collector's piece

I found this original 78 rpm 12 inch record among others in a charity shop in Boston, UK. It's "St Louis Blues" by Bing Crosby with the Duke Ellington Orchestra and the cover registers that it was recorded in New York on 11th February 1932. The record itself is in a neat cardboard sleeve on which the previous owner had bothered to list all musicians:

Arthur Whetsol, "Cootie" Williams, Freddy Jenkins (tpts). Joe Nanton, Lawrence Brown (tmbs), Johnny Hodges (alto, sop) Harry Carney (bar, alto, clt), Barney Bigard (clt, ten) Duke Ellington (pno), Fred Guy (bjo, gtr) Wellman Braud (bs), Sonny Greer (dms) Bing Crosby vocal.
On the label (Columbia DX898 BX 11263) I'm told that the composer was Handy and in parenthesis that it's a "concert version. On the obverse is "Creole Love Call," again a concert version (Columbia DX898 BX 11264) with the same recording data as Side 1.

Obviously the previous owner was not only a keen jazz fan, but a person who understood the true essence of jazz listening. What genuine aficionado can truly enjoy a piece of music without knowing the names of musicians, and where and when it was recorded? This one has gone to great lengths to organise his or her record collection, taking pride in identifying the line-up on every record probably so each soloist can be identified in turn. I imagine him or her sitting in a dusty arm-chair beside a battered old record player, ear cocked towards the speaker as he or she (I desperately try not to be sexist) holds the record and reads the notes and silently applauds in sincere appreciation. Or maybe it's not imagination - it's a mirror.

Yet how did this collection end up in a charity shop? Once a jazz fan always a jazz fan. They don't sell records or books; they store them for future reference. I'll never know why, but I can guess.

a special post on behalf of the Pooter Dodman Christmas Charitable Appeal

The billionaires' mantra is unmistakable. Charity begins and ends at home, their home. Yet knowing this, we selfishly ask our moneyed leaders to make decisions about poverty and need, decisions on our behalf which could on rare occasions damage their own personal interests.

This is an unfair state of affairs. Ask yourself in all honesty: would you consciously make a decision to take action which will be detrimental to your own well-being? Of course not. So why expect our billionaire leaders and their accomplices to make such decisions?

We should feel sorry for the likes of Ree-Smug, Bojo and Mrs Maybot.  Please give them a thought this Christmas. You have nothing to lose or protect, and therefore you have no need to worry about anything more important than finding somewhere out of the cold and a bite to eat. The freedom this gives you! The sheer emancipation of having nothing between you and destitution. How liberating!

On the other hand, consider the hardships of Mr Ree-Smug (to take an example of many). He is the modern Prometheus, chained to his responsibility to improve himself and having so many vital decisions resting on his narrow shoulders: how to best protect his fortune, for example. How to ensure he hangs on to power; what colour bow-tie should he wear to this year's festive season ball. Will his wife ever forgive him for the unsubtle but ambiguous response he gave to the flirtation of Victoria Coren-Mitchell on "Have I Got News For You"? How can he bolster his reputation within the Tory party? So many concerns; so much stress he's under.

Further, think about his poor family. What if he dies? All those issues to resolve - death duties; inheritance tax; the cost of a state funeral if they're not covered by MPs' expenses; O - don't start me on pensions.Whereas if you die, a pauper's grave will cost your family just a notional payment. You have nothing to worry about. It'll all be taken care of, eventually, somehow, and perhaps someone will leave by the railway track a small bunch of wilted flowers.

Stop your endless whinnying and complaining. You just don't know when you're well off. Stop moaning all the time about your lot; you've never had it so good. You've got nothing. Be grateful. Start thinking about others, in particular those suffering the angst, pains and suffering of the ruling classes. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, give thanks that you have the ultimate liberty of nothing to safeguard - no home; no money; no future. And bear in mind that it's all your fault. You voted them in, thereby off-loading your duties by putting the burdens onto their wealthy shoulders. The stress our rich leaders suffer is as a direct result of your vote (this applies in the USA as well as the UK).

Look at Mrs Maybot. How she's aged since she became Prime Minister; how stooped she is and depressed she looks. It's the Peter Principal. She's been promoted to the level of her incompetence and it's sapping her strength. That's entirely your fault for facilitating the imposition, Are you completely heartless? I think not.

I believe in you. I believe you are not completely heartless. So at this time of goodwill to all men and women, I call on you, all the needy and impoverished citizens and inhabitants of the UK, to give a thought to all those poor billionaires less fortunate than yourself and be prepared to give generously in an effort to cheer them. Imagine their little faces when they wake up on Christmas morning and find that they haven't been forgotten, that they're true plight has finally been recognised. Please donate your last few pennies. A financial trust near you needs your cash, and let's be honest - you're better served by giving it than having it taken from you.

What do you need the money for anyway? Your reward will come in Heaven whereas even Satan won't accept our billionaire leaders for fear of being found guilty by association. And remember, charity begins at home - or would do if you had one.

Merry Christmas.

                              Next year: an appeal on behalf of newspaper proprietors and bankers.

The Black Saint and the Lady Sinner

“When Mr. Mingus first asked me to write a review of the music he composed for this record, I was astonished and told him so. I said I thought I was competent enough as a psychologist but that my interest in music was only average and without any technical background. Mr Mingus laughed and said he didn’t care, that if I heard his music I’d understand…

… Mr Mingus thinks this is his best record. It may very well be his best to date for his present stage of development as other records were in the past. It must be emphasized that Mr Mingus is not yet complete. He is still in a process of change and personal development. Hopefully the integration in society will keep pace with his. One must continue to expect more surprises from him.”

