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Category: drums

Monday, 12/28/09

genius at work

Thelonious Monk with saxophonist Charlie Rouse, working out a number, “Boo Boo’s Birthday,” during a recording session, 1967

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Thelonious Monk (with Charlie Rouse, tenor saxophone; Ben Riley, drums; Larry Gales, bass), “Boo Boo’s Birthday” (Underground [Columbia], 1968)

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reading table

One of the great discoveries I made in college, besides Bach (10/19/09, 10/24/09, 12/25/09) and Blind Willie Johnson (11/15/09) and Bill Evans (11/18/09) and Hound Dog Taylor (10/30/09), was John Berryman. Hearing him read his poetry, not long before he died (jumping off a bridge in Minneapolis), changed my life. Really. That night made me realize, in ways that I never had before, just how lively and surprising and exciting poetry could be. It made me realize, too, that what a great poem offers is an experience—one you can’t get anywhere else. And so I have Berryman to thank not only for his own poems (especially The Dream Songs [which would be on my desert-island packing list]) but also for making Emily Dickinson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Wislawa Szymborska, Charles Simic, et al., such important figures in my life. Just as my life would be immeasurably poorer without Thelonious Monk (11/2/09, 11/25/09, today) and Vernard Johnson (12/6/09) and Morton Feldman (11/7/09, 12/5/09) and Lester Bowie (9/8/09, 10/28/09), so too would it be without them.

This recording, for all its technical shortcomings (headphones help), captures some of what I heard in Berryman that night almost 40 years ago. Blustery and grandiose and vulnerable, jazzy and funny: he was all these things—and more.

This is not a cultural occasion, ladies and gentlemen, in case you were misled by anyone. This is an entertainment.—John Berryman

John Berryman (1914-1972), live, Iowa City, 1968

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Part 6

Wednesday, 12/23/09

The French Quarter: the spirit of some places is so strong you can go there, in mind if not in body, just by saying their name.

Rebirth Brass Band, live, New Orleans’ French Quarter, 2008

Thursday, 12/10/09

This is the kind of guy who gives discographers fits. According to Wikipedia: “On recordings, he is credited under many different names, including: Noel ‘Scully’ Simms, Noel ‘Skully’ Simms, Scully, Scully Simms, Skullie, Skully, Skully Simms, Zoot ‘Scully’ Simms, Mikey Spratt, Scollie, Zoot Sims, and Skitter.” Even in the course of a single book, Lloyd Bradley’s This Is Reggae Music, his name’s spelled two different ways (Skully, Scully).

Noel “Skully” Simms, live (recording session, Horace Andy, Livin’ It Up [2007])

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mail

Tuesday I emailed Oran Etkin, letting him know that his music was being featured here, and he sent this response: “That is great. Thank you. Are you the writer of the blog? I like the melodic rhythm and rhythmic melody idea.” In a later message, he added: “Great stuff. I’m checking out the 3-part Lacy interview. Checked out the Malian drumming and gospel sax stuff too.”

Wednesday, 12/9/09

Take away the hand drums and the music of this man—another of the great artists to come out of Chicago in the last 50 years—would have a whole different flavor.

Curtis Mayfield (with Master Henry Gibson on hand drums), “Move On Up,” live, The Netherlands (The Hague), 1987

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In the Sixties, you had percussionists like Master Henry Gibson that was playing with Curtis Mayfield and he was pretty much used as melodic accents. When you listen to a lot of Curtis’ work after the Impressions, rather than a horn player he’s got Henry Gibson out front on percussions. A lot of people had missed that in the sense of compositional expression.—Kahil El’Zabar

Monday, 12/7/09

If you play a recording of American jazz for an African friend, even though all the formal characteristics of African music are there, he may say, as he sits fidgeting in his chair, ‘What are we supposed to do with this?’ He is expressing perhaps the most fundamental aesthetic in Africa: without participation, there is no meaning. When you ask an African friend whether or not he ‘understands’ a certain type of music, he will say yes if he knows the dance that goes with it.—John Miller Chernoff, African Rhythm and African Sensibility (1979)

West African Drummers & Dance Ceremony: Bobo celebration, Mali

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reading table

The End of Music?

We seem to be on the edge of a paradigm shift. Orchestras are struggling to stay alive, rock has been relegated to the underground, jazz has stopped evolving and become a dead art, the music industry itself has been subsumed by corporate culture and composers are at their wit’s end trying to find something that’s hip but still appeals to an audience mired in a 19th-century sensibility.

For more than half a century we’ve seen incredible advances in sound technology but very little if any advance in the quality of music. In this case the paradigm shift may not be a shift but a dead stop. Is it that people just don’t want to hear anything new? Or is it that composers and musicians have simply swallowed the pomo line that nothing else new can be done, which ironically is really just the ‘old, old story.’

