VOTD 12/31/2022

 Krzysztof Penderecki: Works (Naxos) double LP

Purchased at The Government Center

This came up in the used section at TGC, and I thought, "You don't see used Penderecki records every day." But then I corrected myself: you don't see this Penderecki record used every day. Others? All the time. 

Jerry's Records always has some Penderecki on hand, if nothing else a space copy of his opera The Devils of Loudon. Just earlier this week, I had to look up if I had a different recording of Passion According to St. Luke than the one that came up in the Jerry's bins. (I do.) 

I can run hot and cold on Penderecki. I generally like his work as a sound mass-style composer, which generally called for large forces (such as orchestra). He can at times sound like a perfectly ordinary, uninteresting academic composer too. I listened to some of his chamber music and it didn't do anything for me. 

So we have this double LP of Penderecki orchestral music, where I find he's usually at his best. It's textures, sounds, motion. Don't go in looking for traditional melody. I have 1/3 or so of this elsewhere? Polymorphia, Anaklasis,  and the famous/infamous Threnody are included in other records I have. The remaining works, Fluorescences, Intermezzo,  and Kosmogonia, are of a generally similar flavor.

Though I'm sympathetic to the sound mass approach, I'm also not without some criticisms. Sometimes I wonder if the (perceived) lack of overall form leaves things hanging in the wind, so to speak. Unmoored, not really adding up to much. On the other hand, maybe everything doesn't need to be so formalized? Maybe more people should be writing more freely for the orchestra.

Then there's moments such as the ending of Polymorphia. It's a work of generally fast-moving sound and action, which ends definitively on a major chord. Well, I guess I like that there's some humor to that, but I also thought, really? THAT is how you're going to end this piece?

The works at times also feel a little short? There's a thing with post-war composers that Morton Feldman noted, and that's writing the 20 minute work. There's some of that here (Fluorescences,   Kosmogoni). The shorter pieces maybe feel like that could have added up to more, though. 

Apart from Threnody, I think Intermezzo and Kosmogonia might be the strongest works here. The former is the most "classical" in the truest sense. It takes a melodic texture and tosses it around the ensemble, on top of itself in layers. It's a simple principle that works well.

The latter adds a chorus with soprano soloist. How any chorus accurately sings Penderecki (or Ligeti or other post-war composers) is beyond me. I have to admit it punches up the drama, or even that this piece has a sense of drama to it.

I'll get back to more Penkerecki soon. I've had some on recently (his opera, Dies Irae) but there's always so much to listen to.

CDOFTD 12/31/2022

 Marc Ribot and the Rootless Cosmopolitans: Requiem for What's-His-Name (Les Disques du Crépescule)

Purchased directly from Marc

What made me pick out this particular disc? I haven't listened to this in decades and wasn't even sure I still had a copy. 

I saw Chris Parker play at Kingfly Spirits on Thursday. Chris is one of the best musicians I've worked with, a great guitarist with a self-effacing humor.

There's a song on this disc, "Clever White Youths," that I think Chris could pull off effectively. In a sing-songy spoken delivery, Marc's voice EQed like an AM radio, he says lines such as, "More clever white youths with attitudes, that's what the world needs today/Singing songs about their alienation, hey hey hey."

I saw Marc play at least twice in the years after this recording (1992), opening for him one of those times as loft space in Brooklyn. That song stuck out for me, reinforced by listening to this disc.

1992, seems like an optimistic time. Projects such as this could get their music released by labels of varying sizes. I bought this from Marc when he said it really wasn't distributed in the US and he was selling the copies he was provided.

I suppose this was the period after his time with Lounge Lizards. While missing the singular voice of John Lurie on alto saxophone, much of the music has a similar feel to Lurie's compositions. There are several vocal tunes ("Pony,", "Yo I Killed Your God, "Commit a Crime") none of which Marc really sings. He's joined here by Ralph Carney, Anthony Coleman, Roy Nathanson, Simeon Cain, and Wilbo Wright, plus a few others. They make a great band. Unsurprisingly, he was already on to another playing group when I saw him in that 93-94 era. The group at the time was named Old Baby. (Not a great choice in my opinion, that's long gone now.)

The star throughout is Marc's guitar. He's in turn melodic, aggressive, noisy, sweet. He always sounds relaxed even as he's pounding out intense lines.

With fifteen tracks on this disc, occasionally I find myself wanting a piece to linger a little longer. I also accept that maybe everything doesn't need to be stretched in  Coltrane or Pharoah manner, right? I would sometimes defend my own super-short compositions, everything doesn't need to be hyper-extended. 

VOTD 12/29/2022 #2

 Bruno Nicolai: La Dama Rossa Uccide 7 Volte OST (CAM Sugar/Decca) 2X LP, red vinyl

Purchased at The Government Center

I play largely instrumental music. It's always been my orientation, it's what I prefer. 

I found that I'd often draw comparisons to film scoring. This irritated me, that people's only connection to to instrumental music was through film music.

Over the years, I turned around my opinion and became increasingly interested in film scores. I wanted to know about composers who were primarily known for film scoring (Ifukube, Elmer Bernstein) vs. "classical" composers who did occasional film work (Copland, Prokofiev, Takemitsu) vs. composers in popular idioms (jazz, rock, etc) who created interesting scores (Zappa, Herbie Hancock, Curtis Mayfield). I've come to think that the highest level of film composing is music that works effectively in the movie but can also be worthy of listening when separated from the visuals. 

Bernard Herrmann is (and probably always will be) my #1 man in the field. I'd say 90% of the time, he's instantly identifiable, even though there's a wide range of expression in his scores.

