CD’s music.
Making tracks despite fighting ALS
Undaunted by effects of disease, musician Ned Mann finds a way to follow his passion
SD-UT
By George Varga, POP MUSIC CRITIC
Sunday, May 16, 2010 at 12:05 a.m.
DEL MAR — Ned Mann always used his head to make music as a prominent jazz and pop bassist, recording engineer and producer in the 1990s. Now, 11 years after being stricken with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) — the debilitating neuromuscular condition known as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease” — he is again making music with his head. Literally.
No longer able to talk, walk, stand or use his hands and arms, Mann expertly handled all audio mixing and postproduction work on the new album “Finding My Way Home — Help Ned Fight ALS.” He mixed the two-CD release, a remarkable labor of love that benefits the nonprofit ALS Society, completely on his own, using state-of-the-art technology.
That technology, NaturalPoint SmartNAV, enabled him to use a reflective dot placed on his forehead to control his computer with a laser head-tracking system, instead of a hand-operated mouse.
By very carefully and precisely moving his head, Mann mixed and mastered the album with ProTools, the same professional recording software he used for years at his New Jersey studio. It took him six months to complete the all-instrumental “Finding My Way Home,” which features as many as a dozen musicians performing on some of its 16 songs.
“Anything is possible if one has hope,” said Mann, 48, who resides in an assisted-living facility in Del Mar and lives by the credo: Acceptance. Forgiveness. Gratitude. Hope.
This credo is emphasized on his extensive Web site, helpnedfightals.org/ Created with the help of friends, it includes more than a dozen Web pages, including one that links to a video clip that shows Mann mixing the album with his head (HERE).
“To our knowledge, this is the first time SmartNAV has been used to mix an album,” said Ryan Stoughton, a spokesman for The Human Solution, the Texas company that created and markets SmartNAV.
Yet, despite having ALS, Mann remains mentally sharp. He has also maintained his high aesthetic standards, as the sparkling sound and impeccable balance of instruments on “Finding My Way Home” attests.
A paralyzing (and as yet incurable) disease, ALS affects nerve cells in the spinal cord and brain — and, with it, the brain’s ability to instigate and control muscle movement. This in turn causes the motor neurons between the spine and muscles throughout the body to degenerate and die.
The average life expectancy for someone with ALS is three to four years, as Mann notes on his Web site, but he has lived with the disease for 11 years. Jazz legend Charles Mingus, also a bassist, died from ALS in 1979. Nobel Prize-winning physicist Stephen Hawking, the world’s most famous living person with ALS, has had the disease for 47 of his 68 years.
“Ned has a determination to make the best of things,” said Jessica Mann, his devoted wife of 27 years, who heads General Atomic’s environmental, health and safety department. “He doesn’t like sitting around.”
Her husband, who hopes to raise $50,000 for the ALS Society’s San Diego chapter from sales of “Finding My Way Home,” nodded in agreement.
“The album has definitely been cathartic for Ned,” Jessica noted. “It’s almost a culmination of his career.”
Organized by saxophonist David Mann, Ned’s younger brother, the recording sessions for “Finding My Way Home” took place last May. They were held at a studio in New Jersey, not far from where Ned had lived with Jessica and their two sons, Evan and Ben (14 and 11, respectively).
The family moved to Carmel Valley in 2003, in part to provide a milder climate for Ned. After the “Finding My Way Home” recordings were done, digital files of the music were sent to him to begin the laborious mixing and mastering process.
“Ned’s ability to play an instrument was taken away from him,” David Mann, 46, said, from his New York home. “But his musicality and his love of music were not taken away from him. For him to keep making music with this album, and to become a part of the musical community again, was a joy for him.”
Three songs on “Finding My Way Home” feature Ned’s bass-playing from 1999, the same year his then-undiagnosed ALS began to make his arms numb. The musicians on the album, which deftly mixes straight-ahead and smooth-jazz, include “Late Night With David Letterman” bassist Will Lee, Rolling Stones’ touring saxophonist Tim Ries and former Miles Davis guitarist Mike Stern.
“We all played on it for free because we like and respect Ned so much,” said Stern, a longtime friend and musical partner of Mann.
