Jimmy Witherspoon (vocals) with Art Pepper (alto saxophone), “Past Forty Blues,” live, Los Angeles, 1981
Art never fails to captivate. But it’s hard to watch this without mixed emotions. He looks, to these eyes, completely coked up. The next year, at the age of fifty-six, he suffered a fatal stroke.
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lagniappe
reading table
[W]hen a reader is grasped and held by a book, reading does not feel like an escape from life so much as it feels like an urgent, crucial dimension of life itself.
—Rebecca Mead, My Life in Middlemarch (reviewed by novelist Claire Messud in the Dec./Jan. 2014 Bookforum)
Kalaparusha Maurice McIntyre, saxophonist, March 26, 1936-November 9, 2013
From the New York Times obituary (Nate Chinen, 11/14/13):
Kalaparusha Maurice McIntyre, a saxophonist who was a founding member of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, a pioneering Chicago avant-garde coalition, died on Saturday in the Bronx. He was 77.
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Present at the association’s first meeting in 1965, Mr. McIntyre later articulated its objectives in an in-house newsletter, The New Regime. The priority, he wrote, was creative autonomy. But he also touched on sociopolitical issues: “We are trying to balance an unbalanced situation that is prevalent in this society.”
Maurice Benford McIntyre was born on March 24, 1936, in Clarksville, Ark., and raised in Chicago. His father was a pharmacist, his mother an English teacher. He studied music at Roosevelt University in Chicago until a drug habit derailed him, leading to a three-year stretch in prison, in Lexington, Ky., where he later said he got most of his musical education.
After returning to Chicago, he met the pianist Muhal Richard Abrams and the saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell, who were developing an aesthetic revolving around strictly original music. Mr. McIntyre became a fixture in Mr. Abrams’s Experimental Band and appeared on Mr. Mitchell’s 1966 album, “Sound,” the first release under the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians banner. Mr. McIntyre released his first album, “Humility in the Light of the Creator,” in 1969, the year that he adopted the name Kalaparusha Ahrah Difda, a confluence of terms from African, Indian and astrological sources. (He later modified it to Kalaparusha Maurice McIntyre.) Like many of his fellow association musicians, he began performing in Europe.
He moved to New York in 1974 and spent a productive stretch at the Creative Music Studio in Woodstock. But his career foundered in the ’80s and ’90s, and he took to busking — a practice he continued even after making several comeback albums, notably “Morning Song,” in 2004.
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Talking and playing, New York, 2010
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Live (with Karl Berger, vibes, piano; Tom Schmidt, bass; Jack DeJohnette, drums; Jumma Santos, drums, percussion), “Ismac,” Woodstock, N.Y., 1975
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Recording (with J.B. Hutto, vocals, guitar; Sunnyland Slim, organ, et al.), “Send Her Home to Me,” 1968
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Recording (with Malachi Favors, bass; M’Chaka Uba, bass; Thurman Barker, drums; Ajaramu [A. J. Shelton], drums), “Humility in the Light of the Creator” (Alternate), 1969
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lagniappe
musical thoughts
A human life. A series of notes. Which is more permanent?
This is a track I coproduced. It was the last thing recorded that night, an afterthought. The lights had just been turned down. The room was nearly dark.
Carey Bell’s Blues Harp Band,* “Woman In Trouble” (Living Chicago Blues, Vol. 1; Grammy Nominee), Alligator, 1978
Charlie Musselwhite (1944-; vocals, harmonica) with Big Walter Horton (1918-1981; vocals, harmonica), live, Chicago, 1981
Charlie’s playing is wonderful: it both swings and sings. And he’s got great presence. But listen to Walter, whom I had the chance to work with in the ’70s when I was with Alligator Records. He’s not onstage long; this was only months before his death. But there are moments, when Walter’s playing, where time seems to stop (16:11, 18:03, 18:22, 19:57, etc.).
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lagniappe
reading table
You can fall a long way in sunlight.
You can fall a long way in the rain.
The ones who don’t take the old white horse
take the morning train.