My second favorite is Ennio Morricone. Unlike Herrman, Morricone is harder to pin down to a definitive style. Take for example is somewhat surrealistic scores to Serge Leone's somewhat surrealistic Westerns. (The Leone/Morricone "Man With No Name" trilogy is a director/composer pairing that stands toe-to-toe with Hitchcock/Herrmann.) There's Morricone's 60s-70s Eurocrime/giallo/horror/thriller scores, with its Italian pop tossed together with jazz-rock rhythm sections, distorted guitar, and string clusters. Then there's the later, lush Morricone of The Mission and others. He's very good at it, even if it's what interests me the least. And there are outlier scores, such as for The Thing, in which he created a John Carpenter-style score for a John Carpenter film.

Bruno Nicolai's name is closely associated with Morricone's. Often scores are listed as, "Composed by Ennio Morricone, conducted by Bruno Nicolai." Morricone's credits are on something like 500 films. That's an immense body of work, and it makes sense that some of the heavy lifting would be done by someone other than he. After all, in this day very few film composers do their own orchestration, let alone conducting or even arranging. I've never personally found John Williams to be all that interesting (there are exceptions), but I gave him major credit for being someone who can and often does all of those things.

I've been told there was a bit of jealousy on Nicolai's part, not being given enough credit for his involvement in Morricone's credited scores. I can't vouch for that one way or the other. Having listened to this and other Nicolai-specific scores, they sound very much like Morricone's thriller scores of the 1970s. I can't speak to who influenced whom, there's no doubt some on both men's parts. I see it as beig a little like the Picasso & Braque early cubist era, in which their works are often indistinguishable except by true experts. 

This scores with a brief passage of wordless singing by a woman (or girl even?). It's not Edda Dell'Orso, who is Morricone's vocalist of choice. Had it been, this would have really sounded like Morricone. 

We hear the familiar elements I've come to know in these types of scores: a kind of poppish instrumental theme, bouncy and light despite the menace that might occur later in the film. the theme is bounced around several times, in different keys and arrangements. There's the occasional string cluster and fuzz guitar I know so well too. 

It would have been a solid single LP, but the double record presents the full score. That's fine. It's my complaint with many releases of this type. Even when some of the material is amazing, wonderful, stands up by itself, a full CD or double LP of the score is often too much for a separate listening experience. Another good example? Herrmann's Vertigo score. The main themes, the best moments? As good as film scoring gets. It's wonderful. Over an hour of cues? More than I need as a whole.

Still, I have a real affection for this style of soundtrack, even if this is not one of the absolute best I've heard.

VOTD 12/29/2022

 Tape Loop Orchestra: Interiors One (Bedroom Tapes [label?])

Purchased at The Government Center

In yesterday's blog post, I wrote of the importance of Thomas Dimuzio hearing me play a track from the first Faust LP on WRCT in 1983 or 4. One of those "this record changed my life" moments. I brought my original copy and gave it to him. He was, as one would expect, delighted . He said he'll frame it and hang it on his wall.

I want to return to the question of why I'm writing these blog posts in the first place. I suppose I mentioned this in the first of these, but it's largely about the discipline of sitting down and doing it. But given that, what should I even write? It seems a little silly to only write quickly created reviews of records for which I give very little editing. So why not write about myself? My relationship to the music, in music in general. That's a bit self-serving. These have been seen so far by almost nobody, and that's fine. Maybe there's something of a legacy project here, seeing my thoughts and internal voice extended into the future. Maybe there's a desire to increase my digital footprint.

Mike Shanley referenced me in his own blog (https://shanleyonmusic.blogspot.com/). He's writing a session-by-session review of Ivo Perlman's digital/virtual box set of reed duets, comparing it to my series of writings regarding Ennio Morricone on this page. It's nice of him to do so. He's a better writer than me, and I think there's a greater purpose to his blog posts than mine. If I've in any way inspired him or any other creative pursuit, that's a positive thing. It's like I discussed with Thomas last night, we often don't know when we do something that turns out to be very inspiring to someone else. 

So, the music. I'd seen other records by Tape Loop Orchestra at The Government Center, and I couldn't help but be intrigued by the name. It's a good name, not only for the sound of it, but suggests an approach to the music. This LP/CD/booklet came up used, slightly cheaper than the new issues, so I thought I'd give it a try.

Something of an aside: I was pondering last night that there was a time many years ago when I could look over a new or used record section and have a good idea if a record was something that interested me. I knew either by reputation, label, writings I had read about the artist, or often just by its appearance. Those days a long gone. Now, I often struggle to figure out who the artist is by lookin at the cover design. Hipster design, decreasing eyesight, and low light levels in some record stores, keep me from reading the information. 

Now I've had the chance to hear this project, from Manchester England. I haven't looked up much information, whether this is one person or several. It's not surprisingly an ambient music project. The booklet is of black and white photos of room interiors.

Brian Eno is credited with created the term ambient music. Like any categorization of genre, keep mean a certain range of possible outcomes. You've heard or said it: "This is pretty ambient." When I listen to this record, it sounds very Eno-ish to me. That's not something I'd say about all ambient music. It recalls vaguely Music for Airports and Apollo, though different from the latter because it's only two long tracks. 

It's perfectly pleasant to listen to. What I don't want to do is write, "I was expecting it to sound like this," and take what the artist has given me. That said, with a name like Tape Loop Orchestra, I was expecting something a little more analog-sounding. William Basinski's use (and breakdown) of analog tape loops, give a soft-edged, even slightly grungy sound to the results. This is cleaner. 

A note, and something I try not to complain about. I know I should probably probably replace my turntable stylus, but there seems to be a major pressing glitch on the second side. It sounds first like somebody bumping a microphone, then there's outright needle skating over a few grooves. That would be distracting under any circumstances, but it's seismic under these. Maybe it's why this turned up used.

Another aside: I have often been going to sleep while streaming ambient music stations on Radio Garden on my phone at very low volume levels. If you don't know Radio Garden, get hip! Its both a website and a mobile app that's absolutely worth your time. And when you do, try searching for SOMA FM Drone Zone or Ambient Sleeping Pill for some intentionally unobtrusive listening. 