“I went to visit Ned in Del Mar last year, and the work he did mixing the album impressed the hell out of me. I thought, ‘Wow! If he has that much sensitivity left in his heart and mind that he is able to mix music so well — without being able to move his body — it just illuminates his courage and ability all the more.’ ”
Stern was so impressed that he is already recommending Mann to mix albums by other established jazz artists.
Asked if he’d be open to doing more mixing work, Mann nodded, then added a qualification.
“I work slowly, so it would depend on the client,” he replied. “I used to work 12-hour days. Now, four is enough.”
Conducting an interview with Mann is a unique experience. Answering questions requires intense concentration on his part, since he lost his ability to speak aloud about five months ago.
He now communicates using the same SmartNAV computer program he used to mix “Finding My Way Home.” In this case, he spells out words by using his laser head-tracking system to point at letters on a keyboard on his computer screen. A robotic-sounding electronic voice audibly articulates each letter and word as Mann types them. Each of his sentences begins with the word “enter” and each word is punctuated by “space bar” each time he starts to type another word.
Eager to converse, Mann — an avid newspaper reader — typed out a comment even before his interviewer could pose a question. It read: “I liked your article on Sly & The Family Stone (performing) at Coachella.”
Asked about the first concert he attended as a kid, the Michigan-born Mann typed: “I saw Miles Davis in 1973, when I was 12. (Pianist) Keith Jarrett was with him.”
Mann began performing professionally in Ann Arbor jazz bands in his midteens. He and Jessica met when his band played at their high school. They have been together ever since. The walls in his Del Mar room contain framed photographs of the couple and of their two sons, who visit their father regularly. His eyes quickly light up when he speaks about his family.
“Music as a career has always been hard. Now I do music just for the love and joy of it. Doing this album kept me positive,” typed Mann, whose extensive résumé includes working with Irish music group The Chieftains, Cuban saxophonist Paquito D’Rivera and Puerto Rican flutist Nestor Torres, whose Grammy-winning 2001 album, “This Side of Paradise,” Mann engineered.
When asked what music he’s enjoying, Mann clicked his computer and a lilting vocal ballad by Cameroonian bassist and singer Richard Bona began to play. Later, when asked about pianist Michel Camilo, in whose band Mann played in the 1990s with San Diego drummer Cliff Almond, Mann clicked on a YouTube video clip of their performance at the 1991 Newport Jazz Festival.
Listening intently, he smiled and gently swayed his head in time to the music. Yet, as much as he obviously enjoyed sharing this blast from his past, Ned Mann leaves no doubt he is focused on the present — and on the inspirational new chapter “Finding My Way Home” represents.
“One of my favorite parts of this project has been re-connecting with all the musicians,” he said. “I hear from them every day now. Music is a competitive business, and this project has brought out the very best in people.”
PASSAGE
Veteran musician, producer and recording engineer Ned Mann recently completed all audio mixing and postproduction work on an all-star, two-CD album recorded in his honor. He accomplished this despite having Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), a disease that has robbed him of the ability to talk or use his arms or hands. Mann mixed the album by using his exacting head movements to operate special computer software. The project took him six months of painstaking work to complete.
Making a difference: All proceeds from “Finding My Way Home — Help Ned Fight ALS” will benefit the ALS Society. Mann hopes sales of the album will enable him to reach his goal of raising $50,000 for ALS’s San Diego chapter. The album is available from CDbaby.com and can be downloaded at iTunes, AmazonMP3 and Napster. For more information: helpnedfightals.org/home.html
Quotation: “With this album, I was willing to take risks, to try things that I never had time for (before).
I had time to experiment and enjoy the process. This project is about hope. The music is played with love, which I hope will come through to the listener.”
May 15, 2010 | Photo by John Gastaldo
Ned Mann, who is unable to speak and is paralyzed from the neck down as a result of ALS, spent six months mixing and mastering a two-CD set of music for an ALS Society fundraiser. He used a special computer program operated by movements of his head to produce the CD’s music.
Making tracks despite fighting ALS
Undaunted by effects of disease, musician Ned Mann finds a way to follow his passion
SD-UT
By George Varga, POP MUSIC CRITIC
Sunday, May 16, 2010 at 12:05 a.m.
