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  • richardmitnick 1:33 PM on June 6, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , LIMITED EDITION BOX SETS ON SALE!, Mosaic Records   

    From Mosaic: “LIMITED EDITION BOX SETS ON SALE!” 

    From Mosaic, a truly important resource

    On Sale For The Month Of June

    The Complete Louis Armstrong
    Decca Sessions 1935-46
    1

    “No corpus of jazz recordings carries greater influence than the 169 tracks that make-up this set, documenting the maestro at the peak of his powers when vigor and maturity equally coexisted.” – Ted Panken, DownBeat

    Regularly $119;
    Now Sale Priced @ $99

    The Columbia and OKeh Benny Goodman
    Orchestra Sessions
    2

    “His quicksilver tone, his insistent drive to swing the music, his ability to execute cleanly the most dramatic filigrees of passages – all these qualities made him one of the most imitated instrumentalists in the world.” – Robert J. O’Meally, Dir. of Jazz Studies, Columbia Univ.

    Regularly $119;
    Now Sale Priced @ $99

    The Bing Crosby CBS Radio Recordings (1954-56)
    3
    The 160 songs in this Mosaic collection were recorded with the Buddy Cole Quartet between 1954 and 1956 for Bing’s CBS show are absolutely revelatory. Crosby’s early jazz roots informed his influential career as a pop singer. To our knowledge, these are the only recorded performances of Crosby singing the Great American Songbook in an informal atmosphere with a consummate small jazz ensemble.

    Regularly $119;
    Now Sale Priced @ $99

    Complete Atlantic Studio
    Modern Jazz Quartet 1956-64

    4
    “Well, the big winner in this set is John Lewis whose piano is now crisp, bright and the interaction between Lewis and Milt is even more of a wonder…This is one of the most impressive remastering jobs of any jazz recording I’ve ever heard.” – Customer Review

    Regularly $119;
    Now Sale Priced @ $99

    Blue Note Stanley Turrentine
    Quintet & Sextet Sessions
    5
    “Stanley Turrentine had a sound. Until his death in 2000, he was the master of a tenor saxophone tone that demanded attention from the first note. A throwback to the brawny tenor stylists of the swing era – Ben Webster, Illinois Jacquet, Don Byas – as well as the funky R & B players of the late ’40s and ’50s. Turrentine took no prisoners, no matter the tempo.” – Steve Futterman, Washington Post

    Regularly $80;
    Now Sale Priced @ $69

    Charles Mingus:The Jazz Workshop Concerts 1964-65
    6
    This set chronicles the essential live performances of this genius of modern music as his compositions achieved a depth and complexity we would come to know as Mingus’s most signature work. It includes the brilliant Eric Dolphy, along with Jaki Byard, Dannie Richmond, Johnny Coles, and Clifford Jordan — certainly one of the best assemblages of musicians ever.

    Regularly $119;
    Now Sale Priced @ $99

    The Complete Ahmad Jamal Trio Argo Sessions
    7
    As a musician myself, I believe this set to be an important piece of Jazz history. Not only because of Ahmad’s beautiful approach to the music but, the wonderful support form his sidemen. – Customer Review

    Regularly $149;
    Now Sale Priced @ $129


    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    Stem Education Coalition
    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

    Advertisements
     
  • richardmitnick 12:23 PM on May 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: 41st Annual Pitt Jazz Seminar, Michael Cuscuna, , Mosaic Records, Pittsburgh CityPaper   

    From Pittsburgh CityPaper via Mosaic Records Jazz Gazette: “Michael Cuscuna: Unabridged interview” Nov 2, 2011 

    From Mosaic Records Jazz Gazette is a truly important resource

    Pittsburgh CityPaper

    On Thurs., Nov. 3, he speaks at the 41st Annual Pitt Jazz Seminar, in the William Pitt Union at 7 p.m.

    Michael Cuscuna: Unabridged interview

    1
    Michael Cuscuna from Open Sky Jazz

    Michael Cuscuna set the standard on box-set reissues when he launched Mosaic, a mail-order label that works in deluxe, comprehensive jazz re-releases. Released in limited editions, each set compiled a complete overview of a particular period in an artist’s career, packing it in a 12-inch-by- 12-inch box, with a detailed booklet full of information that jazz geeks relish. Today, Mosaic still releases that package, though nearly all the sets appear on CD only. They’ve also branched out to include Mosaic Select and Mosaic Singles, which cover smaller scopes of releases. In addition to this extensive work, Cuscuna became the go-to guy for the numerous labels re-releasing their jazz back catalog.

    On Thurs., Nov. 3, he speaks at the 41st Annual Pitt Jazz Seminar, in the William Pitt Union at 7 p.m. This is the long version of the interview that Mike Shanley did with Cuscuna.

    You’re the guy who listens to all the alternate takes to decide what goes on box sets and reissues. After hearing all that stuff, how do you keep from getting jaded?

    Well, I don’t think you ever get jaded when it’s something you really love. But there is an overkill period. After almost every Mosaic set, there’s a period of time after I finish working on a box where I don’t want to hear that artist for at least four months. Ironically the only two artists I didn’t feel that way about were two of the largest sets that I produced. One was the 18-CD Nat “King” Cole trio set. I got so deep into him that I never got tired of it. I just kept listening to him from the end of the project onward. And Count Basie. I did that complete Roulette [Records] live and studio boxes. Man, I love that band. It just swung like no other band. I can never get enough Basie, from the Lester Young-Jo Jones period, but also from the ’50s and ’60s.

    For the most part, I experience overkill but I always bounce back. You never get jaded. What you do get is very exhausted, in the sense that [you’re] listening intently. With reissues, the most exhaustive part is the decision making process — listening to unreleased alternate takes and deciding if any are worthy of release. If they are, why? And then you have to play devil’s advocate and say why not. Which is one reason I always try to get somebody who played on that record, or a younger musician who idolized that musician, to listen to any alternate takes that I want to put out, to see if they agree that it’s worthy of release or if it shouldn’t be.

    That’s one of the bigger responsibilities. If I put out music that is really unworthy or would embarrass the artist or make an artist unhappy, then I think that’s the worst sin I could commit. I take the responsibility of what has been unissued, what has never come out. If I’m going to cause it to come out, I better have a very good reason.

    The thing I love about Mosaic boxes is listening to the alternate takes and knowing what to listen for, because of what is written in the liner notes. Figuring that out must require a lot of concentration. Not so much with a Thelonious Monk set, where the songs where all three minutes, but with albums where the songs were longer.

    Yeah, like a later Blue Note session. I think it’s a soloist’s phenomenon. With Chu Berry or Coleman Hawkins or Lester Young [all saxophonists from the ’30s and ’40s], we have plenty of alternates, but if you’re addressing a big band — Maynard Ferguson or Count Basie or Duke Ellington — alternate takes don’t come into play that much because everyone is striving for the perfect take. And guys are replaying what worked on the previous take but making it better. So there’s usually one good master take unless you have a really extraordinary soloist, like a Lester Young or a Wayne Shorter, where every time is something new and amazing.

    The whole thing about alternate takes is that when CDs first came out, I started — originally on Blue Note CDs — to put an alternate take after the master take, because that’s the way I like to listen to them, so I could compare them with a fresh memory. And I almost got lynched for that. So I eventually had to start putting them at the end of the disc. Which is fine because you can fast forward quickly if you want to hear them that way. I understand that a lot of people put the CD on and walk away and hear the album as it was. That’s one thing that changed drastically.

    You’ve worked on a lot of re-releases for pianist Andrew Hill.

    Andrew’s been one of my passions since the mid 1960s. And it’s great because through Blue Note and even more so thru Mosaic, I’ve been able to get so much of his stuff out.

    I remember talking to [Blue Note founder] Alfred Lion about [how there were] so many of the albums that I put out that [Lion] had produced 20 years earlier. I’d say, “Why didn’t you put this out?” And he’d say, “I don’t know, they sound great. I have no idea why I didn’t get around to putting them out.”

    The same thing happened to me with Andrew Hill’s material. There was a Mosaic Select with the rest of the unissued stuff, it was like a clean up project. Some of that stuff was like man this stuff is so great why didn’t I want to put this out [on 19TK Hill box set]. And Andrew agreed. It’s strange, but it’s when you hear stuff. Your opinions change. There’s no absolute in any decisions.

    And there’s so much of that stuff, it can be hard when you’re weighing this sessions versus that session, and thinking about budgets too.

    Oh yeah, well there’s that! [Laughs] That didn’t used to be the case but that’s certainly the case now.

    Rudy van Gelder [who engineered most of the sessions for labels like Blue Note, Prestige and Impulse!] once said that he’s recorded so much music that he can’t enjoy listening to it casually. Do you ever get that feeling?

    Yeah. I rarely will go home and put on music if I’m working with it all day. I need a break from it. Or the other thing to do is if you’re working on [progressive trumpeter] Charles Tolliver all day, the good thing to do is go home and listen to Aretha [Franklin]. Something that’s really very different and always something that you’ve had nothing to do with. Then you can relax.

    Sometimes if I’m driving in the car with the radio on, a song will have a tick in it, and when I hear that tick, every muscle in my body tightens. Then I realize, it’s not my problem. I’m not listening to a test pressing. My body relaxes.

    Speaking of Andrew Hill, do you think the Mosaic reissues helped regenerate his career in the final years of his life?

    I think it helped, yeah. It was a confluence of a bunch of things. In the late ’90s he put together this sextet that did Dusk on Palmetto [Records]. And it was just magical combination of people. It harkened back in the textures to Point of Departure [his best-known Blue Note album from 1964], but he just started writing music again like crazy. All wonderful. That really started a renaissance in his career and his work opportunities.