VOTD 12/28/2022

 Faust: s/t (Recommended)

Bought mail order from Wayside Music

I plan on going to see Thomas Dimuzio play tonight, making this particular missive very timely. I've met Thomas just once before, in 1994 or 5 when Water Shed 5tet played in San Francisco. Thomas is originally from Bethel Park, and knew Jeff Stringer (our bassist). 

I have Facebook contact with Thomas. A few years back, he did one of those Facebook lists of ten records that had an impact on him. One of the records he mentioned was the first Faust record. He heard the track "Why Don't You Eat Carrots" on WRCT as a high school student. WRCT was probably still a ten watt station at the time, and its coverage was sketchy even within the city let alone outside. There's a chance the wattage had been bumped up to 100 by then, I don't know the specific timing. Either way, WRCT had a weak signal, and he wrote about just barely being to pick it up out in the suburbs.

In his Facebook post, he described how important it was hearing that articular piece, that he'd never heard anything like it before. It's fortunate that I saw this string of postings, because I responded to tell him that I was without a doubt the person who played that record. I'm certain I was the only person who had a copy, and probably few DJs even knew Faust's music.

The record is elegantly and unusually (for its initial release) packaged, a clear vinyl record with cover art and notes printed on transparent plastic. The labels are silver with no information printed on them. Originally it was released on Polydor in 1971; my copy was the Recommended Records reissue from 1979.

Listening to it now, I didn't look at the index listing on the inner groove to see which side I put on first. It was the second side first, listed as "Miss Fortune, recorded live at Wümme, September 21 1971." It's certainly not a live concert recording, or if it is, not entirely. Things are mixed in and out, and the acoustic piano indicates a studio creation. Faust in a most post-psychedelic tone here, with distorted guitars and jamming. This puts them firmly in the Krautrock category along with Can.

Listening to the first side second, Faust sounds crazier, with pieces of ideas sometimes floating in and out, sometimes abruptly introduced. There's a kind of prog-ish melody (in the sense of Henry Cow) in the previously mentioned track, flipping back and forth with noise, text, etc. The second track has more vocals, and is perhaps generally even more unhinged.

What amazes me is that anyone thought they could make money off this music. Well, a label I mean. but then this is the era of Henry Cow on virgin (a few years later?), Velvet Underground and Mothers of Invention on Verve, Can on United Artists, to name only a few. Of course I've never been a good judge of what will or won't sell, but how these artists were ever expected to be big sellers I beyond me. It does mean that there's a certain era of music that's well distributed. 

My guess is that Thomas wasn't the only person to get flipped over this record, and for that we can be grateful.

Note: this record came with a strange sort of film on it from the beginning. I don't know if it is due to the packaging. I'm sure it would sound better if it had a proper cleaning.

VOTD 12/27/2022

 Frank Martin: Five Songs of Ariel and Other Festive Choral Music (Opus One)

Purchased at Jerry's Records, formerly in the Duquesne University collection

What do I choose for listening? A great deal of the time, it's due to having purchased the record or disc, and just need to take it in. I bought this today at Jerry's Records out of a bin of Duquesne recordings. The university sold off its vinyl collection to Jerry's, who in turn have been selling most for $3 apiece. I've made a few pretty amazing finds (BA Zimmerman's opera Die Soldaten being a good example), but at the price point, I've bought up things I might not have otherwise. This is an example.

I know nothing about Frank Martin, nor Steven R. Gerber, the other composer on this album. It's largely a choral album, one reason I wouldn't normally bite at this. I put out the money (really $2.50 each, frequently flyer discount) because of the Opus One label, one of the better composers' labels back in the pre-CD days. 

Martin's music in the case of these pieces has a strong Renaissance-era flavor to it. I can't speak to how that might compare to his instrumental music, which as far as I remember I've never heard. The "Dédicace" of 1945, a song setting with piano, starts to bring the music much closer to the late 19th/early 20th centuries. 

Ned Rorem's music has been a topic of discussion among friends after his recent passing. My position has been, I recognize his talents but have never been especially interested in the work itself. I give him credit however that he wrote very effectively for the voice. Composing for the voice has some limitations you don't have with most instruments, it's more challenging to really do it right. Frank Martin seems to write vocalistically, it all sounds very natural for the voice.

The five Dylan Thomas Settings by Steven R. Gerber would have recalled Stravinsky's vocal music to me, even if the maestro wasn't a dedicatee. In that sort of vaguely tonal-on the verge of atonality. 

VOTD 12/25/2022

 The Residents: Santa Dog 50th Anniversary Collection (Secret Records) purchased through mail order

Fifty years ago this week, a hippie art collective from San Mateo, CA released a double 7" titled Santa Dog. A spurious band name was given to each side (The Singing Lawnchairs, for example). There is mention inside the cover of Residents, Uninc, the movie Vileness Fats,  Ralph Records, and the graphics division Porno/Graphics. (The latter would have multiple spellings over the years.)

The story leading up to the record, the name The Residents, whatever happened to their feature length film, is better documented elsewhere. I will mentioned a few parts of the story here. The four titles on the sides were named from an insurance brochure: "Fire" (AKA "Santa Dog"), "Explosion", "Lightning", and "Aircraft Damage". It was a surrealist exercise in found materials,  "Santa Dog" itself is an anagram of God/Satan. That said, I once saw the polaroid of a dachshund dressed in a Santa suit when I visited Ralph Records in 1986. The record was not generally made for commercial sale. The band tried to send a copy to Richard Nixon at the White House, to be stamped "rejected" and returned.

I was, in and some respects remain, a fanatical fan. But definitely to a point. The band's early music, from Santa Dog through Commercial Album is some of my favorite music. Even within that time period there are ups and downs. I admire Eskimo more than I enjoy it; it is an interesting production to say the least. Duck Stab!, on the other hand, I consider to be a desert island disc. No doubt much of my continued interest in the first decade of the band's existence has to do with me discovering them in high school. I was really looking for something different, and they and the Ralph Records roster at the time delivered.