DEL MAR — Ned Mann always used his head to make music as a prominent jazz and pop bassist, recording engineer and producer in the 1990s. Now, 11 years after being stricken with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) — the debilitating neuromuscular condition known as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease” — he is again making music with his head. Literally.
No longer able to talk, walk, stand or use his hands and arms, Mann expertly handled all audio mixing and postproduction work on the new album “Finding My Way Home — Help Ned Fight ALS.” He mixed the two-CD release, a remarkable labor of love that benefits the nonprofit ALS Society, completely on his own, using state-of-the-art technology.
That technology, NaturalPoint SmartNAV, enabled him to use a reflective dot placed on his forehead to control his computer with a laser head-tracking system, instead of a hand-operated mouse.
By very carefully and precisely moving his head, Mann mixed and mastered the album with ProTools, the same professional recording software he used for years at his New Jersey studio. It took him six months to complete the all-instrumental “Finding My Way Home,” which features as many as a dozen musicians performing on some of its 16 songs.
“Anything is possible if one has hope,” said Mann, 48, who resides in an assisted-living facility in Del Mar and lives by the credo: Acceptance. Forgiveness. Gratitude. Hope.
This credo is emphasized on his extensive Web site, helpnedfightals.org/ Created with the help of friends, it includes more than a dozen Web pages, including one that links to a video clip that shows Mann mixing the album with his head (HERE).
“To our knowledge, this is the first time SmartNAV has been used to mix an album,” said Ryan Stoughton, a spokesman for The Human Solution, the Texas company that created and markets SmartNAV.
Yet, despite having ALS, Mann remains mentally sharp. He has also maintained his high aesthetic standards, as the sparkling sound and impeccable balance of instruments on “Finding My Way Home” attests.
A paralyzing (and as yet incurable) disease, ALS affects nerve cells in the spinal cord and brain — and, with it, the brain’s ability to instigate and control muscle movement. This in turn causes the motor neurons between the spine and muscles throughout the body to degenerate and die.
The average life expectancy for someone with ALS is three to four years, as Mann notes on his Web site, but he has lived with the disease for 11 years. Jazz legend Charles Mingus, also a bassist, died from ALS in 1979. Nobel Prize-winning physicist Stephen Hawking, the world’s most famous living person with ALS, has had the disease for 47 of his 68 years.
“Ned has a determination to make the best of things,” said Jessica Mann, his devoted wife of 27 years, who heads General Atomic’s environmental, health and safety department. “He doesn’t like sitting around.”
Her husband, who hopes to raise $50,000 for the ALS Society’s San Diego chapter from sales of “Finding My Way Home,” nodded in agreement.
“The album has definitely been cathartic for Ned,” Jessica noted. “It’s almost a culmination of his career.”
Organized by saxophonist David Mann, Ned’s younger brother, the recording sessions for “Finding My Way Home” took place last May. They were held at a studio in New Jersey, not far from where Ned had lived with Jessica and their two sons, Evan and Ben (14 and 11, respectively).
The family moved to Carmel Valley in 2003, in part to provide a milder climate for Ned. After the “Finding My Way Home” recordings were done, digital files of the music were sent to him to begin the laborious mixing and mastering process.
“Ned’s ability to play an instrument was taken away from him,” David Mann, 46, said, from his New York home. “But his musicality and his love of music were not taken away from him. For him to keep making music with this album, and to become a part of the musical community again, was a joy for him.”
Three songs on “Finding My Way Home” feature Ned’s bass-playing from 1999, the same year his then-undiagnosed ALS began to make his arms numb. The musicians on the album, which deftly mixes straight-ahead and smooth-jazz, include “Late Night With David Letterman” bassist Will Lee, Rolling Stones’ touring saxophonist Tim Ries and former Miles Davis guitarist Mike Stern.
“We all played on it for free because we like and respect Ned so much,” said Stern, a longtime friend and musical partner of Mann.
“I went to visit Ned in Del Mar last year, and the work he did mixing the album impressed the hell out of me. I thought, ‘Wow! If he has that much sensitivity left in his heart and mind that he is able to mix music so well — without being able to move his body — it just illuminates his courage and ability all the more.’ ”
Stern was so impressed that he is already recommending Mann to mix albums by other established jazz artists.