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Of course, we could all just listen to all of our old albums, CD’s and mp3’s. In fact, nowadays that’s where the industry makes most of its money. We could also just watch old movies and old TV shows. There are a lot of them now. Why bother making any new ones? Why bother doing anything new at all? Why bother having any change or progress at all as long as we’ve got ‘growth’? I’m just wondering if this is in fact the new paradigm. I’m just wondering if in fact the new music is just the old music again. And, if that in fact it would actually just be the end of music.—Glenn Branca, 11/24/09

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Arrested Musical Development?

I think baby boomers have to a great extent been products of arrested musical development; that is they have stayed with those more popular music genres—even to the point of being more invested in ‘oldies’ of their development years than in current contemporary music—and have not grown in terms of their music sensibilities to embrace the more ‘serious’ forms of music, i.e. jazz, classical, contemporary chamber music, opera, etc. Supposedly when we grow and develop we don’t for example continue to read books and publications that are geared more towards children or teens. So why not the same relationship with music?—Willard Jenkins, 11/10/09

Thursday, 12/3/09

One of the through lines of Steve Lacy’s long career—whether playing with traditional (“Dixieland”) jazz bands, or Thelonious Monk, or Cecil Taylor, or his own groups—was the sound of joy.

Steve Lacy Four (Steve Lacy, soprano saxophone, with Steve Potts, alto saxophone; Jean Jacques Avenel, bass; Oliver Johnson, drums), “Prospectus,” live, Prague, 1990

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‘Make the drummer sound good.’—Steve Lacy (recalling something Thelonious Monk told him [in Robin D. G. Kelly, Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an American Original [2009]])

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Steve Lacy, talking and playing:

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Part 2

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Part 3

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I have always admired Steve’s perseverance and commitment to perfecting his art . . . He is the prime example of someone who has fought for artistic integrity.—Sonny Rollins

Tuesday, 12/1/09

Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Miles Davis: so many of the greatest figures in jazz weren’t just great musicians, or composers, or arrangers. They were great bandleaders. As important to their artistic success as anything else was their ability to find, and showcase, players who could make the music come alive—people like Johnny Hodges and Ben Webster and Jimmy Blanton and Lester Young and Freddie Green and Jo Jones and John Coltrane and Bill Evans and Tony Williams.

That small circle of elite bandleaders includes this man. He hired musicians who played their instruments like no one else (Eric Dolphy, Jaki Byard, et al.). He gave them a musical setting in which structure and freedom were exquisitely balanced. And together they made music that sounds (even on something familiar) like nothing else.

Charles Mingus Sextet (with Johnny Coles, trumpet; Jaki Byard, piano; Eric Dolphy, alto saxophone and bass clarinet; Clifford Jordan, tenor saxophone; Dannie Richmond, drums), “Take the A Train,” live, Norway (Oslo), 1964

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I nominate Charles Mingus one of America’s greatest composers—Ran Blake (in the liner notes to his recent album Driftwoods)

Wednesday, 11/11/09

Here’s bassist/composer Sirone (AKA Norris Jones), who passed away last month (10/22) at the age of 69. The list of musicians he played with is long and deep—John Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders, Dewey Redman, Cecil Taylor, et al. He was a member of the Revolutionary Ensemble, the critically acclaimed trio that also included violinist Leroy Jenkins.

This quartet performance, from last year, features an unusual mix of instruments: tenor saxophone, drums, bass, cello. How deeply felt is this music? Look at the smiles Sirone and cellist Nioka Workman exchange toward the end (8:35 and following).

Project L’Afrique Garde (with Sirone [bass], Nioka Workman [cello], Michael Wimberly [drums and percussion], Abdoulaye N’Diaye [tenor saxophone]), live, New York, 2008

Thursday, 10/15/09

How to be both solid and fluid, both fat and delicate. How to make the beat breathe. These are things that, as a child, Philly Joe Jones began to learn while dancing—tap-dancing. Just watch the way Thelonious Monk, listening to this solo, rocks back and forth (1:25-1:50), as if he’s about to break into a little dance himself.

Philly Joe Jones, live (with Thelonious Monk), 1959

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He [Philly Joe Jones] breathed our history as/his walking beat . . . . The Man/So Hip/A City/Took/His/Name.—Amiri Baraka (formerly LeRoi Jones, in Eulogies [1996])

Saturday, 10/3/09

more New Orleans drumming

Here, following up on Wednesday’s post, are two New Orleans drummers who embrace the Muhammad Ali aesthetic: float like a butterfly (0:56-1:58, etc.), sting like a bee (1:59, etc.).

Dwayne Williams and Jason Slack, live (before a gig), Hudson, New York

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You could always tell a New Orleans drummer the minute you heard him play his bass drum because he’d have that parade beat connotation.—Earl Palmer

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From yesterday’s Cubs radio broadcast (during a truly miserable loss—12-3 to Arizona—in a season that’s been full of ’em), here’s Pat Hughes on partner Ron Santo’s career as a base-stealer: “35 stolen bases, 41 times caught stealing: that’s sort of a risky proposition—but I bet the umpires missed a lot of calls.”