Commercial Album was followed by Mark of the Mole, a record I like but definitely don't love. I think it partially has to do with my personal disliking of programmatic nature of it and Eskimo, the storytelling through sound.

After Mark, as The Residents entered into their early digital period, I found myself decreasingly interested in what they were doing. I rather enjoyed the Intermission  EP, the first record to significantly be produced on the Emulator sampling keyboard. And while I found things to enjoy about the subsequent several records, it all honestly became less and less interesting to my ears more-or-less with each release. 

I hate to blame the tools, but the ease of production using sampling technology drained much of the charm of the early recordings. I liked the sometimes primitive, rough-hewn quality of the music and production. The cleanliness of the more recent albums makes me long for the determinately out of tune piano that was so prevalent on Fingerprince and Not Available. 

I'm writing my take on things, without apology. I like what I like. But I am willing to question even my own opinions on The Residents' music for most of the past four decades. Am I judging the music based on something I want to hear, rather than what is presented to me?

Nonetheless, listening to this collection that spans the band's earliest to nearly their most recent recordings, reminds me of their highs and lows. Again, just to my ears if nobody else's, but I know I am not alone in my strong preference for the early recordings. 

I admire their determination, I'm happy some version of the group still exists, despite the retirement and  passing of Hardy Fox. The recent pREServed series of reissues has turned up a few good moments, but largely the unreleased material hasn't been essential. I guess I'll have to be satisfied to continue to revisit this band's 1970s work. But, oh what a time, what a time.

VOTD Dec. 24 2022

 The Art Ensemble of Chicago: with Fontella Bass (Prestige) Don't recall where I bought this.

I have mixed feelings about the AECO. I recognize their importance, and sometimes I think their recordings are great. Unfortunately, sometimes they're not. Is that too much to expect of an artist or band? I think one of the indicators of a great artist is consistency. I wouldn't consider all of their records to be essential, but I'd be pressed to find recordings by Sonny Rollins or Stan Getz in which they didn't sound really good. The program might be weak, the backing band might be lesser, but they're likely to sound excellent.

Which brings me back to AECO, part of the jazz vanguard in the generation following the "new thing" of Coltrane, then Pharoah, Shepp, and Ayler. The AECO generally draws more directly on African sources for inspiration, though as a whole their interests are very broad. 

I of course know Fontella Bass' song "Rescue Me", but I wouldn't have known the name of the recording artist attached to it. I don't know how this collaboration came about. She sounds strong here, on the first side. The perhaps cliched word would be "soulful," but there it is. Her singing with/above the collective improvisations on the first side reminded me a bit of June Tyson with the Sun Ra Arkestra, but then that's just my orientation. June can be a bit of a shouter, but she always sells a song hard. Fontella is a bit lighter here. She mixes it up with the guys just fine, possibly bringing focus to what might have been a wandering or even rambling improvisation. Not that everything up to the end of the side is strictly improvised, but the side ends with a short burst of composed material, and boom they're done.

Side two is sans Fontella, playing on a work by Roscoe Mitchell. Each player is credited on no fewer than four instruments each, with Roscoe and Joseph getting an "etc" after a long list of things. AECO was known for the "two ton tour," traveling with huge array of instruments.

My opinion on this approach has probably shifted over the years. As a young improvisor, I often collected different sound sources This included toy instruments, but not of especially good quality, such as a nice toy piano. It could get silly. And silly isn't even necessarily bad, but I don't think it necessarily advanced the music.

The side opens a drum solo (a bit meh) followed by some composed material, which quickly opens up into freer territory. It stays free, shifting instrumental color frequently, until there's a brief coda at the end for bass and soprano sax. I find myself sometimes wanting the individual players to focus on one or two instruments they play will, rather than shifting from bass sax to bicycle horns to vibes, or whatever might have happened. 

There's also a, how can I put this? A procedural issue I have with this? I like the idea of "open field" improvisation. What I mean by that is, it's not specifically free improvisation because there is a composition to launch the performance. Play the piece and just let things open up. But if the improvisation doesn't somehow reflect on the composition, why have a composition at all?

VOTD #1

Vinyl of the day #1

    John Eaton: Mass, Blind Man's Cry, Concert Music for Solo Clarinet (CRI)

    Purchased at the Government Center

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There's always discussion each late December/early January about so-called New Years resolutions. Lose weight is always at the top of the list, something that I most definitely must try harder to do.

I find staying disciplined and on-track to be difficult. I guess that's why it's discipline, right? We'll see how effectively I maintain some routines I have planned for the coming months.

I have a substantial record and CD collection. As I've been looking through some of it recently, it occurred to me that I didn't remember buying or owning some of them. It seems to me that I should make a point of sitting down and listening or relistening to many of them.

So why not write about them? I don't expect this to be taken especially seriously by anyone, and it's not a serious musicology project. I did something similar when I bought the 32-CD Messiaen collection during the COVID lockdown, and then later listening to my collection of Morricone vinyl albums after the maestro's death. I started writing about the individual discs in a Pierre Henry box set I bought, but I didn't stay with it. I'll have to return to that.

Writing this now is more an exercise in personal discipline and self motivation. If someone gets something out of it, good for us both then.

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Why of all things would I make this initial blog post about a John Eaton? Truth is, I purchased this LP a few days ago and needed to get around to listening to it anyway. In general I will almost always buy records of historic electronic music, whether studio creations (i.e Schaffer, Henry) or performed on early electronic instruments (this). 

I know little about John Eaton's music, apart from another LP and a compilation track. He is associated with an electronic musical instrument named the Syn-ket. There's more than I know about the instrument listed here: https://120years.net/tag/synket/

I only know of one other place Syn-kets appear outside of Eaton's music, that being in Italian soundtrack music. Ennio Morricone used one in his score for Sacco and Vanzetti, for example. 

Based on the pictures on the site listed above, it looks like a pretty practical device. Not terribly large, clear layout of components, and microtonal tuning capabilities. The first two works on this record use not only Syn-kets, but Moog modular systems. 

