one sweet letter from you

Christmas and New Year are immediately followed by my birthday. That’s good, because it means all pointless celebrations are out of the way in one single prolonged orgy (metaphorical – at my age how could it be otherwise?). But I have to admit this year the occasions were fruitful and warming.

For one thing, I discovered that at least three people read this blog (one of whom is the blogger of whom I am he). Very good friends stayed over New Year and they admitted to looking in from time-to-time. They even left a polite comment. That makes it all worthwhile. Thanks to J&A.

Birthdays have always been a bit of a mystery to me. I’ve never been able to decide whether each anniversary marks the placing of another domino in the timeline of experience or the removal of one from my allotted pool. I suppose it’s the same as pondering whether my glass is half empty or half full. All I know is that the scales of my life are definitely weighted in favour of what has been, rather than what will be. I’m 63 by the way and am due to die when I’m 80. That’s 63 down and 17 to go.

However, let me not be melancholy. Over Christmas I discovered a wonderful charity shop in Boston (Lincolnshire). The British Heart Foundation store has an upstairs devoted to books and music, all laid out in Dewey order and categorised according to genre. There, in a corner of the room, I found a magical heading: jazz LPs. Leafing through the albums, I was able to avoid the inevitable Klaus Wunderlich and Best of Motown offerings. My fingers touched solely jazz. True jazz, that is. The real stuff – no Kenny G.

Bob Crosby, for example (Bing’s brother for the unitiated). And Benny Goodman. Both were recordings of US radio broadcasts in 1939, when smoking was apparently good for us and famous people effectively endorsed Camel cigarettes. True, most of the tracks are mediocre, except for an exhilarating version of “Little Rock Getaway” with Joe Sullivan in front of Bing’s brother’s outfit and a driving rendition of “I’ve Found a New Baby” with one of Goodman’s small sets including Lionel Hampton and Teddy Wilson. And tucked in the middle of several Chris Barber albums, I found the real treasure.

“A Rare Batch of Benny Goodman & His Orchestra” was the title. In the mid 1940s, the USA produced a series of V-discs, recordings made by the stars of the day specifically for the armed forces. Performers gave their services free to support the war effort. This album is a putative collection of just such benefic recordings by Goodman and his sidemen. I’m a little dubious about it, because the sleeve claims all selections were recorded in 1943/1944, whereas I’d wager half my remaining dominoes that Charlie Christian is playing on at least three of the tracks. He died early 1942. Unfortunately, recording details are missing from the liner notes, so I’ll probably never know for certain.

But I just enjoy the music. Seven Come Eleven, AC-DC Current, Gone With What Wind – this is stomping good jazz that swings like a kitchen door in a gourmet restaurant. Production is not the best, but a war was on. And my old record player crackles and hops cheerfully. I’m convinced the gramophone was invented for jazz. Or maybe jazz was invented for the record player – now that’s a thought!

Anyway, I don’t know who manages the British Heart Foundation charity shop in Boston, but I hope they keep up the good work. Unlike many of its malodorous and scruffy competitors, the place is a pleasure to visit. Happy New Year. And by the way, I think I have a 4th reader, a fifth if I include Mrs Dodman. 2010 could be great year.