Henry “Red” Allen (trumpet), with Coleman Hawkins (tenor saxophone), Vic Dickenson (trombone), Pee Wee Russell (clarinet), Rex Stewart (cornet), Danny Barker (guitar), Nat Pierce (piano), Milt Hinton (bass), Papa Jo Jones (drums), “Wild Man Blues,” live (TV Broadcast, The Sound of Jazz), 1957
All-star jam sessions often fizzle. Not this one. What makes this so good? A lot of it, I think, has to do with saxophonist Coleman Hawkins, who takes the first solo after trumpeter Red Allen states the melody. Right from the beginning (1:27-) it’s apparent that Hawkins isn’t just going through the motions. He plays, throughout, with great concentration and conviction, not wasting a moment. This inspires everyone; you can see it in their faces (1:44-47, 1:55-58, 2:03-08, 2:39-44). He gives the others a lot to live up to—and they do.
The 1960s—a decade of relentless experimentation, bold innovation, of searching, always, for something new, something true.
Freddie and the Dreamers, “Little Bitty Pretty One,” “A Little You”
Live, London, 1965
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lagniappe
reading table
Last night I had a dream. I was in France. Paris was again falling to the Germans, but it had become such a habit that one had to look closely to see that anyone really cared. I arrived in Paris (from the front, I think, but there wasn’t much of one) went to a party, where I was surrounded by acquaintances. They became distant and shadowy when I approached them. Suddenly I saw you and gave you a tremendous hug. You moved to another table. I said: ‘I know where there are a couple of good French restaurants.’ You said: ‘They’re all French here.’
—Robert Lowell, Letter to Elizabeth Bishop, 6/14/1953,
in The Letters of Robert Lowell (Saskia Hamilton ed., 2005)
Yesterday we left off in 1977; let’s fast-forward 33 years.
Von Freeman (tenor saxophone), with Mike Allemana (guitar), Matt Ferguson (bass), Michael Raynor (drums); “Lester Leaps In,” live, Chicago (New Apartment Lounge, 75th St.), 2010
Johnny Otis, December 28, 1921-January 17, 2012, singer, songwriter, piano player, bandleader, disc jockey, TV host, etc.
“Willie and the Hand Jive” (The Johnny Otis Show), c. late 1950s
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lagniappe
Genetically, I’m pure Greek. Psychologically, environmentally, culturally, by choice, I’m a member of the black community.
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Society wants to categorize everything, but to me it’s all African-American music. The music isn’t just the notes, it’s the culture—the way Grandma cooked, the way Grandpa told stories, the way the kids walked and talked.
The other night my son Alex took me—this was my Christmas present—to see this guy at a small concert hall on the north side of Chicago (Old Town School of Folk Music). We’d last seen him together 20 years ago, in 1992, at a little club not far from where we live (FitzGerald’s). Alex wasn’t even five years old. It was an early evening set, part of a big Fourth of July festival. The night was stormy. The power went out. He played by candlelight.