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Brazil in Harlem

Brazil in Harlem 04.14.2009

Didn’t catch all the names but there was a fabulous trio tonight playing in a beautiful setting, overlooking a lake as the sun was setting. Here they are playing a Brazilian number.

JAZZ FOR CURIOUS LISTENERS
Quintessence: The NJMH All-Stars Play Quincy Jones
6:30 – 8:00pm
Location: The Charles A. Dana Discovery Center
(Central Park at 110th and Lenox Avenue)
FREE

Come join us at The Charles A. Dana Discovery Center at the Harlem Meer in Central Park to hear live music, as the National Jazz Museum in Harlem All-Stars play the music of Quincy Jones, the subject of this month’s Jazz for Curious Listeners series.

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Let me be clear what interests me specifically in jazz. I’ve always loved good music, irrespective of what type of music it was. For example, in the late 1980s when I took my family on a trip up the Nile river on a felucca, an open deck sail boat, we stopped off in a village, in the middle of nowhere, between Aswan and Luxor, and there was a religious festival going on. Men, who had come on horseback and who carried first world war bolt action rifles, were ‘dancing’ to amazing music. They were dressed in long flowing robes, with huge hats and they swirled in school playgrounds and in private spaces in the village, such as the courtyards of private houses. They whirled, around and around, and amazingly, even though their eyes were firmly closed and they were in close proximity, they never actually touched, let alone bumped into each other. I was enthralled – how did they avoid collisions, how did they keep spinning around and around without falling over? To this day, I just don’t know, but it was the music was that really got to me. It transported me into some special place, which I later came to recognize as the absolute present, the pure moment between past and future that is so easy for kids to be in and so hard for adults. There was a dimension to the music that really touched my spirit.

So while I like all kinds of good music, what I’m always seeking is the aspect I’ve just described. It can be as rare as hen’s teeth if you don’t know where to look.

Last night I attended another wonderful program in the National Museum of Harlem, this time on Jazz in the 1960s. The guy who ran the program last night is a sincere, well-informed fellow who clearly really loves his music. His lecture, not a word I like, but can’t think of a better one right now, consisted of a series of video clips that he played from what must be an extraordinary collection.

He told us a lot of things I certainly didn’t know, that Louis Armstrong was the most successful jazz artist of the 1960s, as he had been in the 20s, 30s 40s and 50s. His Hello Dolly, at one point, toppled The Beatles off the number one spot in the Pop Charts. And he showed how Ella copied a lot of what Armstrong did vocally. And that the 60s was unique in that it was a decade in which you could hear music from every preceding era, all the way back to New Orleans jazz.

I certainly wouldn’t criticize the program, for it obviously depended a) on what the presenter had available to him,  b) his own personal loves, likes and dislikes and c) it would have been a boring, potentially miserable evening if what he played coincided solely and exactly with my own personal tastes and preferences – had this been so I could have stayed at home and listened to my stuff without driving to Harlem and back. But I found myself fascinated by what he didn’t play, or even refer to.

What I liked. First of all, that it was such a thought provoking program. The insights into Bill Evans, and Monk, and Ella. It was great seeing Monk with his quartet. The frisson of connection when Coltrane appeared and started playing. I loved seeing Bill Evans, I’d seen him live in Ronnie Scott’s little club in Gerard Street in London, I think in the early 60s, I got in, in those days, for half a crown, about a quarter, by showing my musician’s union card.

What I didn’t like. A lot of what he played showed genius playing alongside tradesmen. Maybe this was because so much of the clips were made from TV shows in Europe, and obviously, if you are Sonny Rollins, you couldn’t afford to take a band of equals to Europe and make any money out of it. Having seen some of the greats, they were best in the company of equals, or near equals, musicians capable of challenging, provoking or even stretching them into playing at their most creative. As it was, I accept that I am being unkind in calling the bass player who accompanied Rollins, who’s name I can’t remember, a tradesman. But while he is technically brilliant, he misses on what this music is about at its best, and interestingly, what Rashaan Carter,  a young guy who played at the event last week in the Apollo Theater, has in abundance, that spark that ignites something deep within the listener.  But many of the accompanists were tradesmen, and my overall point is valid in that what we got to watch was more akin to watching Sugar Ray Robinson in an exhibition bout rather than in a real fight, something approaching the real thing, but inherently different in many important aspects and ultimately, not the real thing. What we saw was some of the greats play well within themselves, against a pleasant, but none too inspiring backdrop.

