Another "In and out of jazz" story

I recently had the opportunity to make my second trip ever to lovely Greenville, South Carolina. If you’ve never been there, downtown Greenville is a nice little place, where many years ago, they had the foresight to narrow Main Street from four lanes to two, and widened the sidewalks and installed a bunch of greenery. The result is a quaint little boomtown, where sidewalk cafes, restaurants, bars, and snack shops proliferate. The two jazz clubs that I saw, however, we’re not proliferating. Both were closed.

L to R: Gage Banks, Garrett Graettinger, Morgan McGee, Roman Holder, Riley LePere. Damn! Are those great jazz musician names, or what!? 

Then I went to the first night’s reception of the event I was attending, the 40th annual SEUS-Japan Conference, and what do you know? There was a jazz band about to set to swinging. This jazz band was a quintet of young men, with the unusual instrumentation of alto sax, baritone sax and rhythm section. Of course, I had been drinking and I have no reservations about anything when jazz is involved, so I walked right up to them and said, “Play 'Scrapple from the Apple' ”. They looked at me quizzically, as this was not in their main repertoire from what I could gauge from their reaction. In fact, the leader, their pianist Morgan McGee looked at me funny and said, “What?” I repeated my request and they still looked confused. Then I goofed.

“You know, Monk!”

Roman takes a solo, while Riley plans his. (Morgan had already set them up with his bluesy lead.)

At this point, I think they wanted me to go away, but I didn’t. I said, “No, wait. That’s Charlie Parker. Play some Monk.” This they could relate to. They swung through a pretty terrific take of “In Walked Bud”, including piano and both sax solos. I complimented them and their solos, told them to play Miles when they saw me coming out, and left for the dinner. That, was that.

Riley and Roman go to the head ,with Garrett holding them up in back.

Or so I thought.

At the next night’s reception, there they were again, but I was on the other side of the venue windows. I waved, got their attention, made piano motions and mouthed “Monk, Monk!” Once inside, I introduced myself and my blog, and later on they did play “In Walked Bud” again, as I sat there and enjoyed myself and Mrs. S proceeded to ingest oysters that would eventually give her food poisoning.

Your blogger with the young saxophonists. I'm the fat one on the left.

So, I compliment Greenville on at least trying to have a jazz scene, and I compliment the young gentlemen you see pictured here on their pursuit of one of America’s greatest art forms (I would say, “the greatest”). Next time they see me, I’ll probably say, “In walked me, so you know what I want!” I’m sure that "Bud" will be close behind.

Miles from everything

I went from reading a biography about Thelonious Monk to reading this autobiography by Miles Davis, and I have to say, you would be hard pressed to find two more diametrically different books about jazz artists. Where the Monk book was carefully researched, cross checked, and objectively constructed, the Davis book is filled with suppositions, vague recollections, and biased, one-sided editorial comments. Of course, Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk were also two completely different kinds of people, one rich, outspoken and philandering, the other poor, quiet, and dedicated to his family. Really, the only thing these two jazz greats share is their love of, and their impact on, jazz music.

Not your average autobiography

One thing that drove me crazy about the Miles Davis book is his (and his writer’s) insistence on not checking anything. There are pages of anecdotes that begin or end with comments like, “At least that’s what I think happened,” or “…during that year, or maybe the year after, or the year before, I don’t remember.” Really? You can’t call someone and ask them when they came and bailed you out of jail (or whatever)? Then there’s the “I don’t want to say who it was, because they are still alive, but …” and he then proceeds to lambaste this person were supposed to guess about, but later in the book, he’ll write pages about how much he hates Wynton Marsalis, or how Dizzy Gillespie is pandering to white people and businessmen, or how some (evil and white) record producer screwed him over. I guess it’s okay for him to draw random lines with his hatred, but it doesn’t make for the best reading.