The Syn-ket was never intended to be a commercial product, and only about a dozen were ever built. This points out a challenge of composing for electronic instruments. Even when composing for commercially available instruments, what happens when the company goes out of business? How dependent on the particular device is the composition?

I know of no attempts to recreate the Syn-ket, despite the current fashionability of analog-based modular synthesis. Therefor, all we have are these recordings of Eaton's music for the instrument. Strict performance live would at best involve substitutions. 

Mass and Blind Man's Cry both involve ensembles of synthesizers (Moog and Syn-ket), with voice. Mass also uses a solo clarinet (no credit that I can find, in a virtuoso role) and tape delay elements. Both works were written for soprano Michiko Hirayama, and she's a dazzler. I was certain I knew that name, and it's because of her performance of Giacinto Scelsi's Canti del Capricorno. She has amazing range and expression, but does not sing in that broad, European operatic style. And I'm glad. She is well suited to the material here. My easy go-to for comparisons for extreme vocal techniques is Diamanda Galàs. Ms. Galàs is mostly involved with creating her own works, or interpreting old songs. Nonetheless, there is fair comparison to be made here. Hirayama shrieks, sighs, and generally has a wide range of expression. The score must be a complex jumble of notations. 

The record ends with a work for solo clarinet, played beautifully by William O. Smith. It's the sort of work you might expect: ideas darting around, trills, some complicated note passages played fast. I find sometimes there's a question of, if you could improvise something that doesn't sound significantly different than this, why not choose to do that instead? Smith has great, sharp articulation and a big sound, so it is a good feature for his playing.

Recent dream

 I don't normally remember my dreams, but last Saturday I had one that was especially vivid. It concerned my band OPEK. I think we were to play a gig at a group home, with us playing on the floor. For some reason I had to leave, drove my car off, and returned before the show was over.

When I arrived back, my music was not ready and I frustratingly had to pick through a large pile of papers to try to find my part for whatever we were playing. I couldn't find any. In frustration, I called "Boogie Stop Shuffle" because I figured I'd be able to do enough of it from memory.

Despite playing it many times before, I had to stop the performance twice because the band couldn't follow instructions and was playing the piece completely wrong. After the second stop, I saw that the time was a few minutes before 3pm and it was almost time for the gig to end. So I gave up. 

Real time, there are no OPEK gigs on the books with none planned, which is not to say I don't have some potential plans for the future that I'm mulling over. We'll see. The dream seemed like an amplified version of some of my frustrations leading up to some gigs.

Tree of Life, part two

 October 27, 2018, 11am.

 

I remember it was specifically 11. My wife Norma had a volunteer duty she wanted to make at 11:30, and she was just leaving. I was in my grey gym sweats, not having changed into my day clothes.

 

She opened our front door, and there are SWAT officers out in the street. They yelled over that there was an active shooter situation, that she was go get inside and lock the door.

 

I made a point of staying calm. I looked out the back window, locked the back door, and tried to find some local news coverage. I hunted around on cable, but found nothing local being broadcasted. 

 

A few minutes later, her sister Chris called to say that our neighborhood was on CNN. It was not only on CNN, but was being covered on all the cable news networks. So there was Tree of Life, our backyard neighbor, from a helicopter view, with little information other than there was a shooting involved.

 

No later than quarter after 11, there was a SWAT officer with tactical weaponry on our little side porch. It was very lightly drizzly raining. We said hello to one another, but I largely left him to his business. Shortly after that, I noticed two more officers behind my neighbor Lucy’s house. Her backyard separates ours from the main temple of the synagogue.

 

I think it was about twenty minutes past the hour, no more than thirty, that the New York Times called. They asked for me by name, Benjamin Opie. I described what little I knew, how upsetting it all was. After all, it was my neighbors in that building.

 

I didn’t ask, but I figured out how they came to contact me. They must have looked up the property lots online, found an owner’s name, then looked up my number on directory service. I was probably the only person they found nearby with an active landline, at home during the 11 o’clock hour on a Saturday. Most of my nearby neighbors would have been in temple at the time themselves.

 

The former president would have you believe that nobody pays attention to the Times any more. I want to say that nothing could be further from the truth. The first article, with my name and quotes, was posted online before the hours’ end. I heard back from numerous people, including a friend in Australia and Henry Grimes’ wife Margaret. She called, wanted to know that I was okay. I was so mixed up, I didn’t figure out who she was until we ended our phone call.

 

It was some time around 11:45 (+/-) that the officer told us that the shooter had been taken into custody. We knew a good half hour before it was publicly announced. I watched as a camo-wearing group of SWAT officers did a sweep around the perimeter of Tree of Life, weapons drawn. We just weren’t told if there was more than one person, but now it was clear there was only a single gunman. We were still told to stay inside at least until 12:30, if not later. 

 

I’ve retold these circumstances so many times, they seem very concrete. The next day, several days, becomes more of a blur. After my name was online in the NYT article, later that day I received calls from the Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Boston Globe, ABC News. Maybe more. The next day the Daily Beast called, and I was interviewed in my backyard by channel 5 Tel Aviv. After those, my wife said, “Don’t talk to any more of those people.” I was done with them even if she hadn’t said anything.

 

So picture if you will, if you don’t know the streets around me. Tree of Life sits on Wilkins Ave, at the corner of Shady Ave. Travel a short block south on Shady, and you intersect with Solway St. That’s where I live, near the intersection. Shady was blocked from all traffic for several days, and Wilkins in front of Tree of Life was sectioned off for more than a week. I had to enter and exit my street at the other end of the block, and even then I had to show ID at the corner to go home. 

 

Those are the basic circumstances of that day. I suppose there’s not that much to tell really. It does make me feel closer to the circumstances than even if I was across the same neighborhood. 

I've been writing this quickly, with little editing. I'll follow up with more details, and what happened in the following days, in a future post.