    In 2000 Andrew called me out of the blue and said, “Remember that 11-piece band record we did? You listened to the tapes and said it was a train wreck? We’ve got to revisit that.” And I said okay because a couple people who played on that record, Lenny White [drums] and Howard Johnson [tuba, bass clarinet], have always been asking me if they could hear it. So I ordered CD-Rs of this session. They sent them to me and I sent one to Andrew. And he called me and said, yeah you’re right this is a mess. But I said let me listen one more time. And I listened and the reason it sounded like a mess was because only half of the stereo was feeding into the machine. You could hear a bunch of other instruments in the echo. I said, “This isn’t the complete thing!” It was one of those rare Rudy Van Gelder [sessions] recorded on eight-track. I got the eight-tracks and put them on and it was great.

    That was the album that became Passing Ships [released in 2003]. For better and for worse it was named album of the year everywhere from the New York Times to the jazz magazines. And I say for worse because it’s kind of sad when a record made 30 years ago becomes record of the year. But that really helped him too. And that let me to revisit everything that’s in the can. That’s what that Mosaic Select was about. And I’m happy to say it was a 25-30 year odyssey but that’s how long it took me to get every Andrew Hill session out, but I finally got them out.

    Going back to the original tapes – where were they? Did Rudy keep them?

    Cuscuna: No. Rudy never keeps tapes. I wish he did because there’s some John Coltrane Impulse! stuff that’s lost forever.

    They were all at Blue Note in New York in the ’60s and early ’70s. Then around 1973 they all got shipped out to California because [the label] it was owned by United Artists. They’ve been in five different locations since that time, around the LA area. For the most part I’ve found every tape that should exist with five or six exceptions.

    When you come to Pittsburgh, the title of your lecture is The Business of Jazz, right?

    Cuscuna: I called Nathan [Davis, head of the Pitt Jazz Seminar] this morning and said, “There’s a million different directions I could go on this.” He said, “I want you to talk about reissues. How you do them, why you do them, all the stories about how they sell.” That’s basically what I’m going to talk about. It’ll start with the Blue Notes and the Mosaics and the Columbia stuff with the Miles Davis sets, and also John Coltrane on Impulse!, which I worked on in the ’70s and back to in the early ’90s. There’s a lot to talk about.

    I’m sure I’ll get bored with what I’m saying and veer off into other little anecdotes or opinions. [laughs] I’ll probably just have a 10-word outline and go from there and encourage people to interrupt. There’s no point in talking if people want to hear something else from you other than what you’re talking about. I like feedback, you know.

    Where is the jazz business – in a precarious state?

    Cuscuna: The recorded music aspect of it is in extremely dire straits. But I find that there are more talented young musicians, top level musicians, coming up every day. And they’re all finding work. And not just in New York clubs. They’re getting sidemen gigs, going on tours and I think the state of jazz itself is very healthy. When you think of downbeat, JazzTimes, Jazzis, the amount of press that the jazz world supports is quite amazing to me.

    The record companies are ailing. And there will be consequences for artists as a result of that. But the consequences for them will be, as well as mastering your instrument, you’ll have to know how to record and produce your own record, have them pressed and sell them off the bandstand and on the internet, and you’ll have to learn how to maintain your own website. Those are now as rudimentary as scales for a musician who wants to have a fulltime career. They’ll become more and more important as time goes on. I don’t know what the future will be, but I know that the skill set for musicians is going to triple.

    With Mosaic are you still seeing people who are still interesting in the tactile experience of music, rather than just listening to downloads?

    I don’t know. Certainly for people my age and older, it’s a big part of it. It took me three years without a functioning turntable in my house before I got rid of my record collection.

    Nooooooooooooo! Even then I still have every Blue Note album.

    OK. And everything I’ve worked on. But other than that, I got rid of everything. And I had country, blues, I had everything. But I miss the 12 X 12 field for cover art. I miss the 12X12 field for information and prose. Not just information and prose, but information and prose that you can actually read in a typeface that’s legible, that’s black type on white paper instead of orange type on green paper. I swear every art director in the CD world is completely illiterate because they have no respect for words or information. I miss that.

    They keep talking about a resurgence of vinyl in all genres of music but it’s still a very small select group. A lot of it is kids who like to make mix tapes and use turntables that way, like DJs. And then there’s the other end of the spectrum, which is overly wealthy people who have $35,000 sound systems who want original pressings or 200-gram pressings. Those are two marginalized groups. I don’t think vinyl’s going to make a real comeback in any sense. I miss it. And I think anyone that was raised on it does too.

    I’ll tell you what I miss most from the LP era, is the lack of burnout. When you bought an LP, or just pulled it off your shelf, rarely did you play both sides. If you played one side, you’d play an 18, 20-minute program of music. When you get a new CD you pop it and when I see 74 minutes pop up, I think woah this is unbelievable. And unless I’m listening to a set that I’m working on, I’ve never gotten through a whole CD of anything! It’s just a different way of listening now, and more exhaustive. I think a lot of young musicians don’t help themselves. If I’ve never heard of you, but I heard something on the radio that I like, don’t give me 74 minutes of originals, brand new music, with no anchors to compare you to someone else and get a fix on. Give me 60 minutes and make 20 minutes of it compositions I know, so I hear how you deal with something that I know.

    s re-releasing their jazz back catalog.

    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    stem

    Stem Education Coalition
    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 11:32 AM on May 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: East Coast vs West Coast, JazzWax, , Mosaic Records   

    From JazzWax via Mosaic: “East Coast v. West Coast” March 13, 2018 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource

    1

    JazzWax

    [This post is dedicated to K.F. of Boston for his enduring passion of New Orleans based second line Jazz. I just hope he sees it.]

    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    1
    2

    Back in the early 1950s, New York and Los Angeles had mildly different jazz styles. The West Coast sound tended to be more melodic and contrapuntal. The East Coast’s sound was denser and more bluesy. By mid-decade, as the LP became an increasingly profitable format, major New York-based labels such as RCA, Decca, MGM and Bethlehem placed greater emphasis on their Los Angeles jazz divisions. Naturally, competition heated up as jazz A&R chiefs on each coast scrambled to sign regional artists. Before long, the two coasts were jazz rivals—or at least that’s how music publications began writing about them.

    In truth, the music wasn’t that different other than the feel, as you will hear in four albums that pitted one jazz region against the other:

    3
    East Coast-West Coast Scene (RCA). In this square-off, trumpeter Shorty Rogers fronted a tentet in L.A. in September 1954 called the Augmented Giants while tenor saxophonist Al Cohn recorded with a similarly sized group in New York a month later with his Charlie’s Tavern Ensemble. Each ensemble recorded three songs. While producer Jack Lewis insisted in his liner notes that the album wasn’t a contest, virtually everything about the LP’s packaging was meant to show off the differences. Here’s Rogers’s group: Shorty Rogers (tp); Milt Bernhart and Bob Enevoldsen (tb); Jimmy Giuffre (cl,ts,bar); Lennie Niehaus and Bud Shank (as); Zoot Sims (ts); Pete Jolly (p); Barney Kessel (g); Curtis Counce (b) and Shelly Manne (d). Here’s Cohn’s group: Joe Newman (tp); Billy Byers and Eddie Bert (tb); Hal McKusick and Gene Quill (as); Al Cohn (ts,arr); Sol Schlinger (bar); Sanford Gold (p); Billy Bauer (g); Milt Hinton (b) and Osie Johnson (d).

    2
    Blow Hot/Blow Cool (Decca). On September 1954, saxophonist Herbie Fields led an East Coast ensemble and recorded six songs. The group featuring Billy Byers, Kai Winding and Eddie Bert (tb); Bart Varsalona (b-tb); Herbie Fields (cl,as,sop,ts); Joe Black (p); Rudy Cafro (g); Peter Compo (b); Harvey Lang (d) and Marcy Lutes (vcl). The West Coast group was called the Melrose Avenue Conservatory Chamber Orchestra and featured Stu Williamson (tp,v-tb) Herb Geller (as) Jack Montrose, Buddy Collette (ts) Bob Gordon (bar) Marty Paich (p) Curtis Counce (b) Chico Hamilton (d). Four songs were recorded.

    5
    Leonard Feather’s West Coast Stars & Leonard Feather’s East Coast Stars (MGM). This West Coast contingency was recorded first in January 1956. The band featured Don Fagerquist (tp); Bob Enevoldsen (v-tb,ts); Buddy Collette (fl,as,ts); Andre Previn (p,vib-1); Pete Rugolo (p); Curtis Counce (b) and Stan Levey (d). The East Coast band recorded shortly after and included Thad Jones (tp); Benny Powell (tb); Frank Wess (fl,ts); Dick Hyman (p,org); Oscar Pettiford (b) and Osie Johnson (d).

    6

    The Trombones Inc. (Warner Bros). This is the bad boy of trombone albums. The East Coast session featured Eddie Bert, Jimmy Cleveland, Henry Coker, Bennie Green, Melba Liston, Benny Powell, Frank Rehak, Bob Brookmeyer, Dick Hickson and Bart Varsalona—all in one trombone section. They were backed by Hank Jones (p); Wendell Marshall (b) and Osie Johnson (d). The arranger was J.J. Johnson. (Substitutions on the three different dates included Milt Hinton in for Marshall, and Bob Alexander in for Henry Coker).

    On the West Coast, two different sets of trombonists were used for the two dates. The sliders included Milt Bernhart, Bob Fitzpatrick, Joe Howard, Lewis McGreery, Frank Rosolino and Dave Wells (tb); Bob Brookmeyer (v-tb); John Kitzmiller (tu); Marty Paich (p,arr); Red Mitchell (b) and Mel Lewis (d). The second band featured Marshall Cram, Herbie Harper, Joe Howard, Ed Kusby, Dick Nash, Murray McEachern, Tommy Pederson andFrank Beach (tb); George Roberts and Ken Shroyer (b-tb); Marty Paich (p); Barney Kessel (g); Red Mitchell (b); Mel Lewis (d); Mike Pacheco (bgo) an Warren Barker (arr).