Also telling for me was how he glossed over the fact that his was a privileged upbringing. With a well-respected dentist father and a musically inclined mother, Miles and his family owned, land, stocks, buildings, cars, all the trappings. Just being aware of that makes his railings against white-dominated society sound hollow and contrived. And I don’t want to start or continue a big racial argument, but it seems to me that Miles only played the race card when it was to his real or perceived benefit. All the rest of the time, he was perfectly content to take white people’s money and bask in their adulation.

There are no two ways about it: Miles Davis was a polarizing character in the world of music who neither invited controversy nor did anything to avoid it. As a result, it is hard to take anything he says at face value, even when he is talking about his own life. I found it oddly curious, too, how after reading about Monk, I wanted to explore his music and learn more about it, get deeper into it, but while reading Miles’ book, I didn’t have any curiosity or desire about his work fanned inside me. Probably the fact that I am already well familiar with Miles’ music and the fact that it played a role in setting me on the path toward learning and playing jazz in the first place have something to do with it. But I would have thought I would feel at least a small spark of passion to explore something, anything, of Miles’ work based on what I read about it. But when I finished reading, I was maybe not disinterested, just not willing to expend any extra effort to experience his music. (While reading Monk’s biography, I bought 6 CD’s and two books of sheet music of Thelonious Monk – quite a different reaction.)

I’m still glad I read this book, and I feel like I learned something. I just feel like the time spent didn’t have quite the payoff I hoped. At least that much is completely unlike his music, which pays off every time I listen to it, so I suppose I am simply more grateful for the music itself than for its history. That’s just as well.

Reading that makes me play

I just finished reading a biography of Thelonious Monk by Robin Kelley, a very serious and enlightening look at one of the greatest jazz artists who ever lived who I didn’t know was one of the greatest jazz artists who ever lived. I say that because, of course, anybody who knows anything about jazz knows about Monk, but for me, he was just one of those guys who wasn’t worth approaching. I suppose I was “contaminated” by reading an article about the great pianist Dick Hyman (who I do respect and admire) who said something in a Wall Street Journal piece like, “I don’t appreciate Monk. His music doesn’t sound right and I think most of the time he’s just hitting wrong notes.” That kind of embodied how I felt and I didn’t think I was missing anything by giving Monk’s music short shrift.

The subtitle says it all.

As I was reading Mr. Kelley’s book, however, some things about Monk started to make sense. I started to see what kind of person he was and how that could lead to him being ignored, or overlooked, or even ridiculed. Then too, Mr. Kelley does a great job of illustrating the formulation and evolution of a lot of Monk’s work, and it caused me to revisit some of the tunes. And whaddaya know? Here I am almost ten years down the beginner’s jazz blog road, and things I never understood started making sense.

I can’t really cite specific examples but I can say this, when I read about a song and then the next day pulled out the lead sheet and started to play it, suddenly Monk seemed not only approachable, it seemed like playing his music was helping me achieve things I could not before that point. It’s hard to put clearly, but, I started to see how Monk is more or less the next level I need to go to. But what that really means is, if you can play Monk on Monk’s level, I started to feel like I could probably play anything.

Haven't found any Miles Davis beer yet. I'll buy it and drink it if I do.

Now, I’m not suggesting that if I work out all the changes to Epistrophy, I’ll be able to zing my way through Ellington, or Coltrane, or Hancock, or anybody. What I’m saying is, Epistrophy is harder to play, harder to understand musically, and harder to make sound good than just any old song, so if you reach the pinnacle on Epistrophy, you must be doing something right.

Ruby, My Dear is a good example. Here’s a song that once upon a time, I could play pretty decently in an ensemble format. I could solo over the changes and make it sound Monkish, and I knew what the song was making me do harmonically to make it sound good. Now that I’m playing that song in solo piano format from a book of Monk transcriptions, I’m finding what I learned before did not much prepare me for what I’m playing now. Again, it’s very hard to put into words.