 

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Morton Feldman: Rothko Chapel. It’s not intended as an elegy or requiem. It’s inspired by the titular meditative space. Feldman said it had echoes of the synagogue in it. It seems like the right piece for today.

 

Tree of Life, part one

Wednesday, October 26, 2022. As I write this, it is the day before the anniversary of the Tree of Life shooting.

 

If you know me, you probably know that I am of neighbor of that synagogue. My property doesn’t quite border its land; there is a neighbor’s yard in between. Nonetheless, as I look out onto my back yard, most of what I see is the main temple.

 

I am not a witness to the shooting. I didn’t directly hear or see anything. I am a witness to many of the circumstances around Tree of Life that day and afterwards. My story is ancillary at best.

 

I did not have the trauma of being an eyewitness of the events on October 27, 2018. I am not Jewish and cannot claim it was an attack against “my people.” However, these were my neighbors. I knew one of the people killed (Irv Younger) and would have recognized several of the others.

 

I intend to make several blog posts in the next few days recalling the events on that day and afterwards. It’s fair to ask why, and I can’t give you a definitive answer. I don’t feel like it’s a form of self-therapy. I’ve told story of October 27 many times over, to the point where I just assume anyone I know has already heard the story. 

 

It is the closest I have come to witnessing an extraordinary event. That deserves to be documented, even if I my story is only a small footnote in the larger narrative. 

 

There are other more personal reasons, though. I’ve seen a number of friends and associates die since this time. I don’t ascribe a meaning to this, only that the shooting is a sort of marker in the timeline of my life. I’m nearly sixty years old, and I know that aging means that I will see more of the people I know and love will pass away before me. I’ve been very fortunate that I haven’t lost more than I have. My parents and sisters are all among us, for example. Since the shooting, I’ve lost three people I knew to suicide, two to brain cancer, one to a drug overdose, and I’m probably forgetting others. This is in addition to the crushing reality of the COVID-19 pandemic during this time. 

 

The Tree of Life shooting left me very raw emotionally. It felt that my feelings were very close to the surface most of the time. The sting has blunted since that time, but I am left changed.

 

I love Squirrel Hill. I don’t want to be anywhere else. It’s a wonderful place. I have nice home, good neighbors (mostly). I live on an attractive block in an attractive segment of a lovely neighborhood. There’s a movie theater, used record and CD stores, bookstores, and many places to eat within walking distance. I can walk to work when the weather is fair. I couldn’t ask for much more in a place to live.

 

I do take the shooting a little bit personally. It has been a scar on a place that I love. I don’t want that to sound trivial and self-centered. I didn’t lose any family, and it wasn’t an act of hatred directed at me or any of my relatives. Yet, this is my neighborhood. Those were my neighbors. I feel it, and I’m going to write about it.

 

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Current listening: Morton Feldman, Violin and String Quartet. I’ve been listening to a lot of Feldman recently, mostly his work from the 1980s and some from the 1970s. This piece is particularly long, minimal, and I’d even describe it as “icy.” I recommend locating his work Rothko Chapel and listening on October 18. It seems appropriate. 

Briefly, about Anton Fier

In my previous post here, I mentioned Anton Fier's death in a larger statement about Pharoah Sanders. Now I've read that his death was an assisted suicide, done in Switzerland. 

I've been getting small pieces of information about Anton's later life. It was filled with frustrations, financial problems, recovery from alcoholism, and physical difficulties. 

Were his physical challenges terminal? I don't know, I've not read anything to indicate that. He does seem to have become increasingly despondent and possibly isolated.

I support the principle of doctor-assisted suicide. If one is faced with a terminal condition, with months of terrible pain and loss of facilities, and no hope of recovery or cure, yes. I think you have the right to check out early.

Does Anton qualify? It sounds to me like a different situation. I'm not passing judgment on his decision (and it clearly was a decision on his part, having to make the necessary arrangements and fly to Europe to have it done). 

Or am I judging? Was his life so unbearable? I've known two people who committed suicide in the past several years. But in their cases, they were both dealing with severe mental health issues that eventually grew out of their control. Neither bought a one way ticket to Zürich to have a procedure done to them.

 I just don't know. Take care of yourselves friends, know that you have value.

Some thoughts after the passing of Pharoah Sanders

With the death of Pharoah Sanders, we’ve lost one more connection to that era of jazz and American music. I’m talking about the late 50s into the 1960s. The hard bop to free jazz, the new thing. I mean, who’s left?

(There are European composer/improvisors I could name, but I will stay focused on the Americans in this case.)

 

Marshall Allen is still carrying Sun Ra’s torch, who is 98 years old as I write this. I read that it was Sun Ra who told Farrell Sanders that his proper name was Pharoah. I saw Marshall with the Arkestra in Portland, OR last June. He and they are still kicking it.

 

Sonny Rollins lives on, though he is unable to play his instrument any longer.

 

Ron Carter, Wayne Shorter, and Herbie Hancock from the great Miles Davis Quintet of the 60s are still with us. I just saw Ron Carter live and he sounded great. Wayne, last I saw him on video, sounded frail and I’m not sure he’s playing any more. Herbie resurfaces now and then but I haven’t kept track of any current playing he might be doing. 

 

Benny Golson is still around, as are Charles Lloyd and Reggie Workman.

 

When you get to the new generation in the mid-to-late 60s, we’re still lucky to have some of those people around. Anthony Braxton, Roscoe Mitchell, Famoudou Don Moye, Oliver Lake, Andrew Cyrille, Carla Bley, Steve Swallow, Gary Burton, Keith Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette.

 

Pianist Dave Burrell is still with us, and I’ve read that he recently donated his archives to the Center for American Music at the University of Pittsburgh.

 

Speaking of Pittsburgh, I know I’d be remiss in not mentioning Roger Humphries, best known for playing drums on Horace Silver’s “Song for my Father” from 1965. He still plays, and plays well. 