    JazzWax tracks: East Coast-West Coast Scene can be found here. Blow Hot/Blow Cold is out of print but the West Coast tracks (Skip to My Loot, Speak Easy, I’m Forever Counting Geigers and Id) can be found here; Leonard Feather’s West Coast v. East Coast is out of print but three of the five (The Goof and I, Here’s Pete and Beverly Hills) can be found here; and The Trombones Inc. can be found here.

    A special thanks to David Langner.

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    stem

    Stem Education Coalition

    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 12:25 PM on April 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: “Bird Flight”, David Remnick, , Mosaic Records, Phil Schaap,   

    From The New Yorker via Mosaic: “Bird-Watcher Thinking about Charlie Parker, every day.” Phil Schaap “Bird Flight” An Appreciation 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource


    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    new-yorker-bloc-rea-irvin
    Rea Irvin

    The New Yorker

    May 19, 2008
    David Remnick

    “Thinking about Charlie Parker, every day.”

    1
    Phil Schaap with, clockwise from bottom, Dizzy Gillespie, Parker, Ella Fitzgerald, Bix Beiderbecke, Louis Armstrong, and Billie Holiday.
    Illustration by Robert Risko

    Every weekday for the past twenty-seven years, a long-in-the-tooth history major named Phil Schaap has hosted a morning program on WKCR, Columbia University’s radio station, called “Bird Flight,” which places a degree of attention on the music of the bebop saxophonist Charlie Parker that is so obsessive, so ardent and detailed, that Schaap frequently sounds like a mad Talmudic scholar who has decided that the laws of humankind reside not in the ancient Babylonian tractates but in alternate takes of “Moose the Mooche” and “Swedish Schnapps.”

    2
    Phil Schaap. (c) Abby Ronner, 2012

    3
    Charlie Parker Photo: BBC/Herman Leonard

    For Schaap, Bird not only lives; he is the singular genius of mid-century American music, a dynamo of virtuosity, improvisation, harmony, velocity, and feeling, and no aspect of his brief career is beneath consideration. Schaap’s discursive monologues on a single home recording—say, “the Bob Redcross acetate” of Parker playing in the early nineteen-forties over the Benny Goodman Quartet’s 1937 hit “Avalon”—can go on for an entire program or more, blurring the line between exhaustive and exhausting. There is no getting to the end of Charlie Parker, and sometimes there is no getting to the end of “Bird Flight.” The program is the anchor of WKCR’s daily schedule and begins at eight-twenty. It is supposed to conclude at nine-forty. In the many years that I’ve been listening, I’ve rarely heard it end precisely as scheduled. Generations of Columbia d.j.s whose programs followed Schaap’s have learned to stand clutching an album of the early Baroque or nineteenth-century Austrian yodelling and wait patiently for the final chorus of “I’ll Always Love You Just the Same.”

    Schaap’s unapologetic passion for a form of music half a century out of the mainstream is, at least for his listeners, a precious sign of the city’s vitality; here is one obstinate holdout against the encroaching homogeneity of Clear Channel and all the other culprits of American sameness. There is no exaggerating the relentlessness of Schaap’s approach. Not long ago, I listened to him play a recording of “Okiedoke,” a tune that Parker recorded in 1949 with Machito and His Afro-Cuban Orchestra. Schaap, in his pontifical baritone, first provided routine detail on the session and Parker’s interest (via Dizzy Gillespie) in Latin jazz, and then, like a car hitting a patch of black ice, he veered off into a riff of many minutes’ duration on the pronunciation and meaning of the title—of “Okiedoke.” Was it “okey-doke” or was it, rather, “ ‘okey-dokey,’ as it is sometimes articulated”? What meaning did this innocent-seeming entry in the American lexicon have for Bird? And how precisely was the phrase used and understood in the black precincts of Kansas City, where Parker grew up? Declaring a “great interest in this issue,” Schaap then informed us that Arthur Taylor, a drummer of distinction “and a Bird associate,” had “stated that Parker used ‘okeydokey’ as an affirmative and ‘okeydoke’ as a negative.” And yet one of Parker’s ex-wives had averred otherwise, saying that Parker used “okeydoke” and “okeydokey” interchangeably. (At this point, I wondered, not for the first time, where, if anywhere, Schaap was going with this.) Then Schaap introduced into evidence a “rare recording of Bird’s voice,” in which Parker is captured joshing around onstage with a disk jockey of the forties and fifties named Sid Torin, better known as Symphony Sid. After a bit of chatter, Sid instructs Parker to play another number: “Blow, dad, go!”

    “Okeydoke”, says Bird.

    Like an assassination buff looping the Zapruder film, Schaap repeated the snippet several times and then concluded that Charlie Parker did not use “okeydoke” as a negative. “This,” Schaap said solemnly, “tends to revise our understanding of the matter.” The matter was evidently unexhausted, however, as he launched a rumination on the cowboy origins of the phrase and the Hopalong Cassidy movies that Parker might well have seen, and perhaps it was at this point that listeners all over the metropolitan area, what few remained, either shut off their radios, grew weirdly fascinated, or called an ambulance on Schaap’s behalf. At last, Schaap moved on to other issues of the Parker discography, which begins in 1940, with an unaccompanied home recording of Honeysuckle Rose and Body and Soul, and ends with two Cole Porter tunes, Love for Sale and I Love Paris, played three months before his death, in 1955.

    Schaap is not a musician, a critic, or, properly speaking, an academic, though he has held teaching positions at Columbia, Princeton, and Juilliard. And yet through Bird Flight and a Saturday-evening program he hosts called Traditions in Swing, through his live soliloquies and his illustrative recordings, commercial and bootlegged, he has provided an invaluable service to a dwindling art form: in the capital of jazz, he is its most passionate and voluble fan. He is the Bill James of his field, a master of history, hierarchies, personalities, anecdote, relics, dates, and events; but he is also a guardian, for, unlike baseball, jazz and the musicians who play it are endangered. Jazz today is responsible for only around three per cent of music sales in the United States, and what even that small slice contains is highly questionable. Among the current top sellers on Amazon in the jazz category are easy-listening acts like Kenny G and Michael Bublé.

    For decades, jazz musicians have joked about Schaap’s adhesive memory, but countless performers have known the feeling that Schaap remembered more about their musical pasts than they did and was always willing to let them in on the forgotten secrets. “Phil is a walking history book about jazz,” Frank Foster, a tenor-sax player for the Basie Orchestra, told me. Wynton Marsalis says that Schaap is “an American classic.”

    In the eyes of his critics, Schaap’s attention to detail and authenticity is irritating and extreme. He has won six Grammy Awards for his liner notes and producing efforts, but his encyclopedic sensibility is a matter of taste. When Schaap was put in charge of reissuing Benny Goodman’s landmark 1938 concert at Carnegie Hall for Columbia, he not only included lost cuts and Goodman’s long-winded introductions but also provided prolonged original applause tracks, and even the sounds of the stage crew dragging chairs and music stands across the Carnegie stage to set up for the larger band. His production work on a ten-disk set of Billie Holiday for Verve was similarly inclusive. Schaap wants us to know and hear everything. He seems to believe that the singer’s in-studio musings about what key to sing Nice Work If You Can Get It in are as worthy of preservation as a bootleg of Lincoln’s Second Inaugural. Reviewing the Holiday set for the Village Voice, Gary Giddins called Schaap “that most obsessive of anal obsessives.”

    That’s one way of looking at the matter. Another is that Schaap puts his frenzied memory and his obsessive attention to the arcane in the service of something important: the struggle of memory against forgetting—not just the forgetting of a sublime music but forgetting in general. Schaap is always apologizing, acknowledging his long-windedness, his nudnik tendencies. “The examination may be tedium to you,” he said on the air recently as he ran through the days, between 1940 and 1944, when Parker might have overdubbed Goodman’s Chinaboy in Bob Redcross’s room at the Savoy Hotel in Chicago. (“His home was Room 305.”) Nevertheless, he said, “my bent here is that I want to know when it happened because I believe in listening to the music of a genius chronologically where possible, particularly an improvising artist.” The stringing together of facts is the Schaapian process, a monologuist’s way of painting a picture of “events of the past” happening “in real time.”

    “I just hope the concept speaks to some,” he said as his soliloquy unspooled. “It’s two before nine. I’m speaking to you at length. I’m Phil Schaap.”

    On a recent Sunday morning, I met Schaap at the WKCR studios, at Broadway and 114th Street. (The station is at 89.9 on the FM dial; it also streams live online at wkcr.org.) Schaap is tall and lumbering and has a thick shock of reddish hair. It was March 9th, Ornette Coleman’s seventy-eighth birthday. Schaap, his meaty arms loaded up with highlights and rarities in the Coleman discography, had come prepared for celebration. Nearly everything in his grasp was from his home collection. He does not consider collecting to be at the center of his life, but allowed that he does own five thousand 78s, ten thousand LPs, five thousand tapes, a few thousand hours of his own interviews with jazz musicians, “and, well, countless CDs.” Schaap, who was married once, and briefly, in the nineties, lives alone in Hollis, Queens, in the house where he grew up. He admits that his collection, and his living quarters, could use some straightening.

    “I’ve got to get things in order,” he said. “I’m determined to do it. This is the year. If I didn’t have a memory, I wouldn’t know where anything is.”

