Getting Misty

If I never hear "Misty" again it will be too soon, but when there are interpretations like this...The young Warren Vache sounds so poised and inventive (as he still does), while bassist Slam Stewart steals the show with lovely melodic turns that demonstrate how expressive his simultaneous bowing and humming technique could be. (To hear him display his wares at ballad tempo rather than swing time is a special treat.) Trading eights between trumpet and bass was also an inspired move, nudging Vache and Stewart to give it their best shots in the limited time available. Today Slam is missed; Vache is perpetually underrated and Wein needs a new sponsor for his New York fest.

Tradition In Transition

Miles Davis was striding between two worlds in 1970 and an invaluable clip like this is all you need to be convinced that the on-the-cusp tension brought out some of the great trumpeter's most invigorating playing. "Sanctuary" has him first intoning in "Sketches of Spain" fashion, the vaunted lyricism of the previous two decades fully intact. As things heat up and "Spanish Key" moves into funky overdrive, Davis, determined to match his plugged-in sidemen in intensity, unleashes glorious coils of rip snorting lines and jagged bursts of sound.
With intimations of the past still in plain sight, while being elbowed by visions of the fusion future, Davis's music, circa the start of the new decade, laid out his intentions clearly. Change was imminent, but old school beauty was not to be lost just yet.

Thank You!

If It's Not Asking Too Much

Dear Powers That Be: Please reissue Ornette Coleman's 1972 Impulse! album "Crisis" in the U.S. Please.
Drawn from a 1969 New York concert, this sorely missed album features a Coleman quintet that gathered together familiar faces including bassist Charlie Haden, trumpeter Don Cherry, tenor saxophonist Dewey Redman and drummer Denardo Coleman, Ornette's 23- year-old son. Although the other horns are heard only during the melody reading on this track, it's obvious from Coleman's impassioned improvisation, as well as composer Haden's typically burrowing solo, that the band was in grand form that night. The album's absence particularly hurts because there's precious little recorded work from the late 60s-early 70's period when Coleman still led acoustic bands prior to plugging in with Prime Time.
And if it's still not asking too much: Please post more album tracks onto YouTube. Please.

All The Things He Is

Jim Hall turns 80 next month. The recent years have been rough on the master, but he can take consolation in the fact that he remains the premier jazz guitarist. Not to slight contemporaries ranging from Wes Montgomery to John McLaughlin, but no jazz plectrist has yet to match Hall's extraordinary touch, harmonic imagination, lyrical bent or economical approach. His sound is instantly recognizable and consistently beautiful. Equally munificent is his craving for new musical experiences. If ever there was a man who could safely luxuriate in his own comfort zone it's Hall, but something keeps pushing him to rattle the cage. His openness and generosity is clearly illustrated when he goes head-to-head with younger players who have been influenced by him. The stealthy Bill Frisell wears his Hall credentials more openly than the dashing Pat Metheny, but Hall himself takes both stylists in stride. It's the old man who makes the young bucks sweat.

How Cool Was T-Bone Walker?

Answer: very.
In doing some research on basic T-Bone info, what do we find? It's a centenary year for the immortal musician, a brilliant guitarist, singer and songwriter ( "Stormy Monday Blues" anyone?) who was as comfortable in a jazz setting as he was in the blues. Here, fronting an A-list J.A.T.P band, Walker is his old unflappable self, pealing off silken guitar runs touched by characteristically eccentric touches and singing so smooth it gives you the tingles. With T-Bone you hear those that he obviously listened to for inspiration -- Charlie Christian, Eddie Durham -- as well as later giants who turned to him for guidance: B.B. King, Chuck Berry, Jimi Hendrix.
And speaking of eccentricities... Walker may have held his guitar like a keyboard at times, but he still played a recognizable instrument. Clark Terry, on the other hand, leaves his horns behind for his solo, tooting the blues on a mouthpiece. Not surprisingly, T-Bone seems to get a kick out of it. As Dizzy and company likewise feel for this Texas titan.

Eric Edits

The wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am force of this brief but telling performance is a perfect example of how a focused artist can assert his individuality in a relative blink of an eye. From the first cymbal blast on, "G.W." practically explodes like water from a busted hydrant. Barrelling through the boppish head in no time at all, Dolphy is then out of the gate and charging through a compact solo that decisively announces his unmistakeable sound and approach. And much like a studio improvisation from another alto deity, Charlie Parker, it's over before you know it, leaving the desired paradoxical afterglow:You're left satiated yet wanting more.(I love how trumpeter Benny Bailey is on Dolphy's tail practically before his solo concludes; these guys are laying down the jazz equivalent of a three minute single and leaving not a second unaccounted for.)
Dolphy's work here reminds me of some of his equally brief yet satisfying statements on Oliver Nelson's classic "Blues and the Abstract Truth." Assessing just how much space he had, Dolphy would tumble in, grab your collar with a burst of weird intervals and jolting rhythms, and jump ship before you knew what had hit you. Be they miserly in length or expansive, a Dolphy solo --whether on alto, bass clarinet or flute -- had its maker's name on every note.