 

I’m doubtlessly forgetting many others deserving of attention. 

 

Drummer Anton Fier also recently died. I don’t know how. He was of a different generation than those listed above. A mutual friend made an online comment that he had gotten to know Anton in the past few years, and that Anton had given up playing the drums. The reason? Foot problems, back problems, and the physical toll of loading and unloading drums over and over to drive long distances for little money. That’s a young man’s game. As another friend, Lindsey Horner, observed once, “The cost of equipment and repairs keeps going up, but the bread at gigs remains the same.”

 

This addresses what broader point I have to make, besides recognizing these people. Being a musician can be a tough life with inconsistent work and pay. Even those who have lived the most comfortably, have still gotten there by working hard and for countless hours. You owe it to yourself, and maybe even them, to see these people perform if you have the opportunity. I almost missed out on seeing Ron Carter, and I would have regretted it if I had. 

 

I know someone reading this uses Spotify. I understand the appeal, but it’s an illusion if you think it’s helping the musicians. Yes it puts the music in people’s attention, but almost nobody benefits from Spotify except for the biggest name pop artists (and Spotify itself). If you’re still on physical media, buy a CD or LP once in a while, or a band t-shirt should there be any. That’s the way you directly benefit the artists. But most of all, get out there and experience the music live! It’s where the art truly lives. 

Pierre Henry: Polyphonies disc 3

 Pliens jeux (2008) in four movements: Croissance, Expérience, Pressentiment, Plénitude

Kyldex (1973) in five movements: Ouverture/sirène, Danse électromatic, Erotica II, Crescendo, Continuum

The run time on this disc is 73:20. The editors are both clearly trying to present Henry's work in reverse chronological order, but also fit the maximum amount onto each disc. Like disc 2, the works jump around by a few decades. 

Listening to Liens jeux (Game links?), I'm reminded how important the piano is in Henry's musical world. It is rarely played in a traditional manner, or at least that's what I've heard so far. I'm going to have to study more of these recordings to conclusively state both of those things.

At least, I think it's the piano. It could be a number of other string and percussive sound sources, but I think I'm right. Maybe I'm being lazy by not relying on the notes provided; maybe I don't want to know anything about a particular work when it comes up on the disc. As they say a little of column A, a little of column B. 

Croissance (Growth) is at times a dense assemblage of percussive and string sounds. There's not so much the sort of audio manipulation going on here that one might associate with musique concrète (which I will henceforth on this blog refer to as MC), though there is filtering, panning, blending and balancing. This movement is built more through the layering of tracks, of which there are probably many here. 

Expèrience is noticeably less dense, with recognizable bell sounds mixed with the possibly altered piano sounds. The works in general, with the exception (so far) of Gymkhana from disc 2, have an improvisational feel to them.

Once again, not relying on the notes (which I will read some time in the future), I'm envisioning this: there's Pierre Henry, alone or with an assistant in his home studio. He has an idea for a piece, or a set of pieces. There's his long-suffering piano, which has been scratched, strummed, hit, pounded, and prepared many times over the years. He's surrounded by various bells, percussion, beaters, mallets, glasses, string bows, iron rods. Pierre starts to record, with a general sense of what he wants to capture, without worrying too much about the individual events. He's capturing a texture. And then layers in more, and more still. Some things are manipulated through processing and editing, some things brought forward, other ideas left behind as the piece develops. Improvisational in source, compositional in development. 

There's a good chance that I'm completely wrong about all of that. 

Real time comment as I listen to the final two movements. I'm seriously sleep deprived as I listen to them. Once or twice I found myself drifting off, not because I find the pieces boring but because they're hypnotic in a way. There are some short repeated figures that peak in and out, but mostly they're two pieces of escalating and de-escalating densities with little in the way of traditional musical content.

The Ouverture to Kyldex starts up, and we're in a different category. Electronically generated sounds!

I shouldn't be that surprised. I think it was Pierre Schaeffer, who coined the very term MC, who tended to be more the purist on these matters. All sounds captured by microphone, manipulated through recording technologies. Henry was perhaps less dogmatic in these matters.

It is a little startling to hear this work pop up in this collection however, when everything has been so clearly acoustically-based sound sources. 

The electronics are not "pleasant" in the traditional sense; I'd even go so far as to say, maybe intentionally annoying. I find the history of such things interesting, in that he's working with. sound palette similar to maybe some of the Buchla noisemakers of the later 70s, but creating it earlier on.

I found this listing when searching for the title online: http://www.medienkunstnetz.de/works/kyldex/

I noted the name of Nicolas Schöffer. I have an LP of Schöffer's electronic music, and I remember not liking it. Could he be the reason the work took this direction? He's not co-credited on the disc.

Also: https://vimeo.com/467484882

Erotica II brings in a female voice (or voices), further removing it from the piano-based works on this collection so far. The second half of this movement clearly brings some pre-composed elements into the mix, similar to Gymkhana. 

Crescendo is just that, a crescendo MC-style, and Continuum is purely pointillist sounds. 

Pierre Henry: Polyphonies disc 2

 Études transcendantes pour piano imaginaire (six movements) 2015; Grande Toccata 2006; Gymkhana 1970

If I had any reservation about the Chroniques terriennes of disc one, that goes away with the  Études transcendantes pour piano imaginaire (2015). Transcendental Etudes for Imaginary Piano.  

The title of "transcendental etudes" dates back to Liszt. It was later taken up by Sorabji and Ferneyhough. I have a CD of the so-called transcendental etudes, switching between Liszt and Ligeti.

The title immediately clicks for me, when listening to the work. It's mostly piano sounds of some sort, in some ways harking back to the "Bidule en ut" of 1950. The sounds originate from the piano (prepared and not played traditionally), are layered, and mixed with other extraneous sounds occasionally.