    The WKCR studios are a couple of blocks south of the main entrance to the Columbia campus, and they tend to look as though there’d been a post-exam party the previous night and someone tried, but not hard, to clean up. The carpets are unvacuumed, the garbage cans stuffed with pizza boxes and crushed cans. Taped to the wall are some long-forgotten schedules and posters of John Coltrane and Charles Mingus. The visitor’s perch—a red Naugahyde armchair—was long ago dubbed the “Dizzy Gillespie chair,” after Gillespie, Parker’s closest collaborator, sat there for hours of conversation with Schaap. Usually, the only person around at WKCR is the student host on the air. Schaap is Class of ’73. He is fifty-seven. “Financially, I live, at best, like a twenty-five-year-old,” he said. He has been broadcasting on WKCR, pro bono, since he was a freshman. The Parker-Tiny Grimes collaboration “Romance Without Finance” could be the theme for his income-tax form.

    “Take a seat,” he said, plopping his records down near his microphone. “I gotta get busy.”

    Conversation with Schaap in the studio, especially when the program features the breakneck tunes of early jazz or swing music—the soprano saxophonist Sidney Bechet playing The Sheik of Araby followed by Benny Carter and His Orchestra on Babalu—does not allow for Schaapian reflection. “Deadlines every three minutes!” he’ll shout, throwing up his hands. “So many records!”

    When he’s working, Schaap concentrates hard, and not merely on his own solos. He takes pride in the art of the segue, paying particular attention to the “sizzling sonic decay” of a last cymbal stroke. (“You won’t hear that again in your lifetime!” he boasted after one particularly felicitous transition.) But with Ornette Coleman, an avatar of extended improvisation, Schaap had more time. The first number he broadcast was Free Jazz, Coleman’s 1960 breakthrough, played with two quartets; Free Jazz is the Action painting of American music and lasts thirty-seven minutes and three seconds. The sound started to build, the quartets began their dissonant duel. Schaap smiled off into the distance. “Eddie Blackwell’s right foot, man!” he said, then he remembered himself and turned the volume down. “So?” he said.

    When I asked Schaap about his childhood, he turned morose, saying, “I may have gotten all my blessings in life up front.” His parents, and nearly all his teachers and the scores of musicians he befriended from school age, were dead. “Everyone that raised me is gone.”

    Schaap was born to jazz. His mother, Marjorie, was a librarian, a classically trained pianist, and an insistent bohemian. At Radcliffe, she listened to Louis Armstrong records and smoked a corncob pipe. His father, Walter, was one of a group of jazz-obsessed Columbia undergraduates in the thirties who became professional critics and producers. In 1937, he went to France to study at the Sorbonne and work on an encyclopedia of the French Revolution. While he was there, he collaborated with the leading jazz critics of Paris, Hugues Panassié and Charles Delaunay, on a bilingual edition of their pioneering magazine, Jazz Hot. He helped Django Reinhardt with his English and Dizzy Gillespie with his French. Back in New York, he earned his living making educational filmstrips, in partnership with the jazz photographer William P. Gottlieb.*

    “They lived for music, and the rest was making a check,” Phil said. “Jazz was always playing in the house.” By the time he was five, Schaap could sing Lester Young’s tenor solo on the Count Basie standard Taxi War Dance. When he was six, his babysitter rewarded him for doing her geometry homework by taking him to Triboro Records, in Jamaica, to buy his first 45s: Ruth Brown’s Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean and Ray Charles’s (Night Time Is) The Right Time. Phil soon started buying discarded jazz 78s by the pound.

    In his parents’ living room and then on his own pushy initiative, Schaap met many first-rank jazz musicians and came to consider them his “grandfathers.” Some, like the bassist Milt Hinton and the trumpet player Buck Clayton, lived around Hollis, which had become a bedroom community for musicians. Others came into his life, he said, “as if by magic.”

    “In August, 1956, I went to the Randall’s Island Jazz Festival with my mother, and we saw Billie Holliday, Dizzy Gillespie, and a lot of others,” he said. “At one point, we went backstage after the Basie band played. Remember, this is through the hazy recollections of a five-year-old, but I do recall someone trying to hit on my mother, and he asked her about Joe Williams, who was singing then for Basie. To brush the guy off, she said she preferred the earlier singer for the Basie band, Jimmy Rushing, and at that point another man, who turned out to be Basie’s drummer, Jo Jones, said, ‘Madame, I heard that—that was wonderful.’ The two of them got to talking, and Jo asked me if I knew who Prince Robinson was. I said that he was a tenor player for McKinney’s Cotton Pickers. I’d heard a Bluebird 78 that my father owned. Jo Jones was impressed. So he said, ‘Madame, you’ve got yourself a new babysitter.’ ”

    Jo Jones was arguably the greatest drummer of the swing era. When Jones was in New York, Walter Schaap would drop off his son at Jones’s apartment and Phil and “Papa Jo” watched cartoons and played records. Inevitably, other musicians came over and took an interest in the kid with the unusual immersion in jazz. “That was when Jo was living at 401 East Sixty-fourth Street,” Schaap said. “Later, he lived at 333 East Fifty-fourth Street and also at the Hotel Markwell, on Forty-ninth Street—lots of musicians lived there. He played a Basie record for me once in order to teach me about Herschel Evans, the great tenor player. It must have been Blue and Sentimental. Jo called me ‘Mister.’ ‘Mister, what does that sound like to you?’ I blurted out, ‘It sounds friendly to me.’ And Jo said, ‘That’s right. The first thing to know is, Herschel Evans is your friend.’ ”

    In first grade, Schaap pestered his schoolmate Carole Eldridge (and, when that failed, her mother) until he got an introduction to her father, the trumpeter Roy Eldridge. When he was fourteen, he hitched a ride into Manhattan with Basie during the 1966 subway strike. “When I started hearing that Phil was going around meeting all the jazz greats at the age of six, I wondered if it was all fantasy,” his father told the Times not long before he died, two years ago.

    The family became accustomed to their son’s range of friendships. Phil once brought home the saxophonist Rahsaan Roland Kirk, who was known for his ability to play three horns at once and for his heroic capacities at the dinner table. Schaap challenged Kirk to an eating contest. The event came to a halt when they had eaten, in Schaap’s recollection, “one mince pie each baked by Herbie Hall’s wife. You know Herbie? A major clarinet player.”

    Schaap’s memory was almost immediately evident. He claims that at the age of two he recited the names of the American Presidents, in order, “while standing on a rocking chair.” He was the kind of kid who knew the names and numbers of all the New York Rangers of the nineteen-sixties and, whether you liked it or not, recited them. He was the kind of kid, too, who wrote to the manager of the Baltimore Orioles to give him advice backed up by statistical evidence. He routinely beat all comers, including his older cousin the late sportswriter Dick Schaap, in the board game Concentration. At school, this was not a quality universally admired. “I guess some kids may have found it annoying,” he allows. But musicians were generally fascinated by young Schaap. Count Basie was one of many who discovered that Schaap knew the facts of his life almost better than he did. “I think that kind of freaked Basie out,” Schaap said. “I’d talk to him about a record date he did in the thirties, and he looked at me, like, ‘Who . . . is . . . this . . . child?’ ”

    By the time Schaap was established on the radio, nearly every musician who passed through New York was aware of his mental tape recorder. Twenty-five years ago, the bandleader, pianist, and self-styled space cadet Herman (Sonny) Poole Blount, better known as Sun Ra, swept by a night club and, before having to give a speech at Harvard, “kidnapped” Schaap. Sun Ra claimed that as a young man he had been “transmolecularized” to Saturn, and thereafter he expounded a cosmic philosophy influenced by ancient Egyptian cosmology, Afro-American folklore, and Madame Blavatsky. In order to prepare for his audience in Cambridge, Sun Ra insisted that Schaap fill him in on the details of his existence on Earth. Schaap obliged, telling Sun Ra that, according to his musicians’ union forms, he was born in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1914. “I could tell him things like what 78s by Fletcher Henderson he was listening to in the thirties and about his time playing piano for the Henderson Orchestra later on,” Schaap said. “He was vague about it all, but what I said made sense to him. I also knew that his favorite flavor of ice cream was the Bananas ’n Strawberry at Baskin-Robbins. It was a hot summer night, so I went up the block and bought him a quart, and we ate sitting in the car.”

    he urge to preserve, to collect, to keep time at bay, to hold on to the past is a common one. In this Schaap is kin to Henri Langlois, who tried to find and preserve every known film for the French Cinémathèque, kin to the classical-music fanatics who drift through thrift shops looking for rereleases of Mengelberg and Furtwängler acetates, kin even to Felix Mendelssohn, who helped revive the music of Bach for Germans. He is one with all the bibliophiles, cinephiles, audiophiles, oenophiles, butterfly hunters, fern and flower pressers, stamp and coin collectors, concert tapers, and opera buffs who put an obsession at the center of their lives. “There is no person in America more dedicated to any art form than Phil is to jazz,” his friend Stanley Crouch, who is writing a biography of Charlie Parker, said. “He is the Mr. Memory of jazz, and, as with the Mr. Memory character in The Thirty-Nine Steps, the Hitchcock movie, there are those who think he ought to be shot. He can get on your nerves, but, then, you can get on his.”

    The day after Ornette Coleman’s birthday was the birthday—the hundred and fifth—of the cornet player Bix Beiderbecke, and Schaap returned to the studios for another marathon of close attention. Along with Louis Armstrong and Sidney Bechet, Beiderbecke was a pioneer of jazz as it moved from the all-in polyphony of the earliest bands to a form of ensemble playing that allowed for solo improvisation. The broadcast was a strange time-tunnel transition, from Ornette’s self-invented “harmolodic” experiments to Bix’s short solo flights on Goose Pimples and Three Blind Mice, but Schaap’s taste is broad. As he queued up his records, he said to me, “I remember March 10, 1985. I did 5 A.M. to 5 P.M. It was some birthday for Bix.” Schaap was unshaved, sleepy, complaining, as usual, of overwork. He felt as if he, too, were a hundred and five.