What else didn’t I like? Well, the main thing I didn’t like is that even great jazz, played and recorded for TV is a shadow of it’s real self. It’s the sound that’s missing, that sibilance of the brass, the thwack of the bass being stuck, that feeling that reverberates right through you and causes the hairs on the back of your neck to rise, as genius expressing a fundamental truth touches something at the very core of your being. All that is missing, and unavoidably so, but people who never experienced the real thing just don’t know and cannot even speculate on what it sounds like.

It may sound churlish to make this point, but what if we had to look at the works of the great painters – in black and white?

What might have been legitimately included? Assuming it exists on DVD. Yusef Lateef’s Eastern Sounds, a seminal album from 1961 that directly led to the fusion of jazz with Middle Eastern and Indian music. But to look at the bigger picture first, the 60s were an age of rebellion, throughout the Western world. Europe, particularly France and Germany, looked as though they might descend, or ascend, depending on your point of view, into outright revolution. Student protest exploded and the streets of Paris were barricaded against the established order. In the USA, the Civil Rights movement was getting into full swing. Black Power was asserting itself. At the 1968 Mexico Olympics, two black American athletes made history by staging a silent protest against racial discrimination. Tommie Smith and John Carlos, gold and bronze medalists in the 200m, stood with their heads bowed and a black-gloved hand raised as the American National Anthem played during the victory ceremony. The pair both wore black socks and no shoes and Smith wore a black scarf around his neck. They were demonstrating against continuing racial discrimination of black people in the United States. As they left the podium at the end of the ceremony they were booed by many in the crowd and white America was appalled. Such momentous events were reflected in the new jazz of the 60s, and none of this was reflected in last night’s program.

Was there really any reason not to mention Charles Mingus, not to even play a snatch of, say, Fables of Faubus, his musical protest at the ghastly, racist Governor of Alabama, Orville Faubus? Or his Town Hall concert, in New York in 1964 one of the best live recordings in jazz, but of great political as well as musical significance. Or, in keeping with the times, the experimentation of musicians like Archie Shepp, John Tchai and the New York Contemporary Five. Would Miles Davis not merit even a footnote in a program on jazz in the 60s, and was Ellington silent in that period? It wasn’t just the young. Ornette Coleman, Albert Ayler and others, notably Coltrane, were exploring the possibilities of a jazz without the usual orthodox restrictions of melody, harmony and rhythm. There was an overtly political element to all this. In the 1940s, the be-boppers, having watched their elder brothers, invent and play Dixieland and Swing at the highest level, only to see their work mimicked, diluted and the white musicians who did so, become rich and famous in the process, tried to create a music that was uniquely theirs. They failed, of course, for music isn’t the prerogative of one group. But there was an attempt at the same in the 1960s, and inevitably and rightly, it failed for the same reasons. And none of this got a look in? Maybe it’s because it isn’t on DVD, it could be as simple as that. But I left the place with the feeling that what had been served up was a watered down, sanitized version of what I remember.

And that leads me back to my main point. A lot of jazz can be as dull, boring and interesting as any other art form. But when jazz takes off, as it did last night, despite all the things going against it, the crappy sound, for example, watching Coltrane and Getz play ballads on the same bandstand, although not actually together, or Monk play Epistrophy, or Bill Evans play My Funny Valentine, almost without straying from the melody, but producing great jazz, at the same time. This leads to the element of the numinous, the spontaneity and creativity, that touching our very core, that connection to something divine, that’s what jazz,  at its very best, produces and more than anything,  that’s what I really dig.

admin Awareness, Enjoyment, Knowledge, Meditation, Understanding, human brain, ydig Add new tag, discrimination, genius, jazz, National Jazz Museum in Harlem, Rashaan Carter, transformation

Tuesday March 17, 2009 Jazz for Curious Listeners: Jazz on Film series devotes 90 minutes to the 1940’s, by any standard a golden age of jazz. We will see Lester Young, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, Benny Goodman, John Kirby, Charlie Shavers, Sid Catlett, Buddy Rich, Ella Fitzgerald and many others.