                               Edmund Pollock, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist.

“I wrote the music for dancing and listening. It is true music with much and many of my meanings. It is my living epitaph from birth til the day I first heard of Bird and Diz.”

                                                                Charles Mingus.

Words within quotation-marks are taken out of context with each other from liner notes for Mingus’s 1963 album “The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady.”

I wonder why nobody has taken this music and choreographed a modern ballet to the score.

discography - charles mingus

Image from "Charles Mingus Discography" by Michel Ruppli, published by Norbert Ruecker in Frankfurt 1982, dis-enhanced by my own annotations.

This is proving to be an essential source book. It has resided on my study shelf for years and I refer to it a lot.

the awakening

In a way, I'm a hideous incarnation of Sleeping Beauty, except I'm far from beautiful. There I was in peaceful hibernation, slumbering away my final few years (9 years 6 months 4 weeks 2 days to go) when I was kissed by a prince and I woke up.
The prince is a poet. He wrote a poem titled "Where the Hell is Shafi Hadi?" a question I've been asking myself for years, and I was interested to discover that I'm not alone in raising pointless queries.
The saxophonist I seek doesn't owe me money (nobody does - James, I exonerate you) and I have nothing to gain by knowing the answer other than the satisfaction of finding an answer to a bugging-me-riddle: how can a genius disappear without trace?
Bloody Prince Sean Murphy. But for stumbling across his poetry I'd still be resting uninspired but content in my unconscious-ignorance. Now I've shifted into consciousness I'm aware of lacunae in my bank of knowledge and I need to address past errors of omission and commission to try to rectify them.
Now, therefore, I'm wide awake; I can't get back to sleep again because my mind is full of pleasurable nothingness being crowded out by trivial things. So I might as well use my remaining time to pick up where I left off a few years ago and start posting again. I know I shan't offend or bore anyone because nobody reads my fucking stuff anyway. But it keeps me occupied as the grey cells deteriorate... and I can't quite remember what I wanted to say next.

shafi hadi revisited - update

A few years ago I blogged about my favourite saxophonist: Shafi Hadi. The first five paragraphs of this post are lifted directly from that original piece with one or two minor amendments and edits. The rest is an update, what I’ve since discovered about this shadowy genius:

One of the great unsung heroes of the alto and tenor saxophones was a man named Curtis Porter. He’s probably better known as Shafi Hadi, perhaps having changed his name on religious grounds during the late 1950s.But even as Shafi Hadi, few will have encountered him because he appears to have enjoyed no more than the metaphorical 15 minutes of fame. By the middle 60s, he seems to have dropped into semi-obscurity.

I first heard him in about 1962 or 1963 when Mingus and his Tijuana Moods album erupted into my hitherto cloistered British-trad-jazz-revival consciousness. Suddenly I was listening to a sax player capable, in my opinion, of trouncing the great Bird himself.

His tone was cut of the best diamond, sharp yet plaintiff, stuffed full of 100 carat emotion and bluesy fire. Solos were considered and intelligent, delivered with exacting precision. Phrasing and intonation were often laconic; he eschewed the fusillades of notes. For him, his jazz was not about increasing the numbers of notes per second by running frenetically up and down the chords, but was more to do with turning short sentences and phrases into pithy sayings of expressive substance. Pauses were as significant as the notes themselves; somehow he stitched silence with sound to produce solos of the utmost beauty.

Little is known about him. He started playing in various R&B bands (before R&B become a corrupted concept) and I know for a while he was associated with Hank Mobley, recording on at least one album with him. His first recording venture with Mingus was “The Clown” in early 1957 (about 6 months after becoming a jazz player at the age of 26) and he was involved with the great bassist on at least seven albums until middle 1959.

During 1958 he collaborated with John Cassavetes on the sound track for the producer’s film “Shadows” in which Mingus was also involved. Cassavetes acted out the roles as Hadi improvised accompanying music. Cassavetes wrote: “It was terrific. He played the story of his life to music.” The actor also records that Hadi was married, was large in stature as well as creativity, and stood physically tall. Nat Hentoff in the liner notes for “The Clown” writes that Hadi had said after the recording: “I think more jazz groups should tell stories like Mingus does, instead of just playing notes and techniques.”

Update:

A rumour went around that he’d died of a heroin overdose in the early 70s, but a Wiki entry suggests he was still around on the music scene in 1975, and in 1977 he was reported to have collaborated with Mary Lou Williamson on her composition “Shafi” although typically the source is vague about the extent of his contribution. A couple of years later he was said to have worked in some way with Sue Mingus (Charles’ widow) to provide original scores of her late husband’s music.

In coda, I can’t help be struck by the similarity in tone and phrasing between Shafi and another brilliant alto sax player, Jackie McClean, especially on Mingus’ “Blues n Roots” album. Mingus was never a composer to look backwards; he always edged forward, so I’m surprised he employed a sideman sounding so much like an earlier one. Perhaps I’m wrong on this; I’m not technically minded with music. I’d be interested to hear expert views, and to know whether anyone has more information on what happened to such a skilled and gifted jazz musician.

Shafi Hadi

What happened to Shafi Hadi?