    Schaap is perpetually weary. He works hard: there are the radio shows, the classes he’s teaching now at Juilliard and at Jazz at Lincoln Center, and various producing projects. But it’s not the work, exactly. Schaap carries with him a burden of loss and a disinterest in the contemporary world. He is theatrically, adamantly, old: “I haven’t seen more than six movies since 1972. Three baseball games, maybe five. I think the last novel I read was Invisible Man, when I was at Columbia. I haven’t seen any television after the first husband in Bewitched.” He never bothered to see Bird, Clint Eastwood’s Charlie Parker bio-pic. He does not own an iPod. And unless you have a spare afternoon it is best not to ask him what he thinks of digital downloads.

    Before long, he was off on a Schaapian riff sparked by the playing of Wringin’ an’ Twistin’, recorded, as Schaap said, “eighty-one years ago by OKeh records with Frankie Trumbauer on C-melody saxophone and Eddie Lang on guitar.” Eventually, through the surface scratches, one could hear a voice say, “Yeah, that’s it!” Schaap assured his listeners that there was “no doubt of the voice’s identity.” It was Trumbauer. But that was not enough to cool his curiosity. “Someone is also humming the passage,” he went on. “Is it Eddie Lang or is it Trumbauer? I wonder about it. It’s a test cut on the metal part before the passage begins. And then there’s another voice that you can hear say, ‘Yeah.’ That ‘yeah’ is not Eddie Lang. It could be unidentified. Or it could be Bix’s voice.”

    Schaap played the sequence again.

    Yeah.

    And again.

    Yeah.

    One more time.

    Yeah.

    Meanwhile, the earth warmed imperceptibly; glaciers plunged into the sea.

    Yeah.

    “There,” Schaap said. “There! That’s it! September 17, 1927. Not that it’s the most important thing that ever happened to you. But, still. I’d like to know, if possible, what Bix’s speaking voice was like.”

    These questions were of no less moment to Schaap than the Confederate maneuvers at Shiloh were to Shelby Foote. Such is the flypaper of his mind and the didactic turn of his personality. When, finally, Schaap played another Beiderbecke record—a twenty-minute string of tunes, to be fair—I asked him what possible interest he could have in the provenance of the ghostly “yeah”s of yesteryear.

    “What can I say? I make no apologies. I’m interested,” he said. “Did Bix have a Southern accent? A German accent? A Midwestern accent? Did he sound shy or did he speak with authority? I really do think it’s him, that it’s Bix who says, ‘Yeah.’ ”

    Schaap paused and listened to a passage in Goose Pimples.

    “O.K.,” he said, “it may not be a great mystery. But it’s a mystery, all the same. I do these things that are a turnoff, but it’s my dime. I try very hard to make sure that everyone gets something out of all this. I guess for the first twenty years I was on the radio I was concerned about telling you absolutely everything about every tune. Then, in the nineties, I started concentrating on small issues, one at a time. Like that Okiedoke thing. These days, I’m going for a little balance.”

    As a broadcaster, Schaap is unpoetic. He does not have the evocative middle-of-the-night gifts of a radio forebear like Jean Shepherd. Or take Jonathan Schwartz, whose specialty for both XM satellite radio and WNYC, in New York, is American singers. Schwartz is as obsessed with Frank Sinatra as Schaap is with Parker, but Schwartz, a brilliant storyteller with a café-society voice as smooth as hot buttered rum, conjures Sinatra’s world: the stage of the Paramount, the bar at Jilly Rizzo’s. Schaap is an empiricist, an old-fashioned historicist. Facts are what he has. His capacity to evoke Charlie Parker’s world—Kansas City in the Pendergast era; the Savoy Ballroom scene uptown; Minton’s, the Three Deuces, and Birdland; Bird’s dissolution and early death—is limited to the accumulation of dates, bare anecdotes, obscure names. The emotional side of his broadcasts comes from his relationships with the musicians. His mental life can be spooky even to him. “Sometimes,” he said, “I think I know more about what Dizzy Gillespie was thinking in 1945 than I do what I was thinking in 1967 or last week.”

    The precocious obsessive is a familiar high-school type, particularly among boys, but the object of Schaap’s obsession was a peculiar one among his classmates. “The lonely days were adolescence,” he admitted. “My peer group thought I was out of my mind. But, even then, kids knew basic things about jazz. Teddy Goldstein knew Take the A Train. But he kept telling me, ‘Don’t you know what the Beatles are doing? Your world is doomed!’ ”

    When he was in his teens, Schaap played the trumpet. He took theory classes at Columbia. “I even got a lesson in high notes from Roy Eldridge,” he said. But his playing, especially his intonation, was mediocre. “I put my trumpet in its case and that was it,” he said. “March 11, 1974.”

    Schaap learned to serve the music anyway. In the wake of the Columbia campus strikes in 1968, a group of students set out to get rid of WKCR’s “classroom of the air” gentility. “All of us were listening to the Grateful Dead and Jimi Hendrix, but we knew that all of that stuff was available elsewhere,” Schaap told me over a burger near Lincoln Center. “Jimi Hendrix didn’t need WKCR.” And so the station began broadcasting jazz, including multi-day festivals on Albert Ayler (1970), John Coltrane (1971), Charles Mingus (1972), Archie Shepp (1972), and Charlie Parker (1973). During the 1973 Parker festival, Schaap did two forty-eight-hour work shifts, splitting his time between WKCR and his paying job, at the university’s identification-card office. “On Friday, August 31, 1973, I had to get to the I.D.-card office,” he recalled. “The last record I played was Scrapple from the Apple. Recorded November 4, 1947. The C take. On Dial. But I think I played the English Spotlite label. Anyway, I entered the back stairwell and the record was still playing in my head”—Schaap interrupted himself to hum Parker’s solo—“and then I was out on a Hundred and Fourteenth Street and I could hear it playing from the buildings, from the open windows. That was a turning point in the station’s history. The insight was that Charlie Parker was at least tolerable to all people who liked jazz. If you idolized King Oliver, you could tolerate Charlie Parker, and if you think jazz begins with John Coltrane playing Ascension you can still listen to Bird, too.”

    Musicians were beginning to tune in. During a Thelonious Monk festival, one of the d.j.s went on about how Monk created art out of “wrong notes.” Monk, who rarely spoke to anyone, much less a college student, called the station and, on the air, declared, “The piano ain’t got no wrong notes.” In 1979, Schaap was at the center of a Miles Davis festival at a time when Davis was a near-recluse living off Riverside Drive. Davis started calling the station, dozens and dozens of calls—“mad, foul, strange calls,” Schaap recalled. Davis’s inimitable voice, low and sandpapery, was unnerving for Schaap. But then one day—“Friday, July 6, 1979”—his tone changed, and for nearly three hours the two men went over the details of Agharta, one of his later albums. Finally, after Schaap had clarified every spelling, every detail, Davis said, “You got it? Good. Now forget it. Play Sketches of Spain! Right now!”

    Just after starting as a d.j., Schaap began organizing musical programs, mainly at the West End, on Broadway at 113th Street. He managed the Countsmen—former sidemen for Count Basie—along with other groups made up of refugees from other big bands, and got them work. Older musicians, such as Jo Jones, Sonny Greer, Sammy Price, Russell Procope, and Earle Warren, who had known Schaap as an eccentric teen-ager now welcomed him as a meal ticket.

    “When I was a child, I lived under the illusion that these performers, who put on such an excellent front, dressed to the nines and acting like kings, made real money,” Schaap said. He lost that innocence about forty years ago, when he happened to glance at a check made out to Benny Morton, a trombonist who had been with the Fletcher Henderson and Basie bands. “It was for fifty-eight dollars, and it was for a gig at Carnegie Hall,” Schaap recalled. Jazz reached its commercial peak in the mid-nineteen-forties, but by 1950 the ballrooms had closed down. The postwar middle class no longer went out dancing; they were watching television and listening to records at home. The clubs on Fifty-second Street—the Onyx, the Famous Door, the Three Deuces—disappeared. Eventually, rock and roll displaced jazz as America’s popular music. World-class musicians were scrounging for work. Performers who had enjoyed steady employment took second jobs as messengers on Wall Street, bus drivers, and bank guards. For comradeship, they were hanging out at the Chock Full o’ Nuts at Fiftieth and Broadway and at a few bars around town.

    “Phil took these guys out of the Chock Full o’ Nuts and put them on the stage of the West End,” Loren Schoenberg, the executive director of the National Jazz Museum in Harlem, told me. “So for the young people who idolized them, and guys who’d never heard of them, Phil brought them to us.” Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, an early rhythm-and-blues star, used to call Phil Schaap’s mother at home and beg her to get her son to do for him what he’d done for the horn players of the Basie band.

    As “Bird Flight” became a fixture of the jazz world, Schaap began to get jobs teaching, but, even with the rise of academic jazz programs, no one has offered him a professorship. Some of his students—including Ben Ratliff, who is now the main jazz critic for the Times, and Jerome Jennings, a drummer for, among others, Sonny Rollins—swear by Schaap as a teacher, but some complain that his displays of memory can be tiresome and aimed at underscoring his students’ cluelessness. This spring, I took Schaap’s Charlie Parker course at Swing University, the educational wing of Jazz at Lincoln Center, and could see both sides. In four two-hour evening sessions, he provided an incisive, moving narrative of Parker’s incandescent career, but he could also be oppressive, not least with his pointless occasional class “surveys.” “Who knows ‘Yardbird Suite’?” he’d ask. Then, moving from desk to desk, he’d poll the students, embarrassing those honest enough to confess their ignorance.

