farewell farewell

So Charlie Mariano died on the 16th June. His obituary in the Times accompanied Farah Fawcett and managed to squeeze onto the pages ahead of what will no doubt be the next day’s tome of an obituary for Michael Jackson, who died a couple of days ago. At least Mariano had a long life (he was 85) unlike Fawcett, who was my age, and Jackson, who was a mere fifty.

I don’t know much about Mariano except he played at Mingus’ famous Town Hall Concert and later recorded with the man on the eccentric “Black Saint and Sinner Lady” album. He was married to pianist Toshiko Akiyoshi, who also made the occasional appearance with Mingus, notably in 1962. He was also a member of the United Jazz and Rock Ensemble (based mainly in Germany) and ventured enthusiastically into hybrid jazz, never being afraid to experiment with eastern styles and other ‘world’ jazz forms.

What I do know is that Mariano was a brilliant and creative alto sax player. Mingus never suffered the inept gladly; he tended to surround himself with only the most original and proficient players. Mariano was one of them. I didn’t necessarily like everything he did; I’m too much of a traditionalist for that. But there’s no denying his skill and ingenuity in his chosen instrument.

So why is the entire world suddenly in mourning for Michael Jackson, yet has hardly noticed the passing of Mariano? BBC News 24 had apparently identified Jackson as the only worthy news item last evening. The woman presenter floundered pitifully while she tried desperately to maintain momentum as ‘breaking news’ whimpered out like a tyre with a slow puncture. She pumped as hard as she could, taking a breather only when the weather man could be found. A sort of media whipped hysteria is slowly seeping into Jackson’s death. I couldn’t watch any longer and retreated to the study and contemplation. The next few days are to be dreaded.

Charlie Mariano’s demise took 10 days before his death-knell reached the obituary register. That’s inequitable. I don’t begrudge Jackson his final bow; he influenced many millions and undoubtedly deserves all the posthumous encomia and plaudits to be piled on him over the coming weeks. But I know many musicians and fans will be mourning the loss of Mariano - he hasn’t slipped away unnoticed. Yet surely his passing warrants a little more attention than the odd obituary in the more intelligent newspapers and a few postings on the internet.

I wonder which programme will hit the TV screens first – a tribute to Michael Jackson or a requiem to Charlie Mariano. That’s purely for rhetoric – I know the answer, sadly. Another great jazzman is lost. When I look at the recordings I play frequently, very few musicians are still alive. But perhaps that says more about my tastes in jazz rather than the state of the music.

My next post will not mention death at all.

i wish i knew

Am I unusual? For decades I’ve seen myself as perfectly normal in my approach to listening to jazz. Now, having talked to other jazz buffs, I wonder whether perhaps I suffer from a little known psychological condition akin to a mild form of OCD.

Here’s the problem. When I listen to jazz on the radio or on an album, I feel deprived unless I know full recording particulars. Not just the name of the band; it goes far deeper than that. I need (and when I say need, I use the word accepting that it implies dependency) to know at least the name of each and every performer, the date of the recording, location and order of solos. In certain cases, such as a Charles Mingus recording, for example, I also need to know the original LP on which the track was issued, the issuing label and the name of the producer. Does that sound sad?

As I listen, I’m compelled to hold the album cover in my hand and read in time to the music, synchronising data and sound, defining each and every performer and identifying every soloist (assuming they’re not all playing different instruments, of course – even I can tell the difference between a banjo and a trombone). Some say this must distract from the music; to me it enhances the experience. After all, the cognoscenti always seem far more content than the ignorant.

I tried to hide my condition for years, usually ineffectively. But then I came out of the closet. Now Mrs Dodman simply laughs at my distress when I slit open a new CD only to discover the manufacturers can’t be bothered to include discographical data. To my mind, this is akin to visiting an art gallery and viewing paintings with one eye closed while suffering dichromatism in the other. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what I do. Could there be a link?

Mrs Dodman and I have friends who are professional classical musicians. They never seemed bothered by the fact they can’t name the third violinist from the right in the second row. Dates of recordings aren’t relevant in their world. The identity of the arranger can be kept a secret as far as they’re concerned. The condition would appear to be jazz specific – assuming it’s not me specific.

Perhaps I’m not alone. Humphrey Lyttleton must have at least known the problem exists; he alleviated the symptoms by providing the palliative. Geoffrey Smith on Radio Three still does. Alyn Shipton similarly announces the line up and year of recording as a minimum. Three jazz DJs with understanding of their listeners. But I gave up tuning-in to The Jazz on FM because too often they played segues of numbers without a hint of disc data. Perhaps their presenters understood jazz but they certainly didn’t understand their audience. (Or did they – is it just me?). But then to my taste their jazz was usually homogenised and boring anyway, so it was no loss.

I’d like to feel I’m not different to the rest of the world. A psychologist would tell me to relax and listen to the wonderful themes and counter-melodies drifting over my consciousness. I tried, but then – is that Joe Guy or Roy Eldridge on trumpet? Is that tenor solo by Dexter or Wardell? Could it be Art Pepper on alto or is it a gifted newcomer with Kenton influences? I need to fill the gaps in my knowledge. Angst suffuses me. So please – tell me – am I alone in this?

The future is a worry. More and more CDs are being produced without discographical information; these days, manufacturers tend to go for advertising instead. Then, apparently, we’re all downloading more and more tracks from the internet, a medium so far not geared towards providing the particulars I need so badly. Too often I listen to my MP3 player when I’m away and discover I’ve forgotten who played that superb piano solo with Lester Young on “Somebody Loves Me.” (Nat King Cole, actually) and I can’t look it up because the CD cover is at home. As I age, my memory is diminishing; my brain tends to erase information rather than store new. I can see things getting only worse for me.

What to do?