—Robert Hass (1941-), “August Notebook: A Death” (excerpt)
Joe McPhee Survival Unit 3 (JM, alto saxophone; Fred Lonberg-Holm, cello; Michael Zerang, drums), live, London, 2010
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lagniappe
reading table
Dream Song 40
By John Berryman (1914-1972)
I’m scared a lonely. Never see my son,
easy be not to see anyone,
combers out to sea
know they’re goin somewhere but not me.
Got a little poison, got a little gun,
I’m scared a lonely.
I’m scared a only one thing, which is me,
from othering I don’t take nothin, see,
for any hound dog’s sake.
But this is where I livin, where I rake
my leaves and cop my promise, this’ where we
cry oursel’s awake.
Wishin was dyin but I gotta make
it all this way to that bed on these feet
where peoples said to meet.
Maybe but even if I see my son
forever never, get back on the take,
free, black & forty-one.
Back in the ’70s, when I was in college, I heard John Berryman read his poetry, an experience that opened my ears and mind in all kinds of ways. He moved so swiftly, and gracefully, from one register to another, leaping back and forth between high and low as if nothing could be more natural. Today he joins a select group—tenor saxophonist Von Freeman, trumpeter Lester Bowie, singer Dorothy Love Coates, poets Wislawa Szymborska and William Bronk—in the MCOTD Hall of Fame.
In advance of tonight’s All-Star game, here’s the answer to a baseball trivia question: Who’s the finest musician ever to work between the foul lines? This guy, “the progenitor of boogie-woogie piano,”played for the Chicago All-Americans, a Negro league team, during World War I, then worked for twenty-five years as a groundskeeper for the Chicago White Sox.
Jimmy Yancey (1894 [or 1898]-1951), piano, “Yancey Stomp,” 1939
Albert Collins (1932-1993), “Two-Lane Highway” (John Zorn, Spillane, 1987)
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lagniappe
musical thoughts
[A] particular brand of comment showed up enough [on the Alan Lomax Archive recordings on YouTube] that I started a collection. I call them “blues affirmations.” They number in the dozens, posted to an assortment of clips of black vernacular music. These performances don’t necessarily pertain to the song structure or performance style called “blues”—they could be field hollers or minstrel pieces—but the commentary was single-mindedly focused on it.
The notion of a “pure” culture, of any kind, is informed by ignorance and/or ideology and/or romanticism. I feel set upon by a thick, dumb fog just looking at the phrase. But the Blues Affirmations stir something in me; they insist, childlike, on something real, true, forever enduring, constructed of unadulterated and unmediated purity. I look forward to them, and they undo me a bit when they arrive.
They feel authentic, so I’d like to give them the last word:
one word: BLUES…
This is blues
The real blues
Real O.G. Blues. No fancy shit!
This is the real face of the blues right here.
this is how it’s done with real blues!
this that old school real sittin on your porch blues!
That’s REAL old school blues
Oh man….. that’s the Blues baby….. that’s the real, down South, low down, heartfelt blues.
Authentic, real Blues, Love it.
it doesnt get anymore authentic than this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now that is the blues.
THE BLUES
true blues
Pure Blues
Blues is timeless.
there is nothing as hard as the blues
This man over here folks is the blues himself!
Great melody that shows blues music comes from the soul.
The blues is very expressive, and it is the foundation of rock music!
True music, with emotion, feelings.. His soul is speakin
the Blues needs no roaring electric guitars and smashing drums to show all the hard aspects of life without disguise
Clapton who?…THIS IS THE BLUES, R.L. shows you how it smells, looks, taste, sounds, and most importantly how it feels. Clapton never had babies cry in the background of his performances
it’s only perfect because he’s authentic
that look in his eyes at 4:05…. thats the blues right there
The blues is real, that’s why the blues lives on.
That’s from far one of the best blues I never heard… real blues… from the guts… not from the wallets !!!
This is where the blues started – AND THIS IS WHERE THE BLUES ENDS.
*As I’ve mentioned, I had the great pleasure of working with Albert, co-producing his 1978 album Ice Pickin’ (Alligator)—singular guitarist, sweet guy.