    As a teacher, Schaap is less concerned about the tender sensibilities of his students than with developing knowledgeable and passionate listeners. “The school system is creating six thousand unemployable musicians a year—from the Berklee College of Music, Rutgers, Mannes, Manhattan, Juilliard, plus all the high schools,” he said. “There are more and more musicians, and no gigs, no one to listen. So what happens to these kids? They work their way back to the educational system and help create more unemployable musicians. My rant is this: I’m not trying to teach you to play the alto sax. No. I’m trying to get you to learn how to listen to Charlie Parker. Louis Armstrong is the greatest musician of the twentieth century. But name twenty musicians today who really listen to Louis Armstrong. Go ahead: I’ll give you a week.”

    There are many excellent young (and youngish) jazz musicians around, including the pianist Jason Moran and the sax player Joshua Redman, to say nothing of the extended family of players around Wynton Marsalis. In February, Herbie Hancock won an Album of the Year Grammy for his arrangements of Joni Mitchell songs. But, generally, a hit album in jazz means sales of ten thousand. Ornette Coleman, Sonny Rollins, and a few other giants of an earlier time still roam the earth, but even they cannot reliably sell out a major hall. Coleman’s concert at Town Hall in March was as thrilling a musical event as has taken place this year in New York. The theatre was at least a quarter empty.

    “In the fall of 1976, when Woody Herman was rehearsing for a forty-year-anniversary concert at Carnegie Hall, I was invited to watch,” Schaap told me. “A saxophonist wasn’t paying attention, and at one point Woody Herman crept up on him, put his face next to the musician’s, and said, ‘Son, what do you want to be?’ And the guy said, ‘I want to be the next Stan Getz.’ And Woody Herman said, ‘Son, there’s not gonna be another Stan Getz!’ In other words, people like Stan Getz and Woody Herman were pop stars! That’s not going to happen again.”

    In the spring of 1947, around the same time that Charlie Parker was playing the Hi-De-Ho club, in Los Angeles, a young Bedouin herding goats along the northwest shore of the Dead Sea discovered several tall clay jars that contained manuscripts written in ancient Hebrew and Aramaic. Wrapped in linen, the manuscripts were part of a much larger cache of ancient texts, which came to be known as the Dead Sea Scrolls.

    “For decades, there were rumors that jazz had its own Dead Sea Scrolls,” Schaap told me more than once. “One was a cylinder recording of Buddy Bolden”—the New Orleans cornettist and early jazz pioneer who was committed to a mental institution before the rise of 78s. “But this will probably never be found. The second, of course, is called the Benedetti recordings.”

    All of Schaap’s listeners have grown accustomed to his close attention to the “crucial” obscurities of the Parker discography: “the unaccompanied 1940 alto recording in Kansas City,” “the paper disk of Cherokee,” “the Wichita transcriptions,” and “the little-known Clyde Bernhardt glass-based acetate demo disks.” These recordings can be revelatory, but they also try the patience. Recently on Bird Flight, Schaap showcased a home recording of Parker in February, 1943—important because he was playing tenor saxophone, not his customary alto—and the sound was so bad that you couldn’t quite tell if you were hearing Sweet Georgia Brown or radio waves from the surface of the planet Uranus.

    The Benedetti recordings, however, occupy a privileged place not only in Schaap’s mental Bird cage but also in musical history. And Schaap helped bring them out of their urns.

    For decades, stories circulated in the jazz world that Dean Benedetti, a saxophonist of modest distinction, upon hearing Parker play in the mid-forties, threw his own horn into the sea and pledged himself to follow Parker everywhere he went, recording his hero’s performances. Benedetti was said to have obtained, through Army connections, a Nazi-era German wire recorder, and he carried out his mission at clubs, concert halls, and private apartments all over the world. In the meantime, he was rumored to be a drug dealer who supplied Bird, a longtime addict, with heroin. Many of the legends of Benedetti’s devotions came from Bird Lives!, an entertaining but iffy biography published in 1973 by a Los Angeles-based record producer, Ross Russell. Through the decades, no recordings surfaced. Ornithologists could not help but wonder: Had they been lost? Had they sunk, as rumored, along with a freighter in the Atlantic? Eventually, only the most committed, with their collections of 78s and back issues of Down Beat, spoke much of the matter. Like the Bolden cylinder, the Benedetti recordings seemed to have taken their eternal rest in the watery grave of jazz legend.

    But then, in 1988, Benedetti’s surviving brother, Rigoletto (Rick), got in touch with Mosaic, a small jazz outfit in Stamford, Connecticut, that specializes in reissues from the vaults of the major labels. It was true, Rick Benedetti informed the owner, Michael Cuscuna: there really were recordings. Was Mosaic interested?

    “The real backstory was incredible,” Cuscuna told me.

    On July 29, 1946, Parker was in desperate shape: depressed, drinking, strung out, broke, and lonely in Los Angeles, he had struggled through an afternoon recording session with the trumpeter Howard McGhee. His recording that day of Lover Man was a technical mess—Parker was barely able to make it through the song—but it is a painful howl, as devastating to hear as Billie Holiday’s last sessions. That night, at the Civic Hotel, Parker twice wandered into the lobby naked. Later on, he fell asleep while smoking, setting his mattress on fire. The police arrested him and a judge had him committed to the Camarillo State Hospital, a psychiatric facility. When he was released, six months later, he was off heroin for the first time since he was a teen-ager in Kansas City. His musician friends threw a jam-session party for him on February 1, 1947, at the home of a trumpet player named Chuck Copely. One of the guests was a handsome young man—pencil mustache, dark eyes, hipster clothes—named Dean Benedetti.

    Benedetti went out and bought a Wells-Gardner 78-r.p.m. portable disk-cutter at Sears, Roebuck and, in March, recorded Parker playing with Howard McGhee’s band at the Hi-De-Ho. (The historical bonus here is that Parker plays tunes from McGhee’s repertory, and so we hear him soloing, for the first and last time, on Gus Arnheim’s Sweet and Lovely and Al Dubin and Harry Warren’s September in the Rain.) Later that year, in New York, Parker was back on drugs but still at the height of his musical powers. He formed what is now considered his “golden-era” quintet: Parker on alto sax, the twenty-one-year-old Miles Davis on trumpet, Max Roach on drums, Duke Jordan on piano, and Tommy Potter on bass. Benedetti recorded the quintet on March 31, 1948, at the Three Deuces, on Fifty-second Street, Parker’s primary base of operations. By this time, Benedetti was using heroin and had no means of support; when the management realized that he didn’t plan to spend any money, it provided him with what Schaap would call “the ultimate New York discourtesy”—it threw him out. In Schaap’s terms, it is a “tragedy” that Benedetti was unable to record the rest of Parker’s nights at the Three Deuces. And it is true that, of all the Benedetti recordings, these are the most significant. On “Dizzy Atmosphere,” Parker plays with dangerous abandon, a runaway truck speeding down the highway into oncoming traffic, never crashing; and even the twenty-six-second passage from the ballad “My Old Flame” is memorable, a glimpse of human longing in sound.

    Finally, in July, 1948, Benedetti recorded the Parker quintet for six nights at the Onyx, a rival club on Fifty-second Street. The sound from the Onyx sessions is the worst of all, mainly because Benedetti was forced by the club’s management to place his microphone near Max Roach’s drum kit. The effect is often like trying to hear a lullaby in a thunderstorm.

    The recordings are not for casual listeners. Disks and tape were expensive commodities, and to save money Benedetti usually turned on the machine only when Parker was soloing. Many recordings are no more than a minute long. One morsel lasts precisely three seconds. There are no fewer than nineteen versions of 52nd St. Theme. But to the aficionado this is like complaining that the Dead Sea Scrolls were torn and discolored. One hears Parker on Coleman Hawkins tunes like Bean Soup and quoting everything from In a Country Garden to a bit from H. Klosé’s 25 Daily Exercises for Saxophone.

    Cuscuna said that, faced with stacks of cracking forty-year-old tapes and ten-inch acetate disks, he realized that “only Phil Schaap was brilliant enough—and insane enough—to do the job.”

    Schaap took the materials to the apartment where he was living at the time—a record-and-disk-strewn place in Chelsea—and “just stared” at them for “many, many hours.” He felt an enormous sense of responsibility. “This increased the volume of live improvisations of a great artist by a third,” he told me one morning after signing off from Bird Flight. “Imagine if someone were to find a third more Bach, a third more Shakespeare plays, a third more prime Picasso.”

    When Schaap first tried to play a tape, it snapped. He tried hand-spinning the tape. It broke again. He realized that the tapes were backed with paper, not plastic. The paper had dried out, making the tape extremely fragile. The solution, Schaap decided, was to secure the most delicate spots with Wite-Out. And so he went through every inch of the Benedetti tapes—all eight miles—and did the job, the tape in his left hand, a tiny Wite-Out brush in his right.

    “I guess the only thing I’ve ever done in jazz that was harder was when we did an eleven-day Louis Armstrong festival on WKCR, in July, 1980,” he said. Schaap worked for more than two years on the Benedetti project. He and Cuscuna once figured out his remuneration. “I think it was approximately .0003 cents an hour,” Schaap said. “But who’s complaining?”

    Mosaic has so far sold five thousand copies of The Complete Dean Benedetti Recordings of Charlie Parker.

    “That’s triple platinum for us,” Cuscuna said.

    For Schaap, the fascinations and mysteries of the discography are unending, even though Parker’s career lasted less than fifteen years. Parker died on March 12, 1955, at the Stanhope Hotel, while watching jugglers on Tommy Dorsey’s television variety show. A doctor who examined the body estimated that Parker was in his mid-fifties. He was thirty-four.