Asked if he’d be open to doing more mixing work, Mann nodded, then added a qualification.
“I work slowly, so it would depend on the client,” he replied. “I used to work 12-hour days. Now, four is enough.”
Conducting an interview with Mann is a unique experience. Answering questions requires intense concentration on his part, since he lost his ability to speak aloud about five months ago.
He now communicates using the same SmartNAV computer program he used to mix “Finding My Way Home.” In this case, he spells out words by using his laser head-tracking system to point at letters on a keyboard on his computer screen. A robotic-sounding electronic voice audibly articulates each letter and word as Mann types them. Each of his sentences begins with the word “enter” and each word is punctuated by “space bar” each time he starts to type another word.
Eager to converse, Mann — an avid newspaper reader — typed out a comment even before his interviewer could pose a question. It read: “I liked your article on Sly & The Family Stone (performing) at Coachella.”
Asked about the first concert he attended as a kid, the Michigan-born Mann typed: “I saw Miles Davis in 1973, when I was 12. (Pianist) Keith Jarrett was with him.”
Mann began performing professionally in Ann Arbor jazz bands in his midteens. He and Jessica met when his band played at their high school. They have been together ever since. The walls in his Del Mar room contain framed photographs of the couple and of their two sons, who visit their father regularly. His eyes quickly light up when he speaks about his family.
“Music as a career has always been hard. Now I do music just for the love and joy of it. Doing this album kept me positive,” typed Mann, whose extensive résumé includes working with Irish music group The Chieftains, Cuban saxophonist Paquito D’Rivera and Puerto Rican flutist Nestor Torres, whose Grammy-winning 2001 album, “This Side of Paradise,” Mann engineered.
When asked what music he’s enjoying, Mann clicked his computer and a lilting vocal ballad by Cameroonian bassist and singer Richard Bona began to play. Later, when asked about pianist Michel Camilo, in whose band Mann played in the 1990s with San Diego drummer Cliff Almond, Mann clicked on a YouTube video clip of their performance at the 1991 Newport Jazz Festival.
Listening intently, he smiled and gently swayed his head in time to the music. Yet, as much as he obviously enjoyed sharing this blast from his past, Ned Mann leaves no doubt he is focused on the present — and on the inspirational new chapter “Finding My Way Home” represents.
“One of my favorite parts of this project has been re-connecting with all the musicians,” he said. “I hear from them every day now. Music is a competitive business, and this project has brought out the very best in people.”
PASSAGE
Veteran musician, producer and recording engineer Ned Mann recently completed all audio mixing and postproduction work on an all-star, two-CD album recorded in his honor. He accomplished this despite having Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), a disease that has robbed him of the ability to talk or use his arms or hands. Mann mixed the album by using his exacting head movements to operate special computer software. The project took him six months of painstaking work to complete.
Making a difference: All proceeds from “Finding My Way Home — Help Ned Fight ALS” will benefit the ALS Society. Mann hopes sales of the album will enable him to reach his goal of raising $50,000 for ALS’s San Diego chapter. The album is available from CDbaby.com and can be downloaded at iTunes, AmazonMP3 and Napster. For more information: helpnedfightals.org/home.html
Quotation: “With this album, I was willing to take risks, to try things that I never had time for (before).
I had time to experiment and enjoy the process. This project is about hope. The music is played with love, which I hope will come through to the listener.”
Friday, May 07, 2010
Francisco Aguabella (1925-2010)
Legendary Cuban drummer Francisco Aguabella died today after a battle with cancer. Aguabella was born in the Cuban city of Matanzas on October 10, 1925, the youngest of seven children though only one of two to survive a typhus epidemic. Though neither of his parents were musicians, Francisco began playing music while a child and was drawn to the music that surrounded him in Matanzas. He began to play the sacred batá drums at age twelve, taught by another youngster at the time, the legendary Esteban Vega Bacallao, popularly known as Cha-Chá (1925-2007). According to Raul Fernandez' book From Afro-Cuban Rhythms to Latin Jazz, Aguabella apprenticed on the supporting drums for five years (two on okónkolo, three on itótele) before studying the lead drum of this ensemble. He became known as a fierce and powerful drummer in both sacred and secular contexts, becoming, by his own account, the lead soloist for a local comparsa group at age 16, an accomplishment of which he was very proud. At age eighteen Aguabella was initiated into a local Abakuá potencia (an Afro-Cuban male initiation society). During this time he also became friends with drummer Julito Collazo (1925-2004), who would later become, along with Aguabella, an important source of batá drumming in the United States.
