music clip of the day

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Category: saxophone

Wednesday, 2/10/10

The term “sideman” can be misleading. It suggests a leader/soloist who reigns supreme while the other musicians serve merely as accompanists.  But the strongest jazz performances, especially live ones, rarely work that way—they’re all about interplay. Here, on piano, bass, and drums, are three of the finest jazz musicians in recent memory. Each contributes mightily to the quality of this performance. All, alas, are now gone.

David Murray, tenor saxophone, with John Hicks, piano; Fred Hopkins, bass; Ed Blackwell, drums; “Morning Song,” live, New York (Village Vanguard), 1986

Part 1

Here are just a few of the things I love about what these guys do:

:14-16, :45-48, 1:17-20: Hopkins can be both fat and precise, funky and elegant. What other bassist pops so impeccably?

4:04-4:22: This is pure Blackwell: a delicate counterpoint dance that lifts everything without ever calling attention to itself.

5:25-42, 6:00-05: Some musicians play “inside” the chord changes and structure, some play “outside”; only a few, like Hicks, are able to do both at once, delineating the changes and structure while at the same time subverting them.

*****

Part 2

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mail

Great! [T. L. Barrett]

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I love your music clips . . . . Listening to Gil Scott-Heron right now, in fact.

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love this . . . thank you for including me! [Jimmie Dale Gilmore]

Tuesday, 2/9/10

In a recent NIH-funded study, conducted over a period of six months, individuals suffering from clinical depression who listened to this man’s music for ten minutes a day fared significantly better, as measured by the Hamilton Depression Rating Scale (HDRS), than those who did not.

Fats Waller

“Honeysuckle Rose” (1941)

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“Your Feet’s Too Big” (1940s)

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“Ain’t Misbehavin'” (1941)

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“The Joint Is Jumpin'” (1940s)

Tuesday, 2/2/10

You can pay 600 bucks to fly to Berlin—or you can play this clip.

Arto Lindsay, The Penny Parade, live, Berlin, 2009

Want more? Here.

Friday, 1/29/10

William Zinsser, author of On Writing Well:

Short words are better than long words.

Little Richard:

I’m gonna rip it up . . .

Little Richard, “Rip It Up,” live (TV broadcast), c. 1956

Thursday, 1/28/10

This guy—one of my all-time musical heroes (someone I’ve been listening to for over 30 years)—makes you move. He makes you feel. He makes you think. What more could you ask for?

Henry Threadgill, alto saxophone

With His Very Very Circus, live, New York, 1995

*****

With his Society Situation Dance Band (featuring Craig Harris, trombone), live, Germany (Hamburg), 1988

Like a lot of live performances (especially ones where the musicians haven’t had many chances to play together [as no doubt was the case here]), this gets better as it goes along. At first, things are a bit tentative and raggedy. Then, at around 1:50, trombonist Craig Harris starts to find his way. By around 2:15, the horns and strings begin to sound more cohesive. By around 3:30, the drummers, having gotten more comfortable with the tempo and structure, start to push the groove harder. At around 8:00, with everything going full steam, Threadgill, feeling Harris feeling it, suddenly breaks things down, leaving just the ’bone and the electric guitar. And with that, the performance jumps out of its skin.

*****

With Judith Sanchez Ruiz (dancer), live, New York, 2008

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Music should go right through you, leave some of itself inside you, and take some of you with it when it leaves.—Henry Threadgill

Monday, 1/25/10

Sax player in a ska band—easiest job in music?

The Blues Busters, “I Don’t Know,” live, Jamaica (Kingston [Sombrero Club]), 1962

Tuesday, 1/19/2010

Chicago Blues Festival, part 2

Howlin’ Wolf (with Hubert Sumlin, guitar), live, Chicago, 1966

“How Many More Years”

*****

“Meet Me In The Bottom”

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When I first heard him [Howlin’ Wolf], I said, ‘This is for me. This is where the soul of man never dies.’—Sam Phillips

Friday, 1/15/10

According to Miles Davis, the history of jazz can be told in four words; here are the first two.

Louis Armstrong, “Dinah,” live, Copenhagen, 1933

Tuesday, 12/29/09

Is there any greater joy than to hear something fresh?

Steve Lehman (saxophonist, composer, bandleader), talking and playing, 2009

Want more? Here (click on the “listen” tab).

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. . . the most important thing, and the most important element of the music, and the most important compositional step is deciding who it is that you’re going to work with—even more so than what notes they’re going to play, or what context you’re going to put them in.—Steve Lehman

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

*****

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

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6