    On Easter Sunday, I met Schaap in the lobby of the Kateri Residence, a nursing home on Riverside Drive. He was there to visit one of the last of “the grandfathers who helped raise him.”

    We went to the twelfth floor and headed for a small room at the end of the hall. From the doorway, we could see a round old man slumped in a wheelchair, sleeping, a woollen scarf over his shoulders and a blanket on his lap. It was Lawrence Lucie. “I met Larry fifty-one years ago,” Schaap said. He was six. Lucie played guitar for almost anyone worth playing for: from Jelly Roll Morton to Joe Turner. He played in the big bands of Fletcher Henderson, Benny Goodman, Lucky Millinder, Duke Ellington, and Benny Carter. When Coleman Hawkins recorded Body and Soul, Lucie was in the band. Lucie not only played with Louis Armstrong; he was the best man at Armstrong’s wedding. He is the last person alive to have played with Ellington at the Cotton Club. Lucie’s father was a barber in Emporia, Virginia; he was also a musician, and Lawrence joined his father’s band as a banjo player when he was eight. Now he is a hundred years old. No one alive is as intimately connected to the origins of jazz music as Lucie. His last gig, which he quit only a couple of years ago, was playing standards at Arturo’s, a coal-oven-pizza joint on Houston Street in the Village.

    “Larry, it’s me, Phil.”

    Schaap gently shook the old man’s shoulder.

    Lucie opened his eyes and, very slowly, looked up at his visitor. As he brought Schaap into focus, he smiled and his eyes brightened.

    “Phil! How nice!”

    Not many people are still around to visit. A grandnephew is the closest relative that Schaap knows of, and he lives in California. Schaap and Lucie were clearly thrilled to see each other. Nearly all of Schaap’s jazz grandfathers—Jo Jones, Roy Eldridge, Buck Clayton, Doc Cheatham, Max Roach—are gone. Lucie had not lost his elegance. Although he had no reason to expect a visit, he was wearing a tie, a smart silk one with an abstract blue-and-red pattern. On the other side of his bed was a guitar in a battered case and, above it, a poster of the Lucy Luciennaires, a quartet that featured his wife, the singer Nora Lee King, who died eleven years ago. In the seventies and eighties, Lucie and King used to perform weekly on a Manhattan public-access cable channel.

    Lucie, who celebrated his centennial in December, was glad to hear Schaap talk about his days with Fletcher Henderson. And when Schaap asked him if he remembered the name of the song that Benny Carter opened with at the Apollo seventy-four years ago, Lucie said, “I know, Phil, but do you?”

    “Sure, it was I May Be Wrong (But I Think You’re Wonderful).”

    “That’s right.” Both men laughed.

    “And you played the first notes,” Schaap said. Indeed, they were the first notes played in the Apollo when, in 1934, the theatre opened under that name and began admitting African-American audiences.

    Schaap wheeled Lucie to the elevator and up to a solarium on the penthouse floor, where they could look out over the Hudson River and reminisce, a conversation that was more a matter of Schaap recalling highlights of Lucie’s career and Lucie saying, over and over, “Phil Schaap knows me better than I know me. Phil Schaap knows his jazz.”

    Finally, Lucie asked to go down to the fifteenth floor, where a volunteer was playing piano and singing show tunes.

    You coax the blues right out of my heart.”

    Arrayed in front of the piano were fifty or sixty residents, some of them nearly as old as Lucie and many a great deal less healthy. A nurse passed out Easter cookies. Lawrence Lucie had heard better music in his time, but he was happy to stay and listen. “There’s always something going on here,” he said dryly. “The action never stops.”

    Schaap bent over and told his friend that he was off.

    “What a delight,” Lucie said. “It’s always so good to see you.”

    “I’ll be back soon,” Schaap said. “You know I will.” ♦

    *Correction, May 15, 2008: The name is William P. Gottlieb, not Walter, as originally stated.

    See the full New Yorker article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition
    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 12:30 PM on April 22, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Hank Mobley in Europe: 1968-70, , Mosaic Records, The Complete Bee Hive Sessions (MD12-161), What Miles Davis Means to Sixteen Musicians   

    From Mosaic: “The Complete Bee Hive Sessions, Hank Mobley in Europe: 1968-70, What Miles Davis Means to Sixteen Musicians” 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource

    April 22, 2018

    We Will Be Repressing This Set

    Last week we notified you that we are currently out of stock and cannot afford to repress the set without a substantial number of advance orders for it. Thank you very much for your strong response and we expect to be repressing and shipping this set in June.

    Last Chance to place an order will be this Wednesday. The set will then be removed from the site and no additional orders will be able to be filled.

    1
    The Complete Bee Hive Sessions (MD12-161), is a marvelous collection of superb hard bop albums recorded between 1977 and 1984 with artist like Curtis Fuller, Clifford Jordan, Sal Nistico, Dizzy Reece, Nick Brignola Junior Mance and Johnny Hartman among others.

    Hank Mobley in Europe: 1968-70
    2

    Steven Cerra has seen fit to reprint Simon Spillett’s extensive and detailed essay on Hank Mobley in the late ’60s, especially his years in Europe [sorry, no link provided.].

    It first appeared in the January 2004 issue of Jazz Journal International and it is essential reading for those (and they are plentiful) who love Hank’s music. His life was a sad and unfulfilled as his music was rich and celebratory. -Michael Cuscuna -Michael Cuscuna

    What Miles Davis Means to Sixteen Musicians

    Miles Davis January 1955 Express Newspapers Getty Image

    Miles Davis means many things to many people. This June 2005 piece in The Fader polled 16 diverse artists from Reggie Lucas to Madlib to John Legend on what his allure and influence was for them. -Michael Cuscuna

    16 Musicians On The Everlasting Influence Of Miles Davis

    In this piece from our June 2005 Photo Issue, David Banner, John Legend, Damon Albarn, DJ Premier, and more share the impact Davis’s music had on them.

    BRIAN CHASE (of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs): I took private drum lessons when I was young and my teacher introduced me to the jazz tradition and Miles. I transcribed all of Milestones and he had be transcribing Tony Williams’s part on Miles Smiles. So my relationship with Miles is a very technical one, as a student of the jazz tradition.

    I think of Miles as someone who was definitely not avant-garde, but he was cutting edge. For all his cutting edge-ness, Miles never challenged the traditional principles of jazz. But his bands redefined the repertoire of jazz music — instead of having the blues, like Gershwin-based song form, you have more complex harmonies and more complex melodies. More complex solo forms. A lot of that is Wayne Shorter’s doing.

    As far as fashion is concerned, I sense that Miles had a fear of being ugly. Anything mundane or lowbrow would offend him.. Mr. Slick Urbanite. It relates to his music too, this fear of ugliness. Ornette or Cecil Taylor’s music is so far left of Miles that it can be unattractive to anyone in the middle. But he’s different from people on the right side too — people like Lee Morgan or Jimmy Smith, who rely on blues-isms in their solos. That style never suited Miles. He had that hipper, intellectual quality to his music rather than something so down home and fundamental.

    MOS DEF: The first Miles song I thought of was “Little Church.” It’s not an original, which is one of the things that makes it special — it’s his interpretation of someone else’s material. Everything that Miles did bears his mark, but “Little Church” is simple but lyrical, it’s majestic but small. But majestic and small make for an exciting balance. It’s delicate and strange and eerie and enchanting. And the thing about “Little Church” is that, it’s not just a big solo — there’s a dominant theme that he repeats over and over.

    I miss Miles a lot and I wish he was here. A lot of the time it feels like I’m just here… I miss the creative context Miles might have provided. If anything we just need some new contexts to work in because the ones that are already well-established have been run into the ground. Now you just either subscribe to the existing contexts or you get out and stand outside, you know?

    See the full article on Miles here.


    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition
    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 11:09 AM on April 8, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Mosaic Records   

    From Mosaic: Newsletter 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource


    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    April 8, 2018

    New Releases!

    These releases are produced by Sony Music. Periodically we offer music that is available from other record companies that may be of interest to you. We do not keep stock on these but place a one-time order for this music.

    Orders For These Items Will Ship End of April.

    Last Day to Order
    Monday April 9th

    1
    Miles Davis & John Coltrane: The Final Tour – The Bootleg Series Vol. 6 (4 CDs) $49.98

    The latest entry in the award-winning Miles Davis Bootleg Series focuses on the final chapter in the landmark collaboration between Davis and saxophonist John Coltrane: their last live performances together, in Europe in the spring of 1960. These historic performances with Wynton Kelly, Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb marked Miles and Trane’s last outing together and showcased both musicians’ incredible influence on the changing sound of jazz. The beautiful music they made together is presented here officially for the very first time. The 4-CD set The Final Tour: The Bootleg Series Vol. 6 includes concerts recorded in Paris, Copenhagen and Stockholm in sound far superior to previous bootlegged editions. The set closes with a rare contemporaneous audio interview with John Coltrane on Stockholm radio.

    2
    Miles Davis & John Coltrane: The Final Tour:: Copenhagen, March 24, 1960
    (150-gram LP) $24.98

    This 150-gram vinyl LP includes the complete Copenhagen concert in sound far superior to previous bootlegged editions.

    Previous Releases By Sony Music

    Orders For These
    Will Ship End of April

    Last Day to Order
    Monday April 9th

    These sets are produced by Sony Music. Periodically we offer music that is available from other record companies that may be of interest to you. We do not keep stock on these but place a one-time order for this music.

    4
    Miles Davis Live In Europe 1967 – The Bootleg Series Vol. 1
    (3 CDs & 1 DVD) $49.98;
    (2 LPs) $29.98

    In 1967, the Miles Davis Quintet with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams was at the peak of its powers, reinventing itself and scaling new heights night after night. This box set features three concerts on three CDs from October-November 1967 in excellent sound and complete form plus a DVD of the band at a German and a Swedish concert. 44 years later, jazz doesn’t get any better or deeper than this.

