Back in January, I wrote an obituary for pioneering talent manager and former bassist John Levy, who died a few weeks shy of his own centennial. Soon afterward, it came time for the "bass issue" of JazzTimes, and I found myself thinking of Levy again.
So I wrote this column, which appeared in the April issue of the magazine — the one with Esperanza Spalding on the cover. I'm posting it here because it hadn't previously made its way online. All my pertinent thoughts are in the column, so I'll say no more. But here for good measure is a clip of Levy playing "Conception" with the George Shearing Quintet:
This month’s column tackles the subject of female jazz criticism, and especially the lack thereof — not a new issue by any stretch, but one worth considering anew. I’m not going to rehash my argument here, but I’d like to expand on one aspect of it. What initially motivated the column was the recent publication of Out of the Vinyl Deeps: Ellen Willis on Rock Music, which I urge any reader to purchase, like, now.
The new column is all about banjo and guitar player Brandon Seabrook, who appears on one of this year’s most slyly inviting jazz albums, If the Past Seems So Bright, by Jeremy Udden’s Plainville.
My piece doesn’t deal much with Plainville, focusing instead on Seabrook himself, and his approach to the banjo, and his demonic presence in Seabrook Power Plant, the band he formed with his brother, drummer Jared. Two years ago, sometime between their first album and their second, I reviewed the band in Brooklyn.
There’s a pull quote from my review at the band’s website, though it’s not the one that goes “...a manic clusterfuck of merciless banjo torture...” (That phrase comes from Christopher Weingarten’s blog post for the Village Voice. He’s not wrong, btw.)
This month’s cover story for JazzTimes, re: singer Kurt Elling, has been excerpted online. There’s way more insight behind the paywall, so if you like what you see, please go buy a copy, or swipe one from your neighbor. Meanwhile, I thought I’d expand on just one (major) aspect of the piece here, having to do with his thoughts on artistic maturity and its antipode, callow youth.
Elling is nothing if not a self-reflective artist, and soon after we sat down he was musing on his stature vis-à-vis jazz’s critical establishment. The tide had been turning for him in that regard, especially since the generally acknowledged triumph of his Coltrane-Hartman album, Dedicated to You, in 2009. But what Elling seemed eager to talk about were his detractors, some of whom he felt had formed their opinions early on.* Here is some of what he said:
The new JazzTimes column is up, with a personal riff on the value of jazz clubs, even in a pop-up age. I won’t parrot myself here, except to note that the Ortlieb’s Jazzhaus I knew had passed into lore well before the club itself expired. I haven’t come across a really good account of what went down over the last five years or so, but the comment thread beneath this item in the Philly City Paper will give you some idea.
Also, a word about Sid Simmons, who partly defined the Ortlieb’s I remember. A gentleman in every respect, Simmons handled his post with a kind of superhuman patience and dignity. A battered piano, a noisy crowd, a parade of would-be hard-boppers clamoring to sit in. I learned a lot by watching Simmons deal with guys who couldn’t cut it. (I also learned a lot by sitting in with him and Mike Boone every week, but that’s a tale for another time.)
The Sid Simmons-Mike Boone-Byron Landham album Keep the Faith is worth hearing if you’re interested in this corner of the often-underrated mid-Atlantic jazz mainstream; look here for audio samples and download options. And the EPK below features some good interview and performance footage, shot at Ortlieb’s. (Simmons’ thoughts about Boone are very touching.)
My column in the July/AugustJazzTimes (not online, alas), concerns music publishing, an issue of stealth importance today. To parrot a dry but earnest line from my own self: “At a time when most jazz musicians are composers, and other sources of income are dwindling, music publishing may be the one area with growth prospects.” Given the thrust of some recent bloggery, it seems a good notion to revisit.
Jazz musicians have long paid the price for inattention to
their publishing. In some cases, it’s a matter of ineffectual policing. You may know, for instance, what happened with Thelonious Monk’s most oft-recorded composition, “’Round
Midnight.” After it had been introduced to Cootie Williams, the song was filed for copyright with three names on the
certificate: Monk, Williams and lyricist Bernie Hanighen. “Consequently,” writes Robin Kelley, “Hanighen and his
estate receive a third of the royalties from every version of ‘’Round Midnight’
produced. And in turn, the original composer and his estate receive only a
third of the royalties -- to this very day.” Got that?
But let’s set aside the Big Fish example from a bygone era. Most
present-day jazz musicians will never write a “’Round Midnight” -- and that
shouldn’t at all diminish their interest in the publishing game. In the column,
I seek illumination on that point from Dan Coleman, whose publishing-administration company, “A” Side Music, works with the likes of Maria Schneider, Brad Mehldau and Billy Childs. (More on him in the comments.) I also consult with two publishing-savvy musicians, bassist Ben Allison and keyboardist Larry Goldings.
Let’s just say it, people: the jazz internet has a
contemporizing bias. Trawl the blogs, cop the tweets, and you might mistakenly
conclude that most partisans of this music are anti-essentialists, allergic to
strict guidelines, always up for something new. But that’s simply not the case,
which is one reason for this month’s column
in JazzTimes. For some time, I had been musing
over an ascendant strain of “jazz traditionalism” that embraces the mid-century
modern axis (Shorter, Hancock) but excludes some recent fissures (Lehman? Moran?).
So what do I do, then: coin a new term of disparagement?
Please, don’t let that be the case. I embarked on my mossy trail with open
heart and earnest mind. (Of course I also hope the damn thing is a fun read.) The recent spate of jazz obituaries -- for guitarist Herb Ellis*, pianist John Bunch and critic/trombonist Mike Zwerin, if we’re keeping to a
two-week radius -- has only renewed my conviction as a mossy-stone adjunct, a sympathetic soul. But not, I suppose, a true believer.
