2014: In pace requiescat!
Theme video for this annual series (especially instructive for those not familiar with the title or the photo, above):
7/14/14:
1959 was a watershed year for jazz music (arguably the greatest single year for jazz in all history–which is saying a lot). Here’s a taste: Miles Davis Kind of Blue, John Coltrane Giant Steps, Charles Mingus Ah Um. That is like the holy trinity of jazz music; all from the same year. But in the not-so-silent shadows a young, relatively unknown alto saxophonist was poised to cause a stir that still reverberates today: Ornette Coleman’s provocatively titled The Shape of Jazz to Come.
Kind of Blue is correctly celebrated for establishing modal music, and a genuine evolution from bop and post-bop; Giant Steps is the apotheosis of the “sheets of sound” that John Coltrane had been practicing and perfecting for a decade; Ah Um is an encyclopedic history of jazz music, covering everyone and everything from Jelly Roll Morton to Duke Ellington. And each of those albums were immediately embraced, and remain recognized as genuine milestones today. But The Shape of Jazz to Come was incendiary and complicated: it inspired as much resistance as it did inspiration. Some folks (Mingus included) bristled that it was all so much sound and fury, signifying…little. But what Coleman (along with trumpet player Don Cherry, bassist Charlie Haden and drummer Billy Higgins — representing as solid a quartet as any that have made music, ever) achieved was, arguably, the most significant advancement since Charlie Parker hit the scene.
More thoughts on Haden, HERE.
7/22/14:
James Garner has died. So too has a tiny part of my childhood.
What an American icon. A real hero, on many levels.
I don’t have anything to add. If you know him, you love him. If you don’t, get to know him.
This is also pretty epic.
7/23/14:
Hell is not gonna be hot enough for this cat.
R.I.P. Johnny Winter, an American bad-ass of the first rank.
An albino playing the blues? Duh.
Most young, uninitiated punks would know him only as the brother of Edgar, the other albino who had a couple of immortal ’70s songs, Frankenstein and Free Ride.
Fact of the matter: dude was around before Hendrix (played with him, too), worshiped Muddy Waters (played with and produced him, too), and MFer was at Woodstock.
He also made a LOT of very good albums.
An excellent overview of his life and times can be found HERE.
No matter what path we choose, the best we can do in this life is feel it, be as honest as possible, and work at it every day.
If anyone was true to his vision, it was Johnny. He died, literally doing what he loved to do (playing music; on tour). How could he not? He was always on tour; he was always playing music.
He made his music. He made his mark.
We are all better off for having had him with us.
9/5/14:
Glenn Cornick was, of course, Jethro Tull’s first bassist.
He and Ian did not get along (something that can be said for most of the other 10,000 ex-Tull musicians) so he hit the road after the third album, Benefit.
Nice piece on him, HERE.
I give him some love in the extensive appraisal of Stand Up, below.
Let it suffice to say, his presence on those first three albums is palpable, important and enduring.
From a longer assessment of Jethro Tull’s second album, HERE:
A few words must be said about Clive Bunker and Glenn Cornick, the drummer and bassist who would not be long for this band (Cornick lasted one more album; Bunker two). While it’s hard to quibble with Bunker’s excellent replacement, Barrie Barlow, Bunker was the perfect drummer for Jethro Tull’s early work. He does restrained as well as explosive, but his accompaniment is always ideal for whatever a particular song calls for. Songs like “Back to the Family” and “For a Thousand Mothers” would be unthinkable without his contributions. Cornick was a top-notch bass player and each new remaster reinforces how busy and brilliant he was in the pocket. He gets room to shine on “Bouree” and “Nothing Is Easy”, but as is often the case with the best bassists, you almost don’t realize he’s there until you stop and consider what a particular song would sound like without him. The charisma and stage antics of Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond became indispensable components of Tull’s charm and overall history, but the loss of Cornick (see: artistic differences, rock music’s version of the pink slip) affected the later music more than Anderson might ever care to admit.
9/6/14:
I may have more to say about Joan Rivers. I may not. What is there to say (other than: if you want to know what drove her, what gave her joy and what drove her –hint, it wasn’t praise, it was fear– check out the documentary A Piece of Work) that everyone doesn’t already know? Not sure if any other contemporary comedian, or artist, put it all out there with such aplomb. Her life was her work and vice versa: she was never not “on” and she truly went out the way she wanted: working, pushing, not resting, never satisfied.
For me, this clip was a revelation, and it serves (better than some random clip from her stand-up career, no matter how consistently satisfying, groundbreaking and hilarious so much of it was) to summarize everything about her, her profession and her persona.
It’s all in here: a life; a vocation, a curious obsession distilled into 2 minutes: the humor, the sadness, the fear, the drive, the loneliness, the courage, the ambition, the absurdity. (also: Louis CK is a genius). R.I.P. Joan, you were always beautiful in all the important ways.
11/5/14:
The recently-departed Jack Bruce could have had no complaints. He made history, he made records that made people happy, and he made some money along the way. Still, as one-third of the first ever “super group”, Cream, he was never a true superstar—not that he had designs on being one. Ultimately, he was bass player’s bass player, a singer’s singer, a songwriter’s songwriter and, above all, a music aficionado’s musician. Jack Bruce was, to invoke an inevitable cliché, the consummate professional: curious, seldom satisfied, always striving, ever-developing. Decades after he secured his legend, he kept on going, because that’s what the real legends do.
Bruce’s Cream bandmate Eric Clapton has always been too coy for comfort about his own abilities. The other member of the trio, Ginger Baker, with his ego-starved belligerence, tends to greatly overestimate his place in the pantheon (Great? Yes. The Greatest? Give me a break). Jack Bruce, on the other hand, always seemed to have it just right: a quiet, never smug assurance, the refreshing combination of self-awareness and satisfaction. He knew what he was about, he knew what he’d done, and he knew that the people who really know—the musicians—understood his import.
***
In our era of guaranteed victories, pot-shots via social media, and PR machines decreeing—as ever—what we should like and who should matter most, let’s celebrate the cheekiness of calling themselves Cream. That’s not a name, it’s a gauntlet. It’s also the right mix of cockiness and certainty: they were the best, and were fully prepared to prove it. They did, as their uber-influential (think Led Zep and Jethro Tull, just to name two huge bands whose earliest work was practically a sonic thank-you note to what Cream made possible) career demonstrated. But then they took it to a whole other level, making work that is quite unlike what anyone did, or has been able to imitate or improve upon.
Yes, Jack Bruce was an original whose influence is difficult to properly quantify. Yes, he will be missed and never replaced. And yes, the music he made will make him impossible to ever forget. Jack Bruce didn’t need music videos, laser shows, dry ice, PR Kits, and crowd-pleasing pyrotechnics. He let his playing speak, so his work—and life—remains an inspiration for anyone who hopes to understand how it’s properly done.
A lot more on the great man HERE and HERE.