The long and short of it is, Kelley’s biography isn’t supposed to make you better piano player, but in my case, that’s exactly what it has done. It’s broadening my musical interest and bringing me back to vast swaths of the jazz landscape that I’ve never bothered to visit. I truly believe that learning to play Monk tunes is going to help me play piano more and better.  We’ll see.

Of course, having finished the book (check out my review on Amazon) and being now embarked on reading Miles Davis’ autobiography, I may feel different as I progress through that. Then again, I can and do play a host of Miles tunes, whereas I don’t have one from Monk that I can call my own. Yet. That and the fact the Miles can’t write like Mr. Kelley can may well leave my Monkish attentions unaffected. Again, we’ll see.

Would you buy a beer for the picture on the label?

Until two days ago, my answer would have been no. But as an aspiring jazz pianist, I was tempted when I saw this in my local grocery store aisle. 

At $3 a bottle, I managed to talk myself out of it, but then I researched the beer on the brewery’s website, and wouldn't you know it, one of my new favorite jazz pianists, Geoffrey Keezer, is flogging it on the brewer's website. Now, I don't owe Geoffrey anything, but, hey, if it's good enough for him, I don't know, maybe it will make me a better pianist. So, yesterday, I made a special trip just to pick up the beer (and some cold, cough, and flu medicine for me and Mrs. S).

So the answer to the question in the title turns out to be: Hell, why not?

The way things turn out

Thanks (?) to March Madness, our latest trip to New Orleans turned out a bit different than most. First of all, we couldn’t get a hotel room at a reasonable price, so we ended up at a B&B called Lanaux Mansion. Turned out some scenes of the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” were shot there, and this would not be our first encounter curiously tied to that movie. We got to stay in the enchanted cottage, which was originally the laundry room for the main house, but now is converted into a comfy suite. We also had our own private entrance through the back gate and garden. The place is run by a nice southern gentlewoman named Ruth. We got along with her great, as her son lives in Japan and is also married to a Japanese woman.

A random shot of the outside of Snug Harbor. Yeah, man! Frenchmen  Street!

We ate at Stella the first night. I ate so much I got sick. We still went to Snug Harbor after dinner, mainly to make reservations to see Ellis Marsalis on Friday night, but we ended up staying for that night’s show and saw The Peter Harris Quartet, which was fronted by an exciting young saxophonist, Derek Douget. It was all I could do, however, to not pass out and throw up. I didn't look in such bad shape before the concert:

Not feeling the Mac effects...yet.

As the night wore on, I was not in good shape, and I think it was the Big Mac and fries at lunch time that gummed up the works (I eat McDonald’s about twice a year). A good night’s rest turned out to be all I needed, and all was well from then on.

The next day looked like rain, so we basically just wandered around the city, spending money with all the basketball fans in town. I got my usual voodoo accoutrements, hematite rings, Old New Orleans Rum, and Mrs. S got her shrimp spice and a couple of knick-knacks and doo-dads. We ate at Acme, where we actually had to line up at two in the afternoon.

That night we saw Joshua Bell at the First Baptist Church. The parking lot attendant told us that if we took our car out of the lot, we were pretty much giving up all hope of parking in the French Quarter again for the day, so we took a cab instead. That turned out to lead to another interesting encounter (next paragraph). The concert was not very exciting. It was an average concert. JB was great, as usual.

We didn’t hurry to leave the concert after it was over, because Mrs. S wanted to take as many pictures of JB as possible. This turned out to work in our favor, as she took a picture of a nice woman and her husband hounded Mrs. S to be sure and send the photo to him. When he learned that we didn’t have a ride back to town, he generously offered to drive us. We accepted, and so me and Mrs. S ended up in Robert and Nell’s Buick (I think) heading back to the French Quarter. Well, when we mentioned the Benjamin Button connection with our B&B, Nell told us about how her mother’s house was used for about half the movie. The studio appropriated their house for 50% of the time over two years of filming. They met Brad Pitt and a bunch of other famous people. It was quite a story. Our ride was too short, and we bid them adieux.