In his early twenties Aguabella worked on docks in Havana and Matanzas while continuing to drum during his free time. Eventually he was asked by influential Havana drummers to join their show troupe in Havana. In Havana, Aguabella also played in various sacred, band, and comparsa groups. In 1953 American dancer Katherine Dunham saw Aguabella perform in a nightclub and requested his services for a show scene in a movie (Mambo, starring Shelley Winters and Anthony Quinn)that was being filmed in Havana. Dunham invited Aguabella to join her company, and he soon accompanied her to Italy, the first of many tours. In addition to drumming, Aguabella had small dance and acting roles in the company's productions.
After touring with Dunham, Aguabella came to the United States at a time when Latin music was mixing with popular jazz. While fellow drummer Collazo settled in New york, Aguabella settled in California, living in Los Angeles and San Francisco for the rest of his life. Aguabella had an impressive career, including recordings, performances, and tours with artists such as Dizzy Gillespie, Frank Sinatra, Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria, Eddie Palmieri, Cachao, Lalo Schifrin, Cal Tjader, Nancy Wilson, Weather Report, Poncho Sanchez, Bebo Valdes, Carlos Santana, Malo, Three Dog Night, Paul Simon, and the Doors. (According to Francisco, Sinatra would introduce him to audiences as "My Italian conga drummer, Francisco Aguabella.") Aguabella also led his own Latin jazz group, playing concerts and issuing recordings for many years. He also composed music for his and other ensembles, mostly works that took advantage of his extensive drumming knowledge. Importantly, Aguabella was a source of authentic sacred Afro-Cuban music in the United States at a time when few knew the secrets of sacred drumming. Aguabella was awarded the National Heritage Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Durfee Foundation's Master Musicians' Fellowship, and was recognized by the Los Angeles County Arts Commission. He was the subject of a documentary film by Les Blank titled "Sworn to the Drum." Agubella taught Afro-Cuban music at UCLA from the mid-1990s until 2008.
Aguabella was the strongest, fiercest drummer I have ever seen. I once saw him play a sacred tambor in the 1980s (for Changó, with frighteningly fast, loud, and long sections of drumming), and also at the famed Conga Summit concert in San Francisco. By the time I got to study with him a bit in the mid to late 1990s, he had mellowed considerably from his earlier days, when he had the reputation of being a tough taskmaster. I last saw him in late 2008, when the photos below were taken.
Information above was based on Aguabella's own biography, Raul Fernandez' From Afro-Cuban Rhythm to Latin jazz, and personal communication.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Graciela Peréz-Gutierrez (1915-2010)
NYT has an obituary of the famous Graciela:
April 9, 2010
Graciela Peréz-Gutierrez, Afro-Cuban Singer, Dies at 94
By BEN RATLIFF
Graciela Peréz-Gutierrez, known professionally as Graciela, one of the great voices in Afro-Cuban music, died on Wednesday in Manhattan, where she lived. She was 94.
The cause was renal and pulmonary failure, said Mappy Torres, her friend and assistant.
For 32 years, Graciela sang with a band formed by her foster brother, Machito, whose real name was Frank Grillo.
Many of Graciela’s most famous appearances on records, including “Que Me Falta,” “Vive Como Yo,” “Ay José” and “Si Si No No,” were swoons and flirtations, from coy to outrageous. She was a forthright performer, singing with a clear and powerful alto voice; she could make it soft, then expand it into a clipped vibrato or a ragged shout.
Graciela and Machito, both raised by Graciela’s parents in Havana, were each established professional singers before they teamed up in New York in 1943.