World War II. The recording ban. A transition from large to smaller ensembles, from swing to bebop. These are several of the major happenings of the 1940s in relation to jazz. Expect each of these themes (among others) to find reflection and amplification in this session of Jazz on Film.

Visitors Center
104 East 126th Street, Suite 2C
Monday through Friday 10 a.m. – 4 p.m
close to 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 trains to 125th Street

Above is the bare bones of what is an exceptional series. Just as the performances of many of the true jazz greats were never captured on film, it is sad that the phenomenal talks by the inestimable Loren Shoenberg, the co-director of the museum, are not being videoed for others to enjoy.

It’s all about the music, and last night was just incredible. As I drove back up the i87 to Riverdale, my head was buzzing and I had to restrain myself from driving too fast as I reflected on 90 minutes of pure joy.

Amongst many movie excerpts, we saw what must be the best film ever on jazz, Jammin the Blues. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and order a DVD from Amazon, or even better, www.alibris.com.  I ordered a new copy for $7 ( plus $3 postage) as soon as I got home.

I won’t try to give an account of the evening, it would be impossible to accurately convey it, instead, let me offer some impressions.

I love the asides and digressions. For example, Loren was saying that one of the popular misunderstandings is that most jazz greats were somehow ‘primitives’ and for example, they couldn’t read music. He says this is simply not true and the vast majority of jazz greats could read music and indeed wrote their own arrangements. One guy asked him about King Oliver, Loren said he was sure he could, the guy sounded dubious. Lauren then explained that when he was in Junior High School, he went to the offices of Lee Eastman, a famous NY lawyer. Paul McCartney, (whose wife at the time, Linda, was Eastman’s daughter) had just bought several music publishers out of Chicago, one them called Melrose Music, who happened to be King Oliver’s music publishers. Loren had to go through boxes of papers and in them found many arrangements written by Oliver himself. Apparently, Irving Berlin could not read music and could only play the piano in F#.

One of the great pleasures of these evenings is the insights as to how this music, America’s classical music, fitted into the society at large. Most aspiring black parents, by and large, didn’t want their sons and daughters to work in the field of jazz, it was low-class, it happened in bars and clubs where there was drugs, gambling, prostitution and all sorts of activities that they regarded as unsavory. Benny Goodman, by contrast, came from such a poor, immigrant family, that after his father had died and the onus for supporting the family fell on Benny, money from any source was welcome. He was contrasted with a black jazz clarinetist, Buster Bailey, who really wanted to play in symphony orchestras, but couldn’t because of his color, whereas Goodman, just wanted to play jazz. In the 1960s Bailey realized his dream, he depped a couple of times with the NY symphony orchestra.

From a previous evening, I enjoyed the insight that in the 1930s, America was not in any sense a homogenized society. So if you went to Texas, the fashions were different to say, Chicago, and indeed the music was too. So the big touring bands, the Basie Band, Ellington etc, had to reflect those differences in what and how they played. Sounded good to me, and wouldn’t it be nice to return to such variations, instead of streets of shops that are all the same, even as far apart as NYC and LA?

In New Orleans, in Congo Square, black slaves were allowed to occasionally have a day off, and they would go there to dance. Many citizens would turn up to watch them, whites, creoles and freed slaves too. The slaves would, in their dance styles, mimic, make fun of, whites, e.g. strutting haughtily, noses in the air. Lo and behold, whites would then imitate what they’d seen and this was reflected in many popular dances of the early 20th Century.

I like the names that come up, Ethel Waters, one of the first great jazz singers, who can be seen in Vincent Minelli’s movie Cabin in the Sky, was earlier known as Sweet Momma Stringbean. And who could resist Herb Jeffries, the bronze buckaroo?