From there we made our way back to Snug Harbor and were able to catch the last half of Ellis Marsalis’s show, again with Derek up front. They played a really cool version of a song I like, and I managed to keep it in my head for a day, but it got shoved out after we listened to music during dinner on Saturday after we got home. Anyway, I bought Mr. Marsalis’s latest CD and he signed it for me. Unfortunately, Mrs. S had her phone off and I’d forgotten mine, so we didn’t get a picture of that, but here’s the signature on the CD booklet:

Why do these older gentlemen always write so neatly?!?!

 The next morning, we nearly got run off the road twice before we finally got on the highway and headed home, uneventfully.

The trip turned out okay. 

Another realization on the road to understanding jazz

For those who have been reading this blog for more than a year, you are probably aware that I graduated from college a mere three years ago this May. I’m proud to say that at the tender age of 43, after achieving credits at 6 different colleges over a period of 26 years, I obtained my BSBA degree. Quite an accomplishment, if I do say so myself. I would say, however, that as hard as I worked, with as many solo and team projects, assignments, papers, etc. that we had to complete, no single project that I undertook toward my degree required as much time and hard work as the project I just completed for my jazz arranging class: a seventeen piece arrangement of Bill Evans’ “Peri’s Scope” with a lick from Thelonious Monk’s “In Walked Bud” thrown in for good measure (or eight good measures).

To complete the 150 bars or so, I estimate that I spent somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty hours. It required complete reworking of the saxophone soli – twenty four bars of five parts. It required at least five hours just learning the software (Finale) to compose. It required two critiquing sessions with my instructor and classmates (three if you count the one for the soli). It even took about forty-five minutes just to print out the parts, make adjustments, reprint them, etc. etc. Then yesterday evening, the big band sight read it, got some tips and insight from me (not much), then played it through once more.

Finished.

All that said, I really enjoyed it. As much work as it was, the feelings of accomplishment and completion were just exhilarating, and it makes me feel good that I can get back to my regular, non-scholastic life. First order of business is to buy myself some jazz CD’s and get all my music that’s been laying about organized. In order to do that, I’ll have to find some shelves to put it on.

And I’m looking forward to keeping up with this blog once again.

A new year for jazz

Enough with the resolutions, already. Just make music!

I find it interesting that one of the greatest living jazz pianists thinks Art Tatum was the best jazz pianist ever, that Bill Evans was the last jazz piano innovator, and that Thelonious Monk, as genius as he was, simply wasn't all that good. These are sentiments that I have shared for years, basically since I took up jazz piano, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see them confirmed by a great like Dick Hyman. But don't take my word for it: listen to some recordings, read this article from the Wall Street Journal, then listen some more. You'll see what I mean.

I like that I'm able to look back and see that I've made some progress, or at least, have some awareness of things I didn't before. May 2010 continue the trend.

Saw on FB

According to one of my Facebook friends, Thelonious Sphere Monk would've been 92 this weekend. With the possible exception of Bill Evans, no other pianist has so defined the modern sound of the jazz piano. Here's a link for your enjoyment.

"Epistrophy"

The Audition

Before reading this entry, it would be good if you read the first part. (This entry won’t not make sense, but it will lose some of its impact if the two episodes are read out of order.)

Come Thursday, and my company begins the process of laying people off. Since I work in HR, that fills up my half day so that it just whizzed by and I didn’t have fifteen seconds to think about my audition. But, I did take care of everything I needed to take care of and I did leave on time, stopping to buy some stuff for lunch. After eating lunch, I went straight to the piano and began practicing.