In Cuba, Graciela had been singing with the all-female Orquesta Anacaona and El Trio Garcia and had traveled to New York, South America and Europe. Machito had moved from Havana to New York City in 1937, recorded with the Orchestra Siboney and Xavier Cugat, and ultimately formed the Afro-Cubans with the trumpeter Mario Bauzá, a group that helped galvanize the mambo and Latin-jazz movements.
When Machito was drafted into the United States Army in 1943, Bauzá sent for Graciela, eight years Machito’s junior, to join the Afro-Cubans. She was the band’s lead singer for a year before Machito’s return. From then through the 1950s, with the two lead singers trading off vocal turns and Graciela clicking through the rhythm pattern with her wooden claves, the band established a high standard for the mambo orchestra.
The Afro-Cubans played to integrated audiences at the Palladium, Town Hall, the Apollo, the 52nd Street jazz clubs, the Concord Hotel in the Catskills and the Crescendo nightclub in Hollywood, among other places.
Graciela left the Afro-Cubans in 1975 but rejoined with Bauzá’s own band, first in 1976 on “La Botanica” and then during the 1990s in his career’s 11th-hour revival.
Graciela was never married and had no immediate surviving family members. She died, Ms. Torres said, with her claves in her hands.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
New Gil Scott Heron
He dropped a new album two months ago and it's good, parts of it are really good. The trip-hoppy production provides a nice update to his sound.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Interview with author of important new biography on Thelonius Monk
The Atlantic
The Secret Life of Thelonious Monk
By Douglas Gorney
Free Press
Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of An American Original by Robin D. G. Kelley is the first biography to put the idiosyncratic music and eccentric behavior of this jazz legend into factual context. With unprecedented access to Monk's family and records, Kelley dispels many of the myths around the eccentric pianist and the psychiatric, legal, and professional challenges he faced before he died in 1982. Through it all, he renders Monk's world in rich detail, from hardscrabble North Carolina roots to the demanding and uncertain life of the working jazz musician. Kelley, on sabbatical from the University of Southern California, spoke to me from Oxford University, where he is the Harmsworth Professor of American History. You write about Thelonious Monk getting up from the piano and dancing around in circles on stage, falling asleep at the keyboard, sporting strange hats, staring off into space and wandering out of nightclubs during gigs. On eccentricity alone, I can see why he'd be a good subject for a book. But what were you really after?
For me, Monk had been an obsession—aesthetically and culturally—pretty much from the moment I was introduced to his music as a teenage wannabe jazz piano player. But when the subject of Thelonious Monk comes up, the eccentricities are what people talk about first, as you just did. Descriptions of his music become conflated with descriptions of his behavior, onstage and off. I wanted to disentangle those things, understand who Thelonious Monk was as a human being, and who he was as an artist.
What did you find when you teased them apart?
I won't lie to you—when I went into this project, I didn't know I would find what I ended up finding. I was surprised by the depth of Monk's musical education. I was surprised by the way he suffered, financially, as an artist—even after he became the one of the most recognizable faces in jazz and was on the cover of national magazines, he just wasn't making much money. I was surprised by his deep commitment to his family and his community. It was the mundane things that I found most fascinating, not the outlandish, eccentric character we usually associate with Monk. As a consequence, I ended up writing a very different book than what I thought I would write.
See web-only content:
http://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2010/03/the-secret-life-of-thelonious-monk/38128/
This was one of the most assiduously researched biographies I have ever read. I have a feeling that if I asked you, "What did Monk have for lunch on August 12, 1958," you could have told me—
[laughs] Almost...
Did you think that you'd get as deeply immersed in Monk's world as you did? It took you 14 years to write this book.
Well, of those 14 years, a good six was spent trying to convince the Monk family to give me access to them. Once Thelonious Monk, Jr. let me in, though, I suddenly had unprecedented access—not just papers, but family members who had never talked to anyone before. Nellie, Monk's wife, had never granted interviews until I came along.
Once that happened, I wanted to approach this project as a historian—meaning the more you find out, the more you have to look up. Too many biographies of jazz musicians are written by critics using liner notes from albums and articles and interviews in the jazz press, and then filling in the rest with their own commentary.