The movies, from which clips were shown included:

Cabin in the Sky

Sepia Cinderella (featuring the John Kirby Quintet)

Jammin’ the Blues.

But the highlight of last night, something I’d almost forgotten about came from a comment by Tajah Murdoch, a lovely woman who was a dancer, presumably in the 40s and 50s, discretion prevents suggesting even earlier. She danced in the Harlem clubs, at the Apollo, the Savoy Ballroom etc, and she said it was amazing to stand backstage, waiting to go on, for you’d be hearing the music from out front, but feeling the sound energy coming at you, all over your body, but the floor itself would be vibrating, and you’d feel the sound rhythms coming up through the floorboards, into your feet, and spreading upwards through your body. Live music folks, who gets to hear it these days?

And dance, whatever happened to dancing, and the joy of dancing? Yesterday, I watched Eli ‘Newsboy’ Reed, on youtube, playing in a club in Boston. He’s good, and his band was  cookin’ – then the camera pans to a group of blasé punters, standing stock still, not a quiver from any of them, with one extravert soul showing off his stuff in a casual, deliberate, rehearsed way at the front, and not being affected much at all by the music.

Even, in the early 70s when I saw Beefheart in London, everytime his bass player, who was playing an electrified trombone, blew into his horn, my entire ribcage shook – but even then, it was in a cinema in Victoria and no one could dance, even if they wanted to.

What will it take to bring back dancing? It could be what live music needs? For, as an activity, it allows the participants to be part of the happening, to get rid of inhibitions and stress, to have fun.

Next week’s program on Tuesday 24th, is at the Apollo Theater in Harlem as is on the subject of dance. Be there or be square, but you have to register in advance so they have your name at the door.

We’re waiting for you! Yes, that’s right. Our new Visitors Center is now open Monday through Friday (10 a.m. – 4 p.m.) and chock full of books, CDs and DVDs for your perusal. There is also a first-class exhibit of photos on the walls, so we hope you will come up and see us and also spread the word to any other curious folk who want to spend some time getting jazzed in Harlem.

Also, to find audio and video clips, event summaries, program updates and photographs galore from our previous events, venture here:

www.jazzmuseuminharlem.org

admin Awareness, Enjoyment, Knowledge, Understanding, ydig Loren Schoenberg, National Jazz Museum in Harlem

Most days, I’m waking up at 4.30 am or so. Still haven’t gotten over the miracle of the internet, and my waking response, as it once was to light a cigaretter, is now to see what’s in my inbox. My friend George is encouraging me to get up and meditate instead, and given one of the main benefits of meditation is to get some semblance of control over one’s ‘attention’ – not the best word, but the best I can come up with right now, I have been doing that.

Living in New York City, where you pick up all sorts of stuff during the day, I’ve been using a technique called footsoaking, which is really effective for me. Essentially, it’s this. Get a plastic washing up bowl or something similar. Put a handful of salt into it, and depending on the state of your subtle system, either warm, cool or lukewarm water. If you are not sure, make it lukewarm. Keep a small jug of warm water and a small towel beside you so you can rinse and dry your feet at the end. Then, meditate with your feet in the water, for ten minutes or so.

Everyone has their own definition of what meditation is, for me, it happens when I’m in mental silence, or ‘thoughtless awareness’ and I like to achieve about ten minutes or so in that state. Normally, it takes me a few minutes to get there. Another definition I like and aspire to is meditation is when your attentionis at my Lotus Feet.

Meditating at 4.30 am is really pleasant. You can feel that the earth is quiet, Mother Nature is still yet there’s a sense of the new day to come. Thanks to George’s advice, my days are starting well, and good start is often a prelude to a good day.

I used this technique of footsoaking while meditating this morning and also in the everning when I came home from an inspiring and uplifting evening at the National Museum in Harlem, where the inestimable Lauren Schoenberg gave an inspiring illustrated talk on jazz in the movies of the 1940s.

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