I got out a recording of Thelonious Monk playing Duke Ellington and worked on It Don’t Mean a Thing. I improved it a lot in the thirty minutes I spent on it. I went over and over the back end to get my timing down, and I played the chromatic bass line chords to eradicate some less useful chords that were still in muscle memory that I no longer wanted to use. It tightened up a bit, but I left it a little ragged. I figured I didn’t want to sound above my actual level of skill at the audition, as if that might be an issue. I decided I would not play A Child is Born, because that requires some pedal and light keyboard work, and I wasn’t sure what quality of piano I was going to have to play on. I decided a rough version of Bewitched would do for the ballad, and I just played it through a few times to freshen it up. Then, I worked on Blue Monk. Over and over. Again, I smoothed it a little, but not enough to impress anyone. And again, that would give a better indication of my actual playing level.

So I drive over to the audition, and the jazz ensemble director is there waiting for me. He recognizes me right away (we’d met before), and we chat briefly as we make our way to the practice room. If the following is read at normal speed, it will very closely approximate the beginning of the actual audition:

Him: So, I couldn’t find any jazz music books, other than this mini-book of chord changes, so I’m not sure if you...
Me: Well, I brought my Real Book.
Him: Okay, Real Book. Great. That’s even better. Turn to Blue Bossa. (!) Do you know it?
Me: Actually, my instructor and I looked at it last night, but that was the first time I’d ever tried to play it and I didn’t even glance at it after the ...
Him: That’s good. Here we go, 1, 2, ah 1, 2, 3, 4...

And he started playing it, strumming away on his guitar, just like that. Ten seconds we’d been in the room, and I’m bashing out a semblance of a tune on the piano. I sounded terrible, but for the most part, I kept up. What I played in the right hand was more or less what it needed to be. What I played in the left hand were chords that vaguely followed the printed page. I was still able, however, to assemble everything together at the ending C-minor. He said he liked my chording, but he then proceeded to tell me a bunch of ways to “jazz them up”. He also then had me improvise to the chord without playing them, which I actually did pretty well with. Ten minutes, and the audition was over.

The long and short of it is, because I’m not enrolled as a regular music student, I get last choice of classes. The ensemble director told me that I was not good enough for the advanced ensemble on Thursday, but he might be able to fit me into the Wednesday ensemble, depending on whether there was already a piano player in that group or not.

One irritation about recorded jazz music

It happened again.

A while back, I ordered Clifford Brown's complete Blue Note recordings (4-CD set) back to back with Art Blakey's Birdland Volume 1. I was very annoyed to learn that the Art Blakey CD was part of the Clifford Brown set. A close reading of my Penguin Jazz Recordings guide probably would have given me a clue along those lines, but it is questionable that I would have been able to put two and two together that fast.

Well, back before I even started liking jazz, at the suggestion of the Wall Street Journal, I picked up a couple from their short list of "must buy" jazz CD's from an article they did, one of which was Thelonious Monk Live at the Five Spot. It is a great CD and I got a lot of play out of it, but again, I was still annoyed that it is one of the four CD's included in Thelonious Monk Complete, which I purchased last week. This duplication of CD's probably couldn't really have been avoided, since I've had the first CD for so long, and actually, Penguin told me that there would be that duplication, but wanting the Monk and having found a bargain, I just bought it. I figured I could resell the Live CD, but it's going for like $1.98 used on Amazon, which doesn't really make it worth the effort. Better just to have a "more full" collection for that price. Besides, for some odd reason, the songs are in a different order, which I can't figure out why if it was a live recording, so there is that one minor difference.

I'm finding, though, that this is one of the biggest drawbacks of jazz music. In the pop world, artists and recording companies often re-issue stuff and repackage songs, but when they do, they usually add tracks or re-mix the song, or something. They don't just throw a disc into a different jacket and sell it to you. In jazz, though, it seems like there is a lot of that. You run into a lot of trouble with that, too, because guys like Art Blakey, Clifford Brown, McCoy Tyner, to name just a few, played all over and with everybody. It's just too easy for the average jazz fan to get crossed up.

I guess the only thing to do is make friends and trade duplicate CD's when one inevitably gathers a few.

Just the same, I would prefer it didn't happen again.