To tell Monk's story and the story of the people who shaped his world, I was uncovering some of the most obscure individuals, people in the jazz world we know nothing about now. And what I found was that so much of what we think we know about Monk's life is just wrong. It was so hard to figure out the most basic things—in fact, I'm still finding mistakes in the book that I'm correcting for the paperback.
So what else has jazz history had wrong? In what other ways did you find the real Monk different from the image we have of him?
With jazz musicians, issues and assumptions about of drug use always come up—particularly in Monk's case because he was...odd. So odd, in fact, that the question of mental illness always looms large when we think of him. But with access to medical records and to his family, I got a sense of a man who suffered more from prescription drugs and bad diagnosis than he did from illicit drugs and bipolar disorder. He received very bad medical treatment, bad advice and bad prescriptions for a very long time. The impact that had on his ability to function shocked me.
I was also struck by the role of his wife, Nellie. In films of Monk, we get an image of Nellie as the loyal helpmate—there's some truth to that, she was the person most responsible for keeping him together. But I really came to see her as a fully realized human being with her own goals and dreams, desires and frustrations, as someone who suffered quite a bit. One of the things my book tries to do is look at the so-called male genius in the context of his family...to understand how important his spouse was, his partner, in the realization of that genius.
........
Read the entire post HERE.
The Secret Life of Thelonious Monk
By Douglas Gorney
Free Press
Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of An American Original by Robin D. G. Kelley is the first biography to put the idiosyncratic music and eccentric behavior of this jazz legend into factual context. With unprecedented access to Monk's family and records, Kelley dispels many of the myths around the eccentric pianist and the psychiatric, legal, and professional challenges he faced before he died in 1982. Through it all, he renders Monk's world in rich detail, from hardscrabble North Carolina roots to the demanding and uncertain life of the working jazz musician. Kelley, on sabbatical from the University of Southern California, spoke to me from Oxford University, where he is the Harmsworth Professor of American History. You write about Thelonious Monk getting up from the piano and dancing around in circles on stage, falling asleep at the keyboard, sporting strange hats, staring off into space and wandering out of nightclubs during gigs. On eccentricity alone, I can see why he'd be a good subject for a book. But what were you really after?
For me, Monk had been an obsession—aesthetically and culturally—pretty much from the moment I was introduced to his music as a teenage wannabe jazz piano player. But when the subject of Thelonious Monk comes up, the eccentricities are what people talk about first, as you just did. Descriptions of his music become conflated with descriptions of his behavior, onstage and off. I wanted to disentangle those things, understand who Thelonious Monk was as a human being, and who he was as an artist.
What did you find when you teased them apart?
I won't lie to you—when I went into this project, I didn't know I would find what I ended up finding. I was surprised by the depth of Monk's musical education. I was surprised by the way he suffered, financially, as an artist—even after he became the one of the most recognizable faces in jazz and was on the cover of national magazines, he just wasn't making much money. I was surprised by his deep commitment to his family and his community. It was the mundane things that I found most fascinating, not the outlandish, eccentric character we usually associate with Monk. As a consequence, I ended up writing a very different book than what I thought I would write.
See web-only content:
http://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2010/03/the-secret-life-of-thelonious-monk/38128/
This was one of the most assiduously researched biographies I have ever read. I have a feeling that if I asked you, "What did Monk have for lunch on August 12, 1958," you could have told me—
[laughs] Almost...
Did you think that you'd get as deeply immersed in Monk's world as you did? It took you 14 years to write this book.
Well, of those 14 years, a good six was spent trying to convince the Monk family to give me access to them. Once Thelonious Monk, Jr. let me in, though, I suddenly had unprecedented access—not just papers, but family members who had never talked to anyone before. Nellie, Monk's wife, had never granted interviews until I came along.
Once that happened, I wanted to approach this project as a historian—meaning the more you find out, the more you have to look up. Too many biographies of jazz musicians are written by critics using liner notes from albums and articles and interviews in the jazz press, and then filling in the rest with their own commentary.
To tell Monk's story and the story of the people who shaped his world, I was uncovering some of the most obscure individuals, people in the jazz world we know nothing about now. And what I found was that so much of what we think we know about Monk's life is just wrong. It was so hard to figure out the most basic things—in fact, I'm still finding mistakes in the book that I'm correcting for the paperback.