    5
    Miles Davis: Freedom Jazz Dance – The Bootleg Series Vol. 5
    (3 CDs) $39.98

    This 3-CD box set chronicles Miles’ musical evolution in the studio from 1966-1968 working with his “second great quintet.” The latest edition in Columbia/Legacy’s Miles Davis Bootleg Series provides an unprecedented look into the artist’s creative process. Celebrating the 50th anniversary of Miles Smiles, the groundbreaking second studio album from the Miles Davis Quintet with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams–this definitive new collection includes the master takes of performances which would eventually appear on the Miles Smiles (1967), Nefertiti (1968) and Water Babies (1976) albums alongside more than two hours worth of previously unreleased studio recordings from original sessions.

    Many many more here .

    3

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition
    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 1:15 PM on April 4, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , Mosaic Records   

    From Mosaic: “Now Available! Classic Brunswick & Columbia Teddy Wilson Sessions 1934-42 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource.

    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    1
    This Is What Swing Is
    From The Moment Teddy Wilson Defined It

    “His improvisatory genius at the keyboard, and the inspiration that his artistry and deportment radiated – for that alone, Teddy Wilson remains a seminal influence on jazz well into its second century.” – Loren Schoenberg, liner notes.

    Mosaic Records is proud to announce the release of “Classic Brunswick and Columbia Teddy Wilson Sessions 1934 -1942.” It’s the most massive volume we’ve ever released featuring Wilson, and it’s a greater selection than we’ve been able to offer previously because we weren’t limited to just his trio work.

    Teddy Wilson just flat-out swung, with a left hand that suggested greater harmonic complexity, and a right hand that was truly virtuosic. His command? Elegant. His tempos? Impeccable. His ear, and his ability to anticipate and respond in an ensemble? Almost other-worldly.

    There are so many different small “orchestras” featured. One includes Roy Eldridge, Ben Webster, John Kirby, and Cozy Cole. Another features Jonah Jones and Harry Carney. Johnny Hodges makes an appearance in another group setting, as does Benny Goodman with Lionel Hampton. Other all-stars include Pee Wee Russell, Bobby Hackett, Bennie Morton, Bill Colman, Ben Webster, Frankie Newton, and more.

    There is so much mre available.

    VISIT THE JAZZ GAZETTE

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition

    See the full article here .

    John Schaefer


    For new music by living composers

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio


    https://www.wnyc.org/
    93.9FM
    https://www.wqxr.org/
    105.9FM
    http://www.thegreenespace.org/

    For great Jazz

    88.3FM http://wbgo.org/

    WPRB 103.3FM

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

     
  • richardmitnick 11:18 AM on March 18, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , Mosaic Records, , , , , ,   

    From Mosaic Records: “Revisiting Elevator to the Gallows and its iconic Miles Davis soundtrack” 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource


    Visit The Jazz Gazette

    1

    Louis Malle’s debut feature is a thrilling precursor to the French New Wave.

    At its core, film noir inverts the detective genre, taking tales of analytically ingenious investigators solving impossibly elaborate cases and turning them inside out. The hardboiled stories of Prohibition that birthed it brought stark realism to the world of the whodunit, or, as Raymond Chandler wrote of Dashiell Hammett’s brooding and morally ambiguous adventures, “gave murder back to the kind of people that commit it for reasons, not just to provide a corpse; and with the means at hand, not with hand-wrought duelling pistols, curare, and tropical fish.”

    Released 60 years ago, Elevator to the Gallows (aka Lift to the Scaffold) had all the grit that the nocturnal streets of 1950s Paris could offer, but Louis Malle’s directorial debut also inverted the classic whodunit structure. The suspense in Edgar Allan Poe’s Murders on the Rue Morgue – published in 1841 and credited as the first detective story – hinges on the proto-detective C Auguste Dupin steadily unravelling the mystery of a double homicide committed in a room locked from the inside (spoiler alert: an escaped orangutan did it).

    But Elevator begins by taking us inside the locked room where protagonist Julien Tavernier murders his arms dealer boss Simon Carala with the intention of running away with his wife, Florence. Opening with a phone call in which Florence repeated tells Julien “Je t’aime,” and a full of view of him arranging Carala’s body to look like a suicide before descending by grappling hook back to his own office on the floor below, Malle gives us means and motive in the first ten minutes. How, then, does he hold our attention for the next 80?

    Partly through a series of incidents that sees each of the film’s characters hurtle off in his or her own unhappy direction, partly through withholding if and when they’ll be brought to justice. Arriving at his car following the murder Julien realises he left his grappling hook at the scene, and in a turn worthy of Hitchcock gets trapped in the elevator as he goes to retrieve it and a security guard shuts the building’s power off for the night.

    Finding that Julien has left the engine of his flashy Chevrolet Deluxe running, young couple Louis and Véronique take a joyride that ends up with Louis murdering an older German couple with whom they spend the night partying. Meanwhile, having seen Julien’s car pass by with a young woman in the passenger seat, Florence assumes the worst and spends the film wandering the streets of Paris, accidentally incriminating Julien for the murder of the German couple when – having been picked up by the police in the early hours – she mistakenly identifies him as the driver of his own stolen car.

    None of this amounts to much of a plot, though, and certainly not to the airtight storytelling of your typical hard boiled tale or psychological realism that characterised French cinema previously. Instead, Malle performs another inversion, turning his characters inside out and using the means at his disposal to splay their moods across the screen. He does this in large part thanks to the legendary soundtrack by Miles Davis, improvised around sparse harmonic sketches the King of Cool made during a private screening [above image]. In the minimal modal jazz harmonies that characterised records like Kind of Blue (released the same year), rather than the more complex Bepop or Cool sounds he had championed previously, Davis simultaneously brought style and depth to the film’s most significant scenes.

    Miles Davis January 1955 Express Newspapers Getty Image


    For new music by living composers

    John Schaefer

    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio

    For great Jazz
    WPRB

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00AM-2:00PM featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Fridays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00PM


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

    See the full article here .

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition

     
  • richardmitnick 12:07 PM on March 11, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Mosaic Records, , Open House,   

    From Mosaic Records: ” Mosaic Records Open House” 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource

    For the first time in our 35-year history, we are having an open house on March 22 to 25 at our Stamford, Connecticut headquarters. We are in the process of sorting out and assembling a number of Mosaic collectibles (no lists are yet compiled or available). Items will include.

    OUT OF PRINT CD SETS

    PARTIAL SETS

    TEST PRESSINGS

    OUT OF PRINT MOSAIC BOOKLETS

    MOSAIC SLICKS SUITABLE FOR FRAMING

    FRAMED PHOTOS & JAZZ ART

    AND OTHER RARETIES & COLLECTIBLES

    ALL AT SPECIAL PRICES.

    FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.

    CASH, CHECKS, CREDIT CARDS AND PAYPAL ARE ACCEPTABLE.

    DATES & HOURS:

    Thursday March 22 & Friday March 23 from 11 am to 6 pm

    Saturday March 24 & Sunday March 25 from 11 am to 5 pm

    LOCATION:

    Mosaic Records

    425 Fairfield Avenue

    Stamford CT 06902

    (off I-95 exit 6)

    Directions available upon request


    For new music by living composers
    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio

    For great Jazz
    WPRB

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm


    Please visit The Jazz Loft Project based on the work of Sam Stephenson
    Please visit The Jazz Loft Radio project from New York Public Radio

    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition

     
  • richardmitnick 11:09 AM on March 7, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , Mosaic Records, ,   

    From Mosaic: “Back In Stock!” 

    Mosaic is a truly important resource

    Back In Stock!

    Blue Note Stanley Turrentine
    Quintet & Sextet Sessions

    1
    The Six Blue Note Dates
    Are In A Class By Themselves

    “Stanley Turrentine had a sound. Until his death in 2000, he was the master of a tenor saxophone tone that demanded attention from the first note. A throwback to the brawny tenor stylists of the swing era – Ben Webster, Illinois Jacquet, Don Byas – as well as the funky R & B players of the late ’40s and ’50s. Turrentine took no prisoners, no matter the tempo.” – Steve Futterman, Washington Post.

    Running Low!

    Chick Webb & Ella Fitzgerald Decca Sessions
    (1934-41)

    2
    He Was The King. She Was The Queen
    And This Was Their Reign

    “If the old New Orleans drummers had given jazz its first pulse, it was Chick Webb who gave the music its first taste of raw, sovereign power from the drum chair. After years in the shadows, the drums suddenly pushed front and center with the big swing bands. But even before swing took the national stage, Webb had become the first great drummer-bandleader to saturate a spotlight with star power and charisma.” – John McDonough.

    Eddie Condon & Bud Freeman
    Complete Commodore & Decca Sessions

    From Chicago To New York, They Brought The Party.

    3
    This collection of mostly bracing and upbeat music celebrates two rugged individualists of jazz and their like-minded circle of friends… – Dan Morgenstern , liner notes

    So much more. Please visit the web site.


    For new music by living composers
    newsounds.org from New York Public Radio

    For great Jazz
    WPRB

    Dan Buskirk Spinning Jazz Mondays 11:00AM-1:00PM
    Will Constantine Jr, Blues Bop and Beyond Thursdays 11:00-2:00 featuring Latin Jazz
    Jerry Gordon Serenade to a Cookoo Frdays 11:00AM-2:00PM with Jerry’s Room at 1:00Pm
    Jeannie Becker Sunday Jazz 10:00AM-1:00Pm
    Please help promote STEM in your local schools.

    STEM Icon

    Stem Education Coalition

     
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