So what else has jazz history had wrong? In what other ways did you find the real Monk different from the image we have of him?
With jazz musicians, issues and assumptions about of drug use always come up—particularly in Monk's case because he was...odd. So odd, in fact, that the question of mental illness always looms large when we think of him. But with access to medical records and to his family, I got a sense of a man who suffered more from prescription drugs and bad diagnosis than he did from illicit drugs and bipolar disorder. He received very bad medical treatment, bad advice and bad prescriptions for a very long time. The impact that had on his ability to function shocked me.
I was also struck by the role of his wife, Nellie. In films of Monk, we get an image of Nellie as the loyal helpmate—there's some truth to that, she was the person most responsible for keeping him together. But I really came to see her as a fully realized human being with her own goals and dreams, desires and frustrations, as someone who suffered quite a bit. One of the things my book tries to do is look at the so-called male genius in the context of his family...to understand how important his spouse was, his partner, in the realization of that genius.
........
Read the entire post HERE.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Marcus Miller throwing down funky bass on French TV
A great example of:
A) How funky Marcus Miller is.
B) How it is easier for someone like Miller to get on TV in France than the USA.
C) How bad camera work in the form of too much editing can detract from great performance.
Découvrez Marcus Miller en live avec "Blast" sur Culturebox !
A) How funky Marcus Miller is.
B) How it is easier for someone like Miller to get on TV in France than the USA.
C) How bad camera work in the form of too much editing can detract from great performance.
Découvrez Marcus Miller en live avec "Blast" sur Culturebox !
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Still Bill: New Bill Withers Documentary
Sasha Frere-Jones has a write up in The New Yorker
In 1972, a year after the release of his first album, “Just As I Am,” Bill Withers performed a song on British television. “Harlem,” the record’s first single, had done little on the charts, but radio d.j.s had picked up on its B-side. Wearing a ribbed orange turtleneck and sweating visibly, the thirty-three-year-old rookie introduced the first song he had ever written:
“Men have problems admitting to losing things,” he said. “I think women are much better at that. . . . So, once in my life, I wanted to forgo my own male ego and admit to losing something, so I came up with—” Withers began to play his acoustic guitar and sing. “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / It’s not warm when she’s away / Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / And she’s always gone too long, any time she goes away.”
“Ain’t No Sunshine” gave Withers his first gold record, earned him a Grammy, and, with later hits such as “Lean on Me” and “Use Me,” forms the cornerstone of a small but indispensable section of the American songbook. A new documentary about Withers, “Still Bill,” is an unshowy, confident attempt to render the personality of a man who wrote so well and then walked away, in 1985, adding only a handful of songs to his legacy since then.
Read the full review HERE.
Here is a local W. Virginia TV story on Whithers' induction into the West Virginia music Hall of Fame, with lots of interview time with him:
Withers' website is HERE.
In 1972, a year after the release of his first album, “Just As I Am,” Bill Withers performed a song on British television. “Harlem,” the record’s first single, had done little on the charts, but radio d.j.s had picked up on its B-side. Wearing a ribbed orange turtleneck and sweating visibly, the thirty-three-year-old rookie introduced the first song he had ever written:
“Men have problems admitting to losing things,” he said. “I think women are much better at that. . . . So, once in my life, I wanted to forgo my own male ego and admit to losing something, so I came up with—” Withers began to play his acoustic guitar and sing. “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / It’s not warm when she’s away / Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone / And she’s always gone too long, any time she goes away.”
“Ain’t No Sunshine” gave Withers his first gold record, earned him a Grammy, and, with later hits such as “Lean on Me” and “Use Me,” forms the cornerstone of a small but indispensable section of the American songbook. A new documentary about Withers, “Still Bill,” is an unshowy, confident attempt to render the personality of a man who wrote so well and then walked away, in 1985, adding only a handful of songs to his legacy since then.
Read the full review HERE.
Here is a local W. Virginia TV story on Whithers' induction into the West Virginia music Hall of Fame, with lots of interview time with him:
Withers' website is HERE.
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