Since the piano is imaginary here, and the etudes transcendental, I am picturing this as being Henry's own imaginary piano. His piano would able to play all the things readily at the keyboard. The preparations, knocking, resonances, combinations of sounds, and so forth. I'm picturing the eight-armed being surrounded by 1,000 keys and a variety of gadgets and whatnots, that be required to perform these etudes.

The final movement gets weirdly funky. 

I will mentioned that there are notes, but at the moment I'm not particularly interested. 

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Grande Toccata: A toccata, traditionally speaking, is a freely composed work intended to demonstrate virtuosic ability on the part of a keyboardist. This definition is in stark contrast to the sound of this work, which is neither keyboard-based, nor does it have a virtuosic quality (except for perhaps the beautiful production).

It demonstrate's Henry's love of the recorded sound, and the various things you can do with it. There's an atmosphere here: breathing sounds, tapped metal bowls, slamming doors, elevators, digitally manipulated piano sounds. There's some synthesized sounds in the mix, perhaps. It's difficult to tell. It could be natural sounds digitally drawn out over time. 

I could easily draw a comparison to Nurse With Wound on this particular work, though perhaps less emphasis on the voice than NWW tends to be. The problem is, that's like comparing the work of the teacher to the student, and not the other way around.

So what is the commonality? Maybe there's more of a narrative character to this work than the previous one, something I associate with NWW. Musique concréte can take on a storytelling quality, even if that quality is obscured. Our brain naturally makes connections between what we see and hear in the moment, and our previous experiences. If we recognize something, we associate it with memory. If we don't, our brain tries to.

Something's happening here. It's dark, builds, it's sometimes in an elevator. I try to resist such things, but I can't help believe there's a horror movie vibe to the work in the latter third. What's happening?

And it has a degree of drama. It's intense towards the end. It's not meant to be math sound without effect. There's also a tiny little coda at the end.

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Gymkhana (1970, remixed 2016). My daughter, when quite young, went to the Gymkhana above the East End Food Co-op. I never gave much thought to the name, besides having the word "gym" in it. 

I looked up: it's a location where various gymnastics and other sporting events are held. Okay. 

This work is markedly different that the previous ones. The sounds are very clearly based on acoustical recordings, and there is a large degree of scoring going on. It begins with slow, irregular percussive sounds. They're filtered but definitely not synthesized. It feels and sounds more Asian than anything in this set (so far). 

Then the instruments enter. Definitely piccolo, flute(s), oboe, bassoon high register (?). Maybe others, some horn perhaps? 

Again, without referring to the notes, I get a very strong gagaku flavor from this. What is gagaku? It's the oldest extant orchestral music in the world, Japanese imperial court music. It's always slow. There are mouth organs (sho) playing cluster chords, percussion, some sort of transverse flute, biwa, nasty double reeds. I forget all the names of the instruments. It's weirdly both dreamy and strident. 

But there's a twist in the work 3/4 of the way through, when brass instruments are introduced. They are similarly irregular as the woodwinds before, with the piccolo being the last to interact with them. 

All the while, there are the percussive sounds, clearly manipulated through recording and processing techniques.

Pierre Henry: Polyphonies disc one

 I was deep in conversation with my friend Adam MacGregor Wednesday night. Bombici (with me) was on a bill with Microwaves (with him) at Brillobox prior to them playing some dates on the east coast. The talk between us comes fast and varied. We share various interests, musical and otherwise. I mentioned this blog, and how I'd written blog posts about the 32-CD Messiaen set I bought at the front end of the lockdown. Also, the Morricone vinyl postings I made after Ennio's death. When I told him I had bought a 12-CD collection of Pierre Henry's music, he suggested I blog about it. Yes, well, why not? 

I like it in part because of the discipline. Find a collection of recordings, listen to it all, and regularly comment on them. I've stated before this is not a serious musicological dig, just the impressions of one musician as he digs into a library. 

So, I found a 12-CD collection of Henry's music at Half Price Books. About $30 for the set. Not bad. Do you know Pierre Henry's name? He's probably eclipsed by that of his associate Pierre Schaeffer. Schaeffer coined the term, musique concrète (MC). MC has come to be known as, technology-based composition in which the sound are drawn from the real world. What I've read is that it referred to the music existing in a corporeal form, as in a disc or tape that one could hold in one's hand. Whether this is true or not, nonetheless, Schaeffer's music was based on the manipulation of natural recorded sounds.

Schaeffer was making his first works in 1948. Soon thereafter he was joined by Pierre Henry, and more traditionally trained composer/musician. There are various works credited to the two of them. It was Pierre Henry who had the much longer, more varied career and body of work though.

The box is presented in reverse-chronological order. Start with the most recent and work backwards. All of disc one is taken up by Chroniques Terriennes, or Earth Chronicles according to Google translations. The first release of this work. It's twelve "moments" of varying lengths. On the surface, there are natural sounds, instrumental sounds (prepared or at least muted piano), and some small degree of processing. 

What are his intentions with this work, I ask myself as I listen to it. I would ask that of a student if that person was to submit this to me. (Though not to worry, nobody's submitted anything at this level.) He wrote a description, but I won't rewrite it. He considers the word chronicles in a more journalistic sense. The work has some strongly improvisational elements, as he attempts to find connections between environmental sounds and his piano. 

There are recurring sounds, such as cicadas, mixed with his piano. The piece overall has an atmosphere. Things come and go, occur and reoccur, slide in and out of our perceptions. 

I don't think I consider this to be among Henry's most essential works. But, it's Pierre Henry. He achieved so much, that when he created something, you pay attention just because it's him. This is not to say you can't be critical, but you have to trust the voice of experience. 

Charles Mingus at 100

 

I have long advocated for April 22 to be designated a national holiday. It is Charles Mingus’ birthday, and this year marks the 100^th anniversary of his birth.

 

Why recognize Mingus in this way? Why not Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, Louis Armstrong, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker?  The evasive answer is that they all deserve it too. Of course it’s absurd to even consider that a holiday would be set aside for this artist’s birthday, no matter how deserving. The more specific answer is that it’s both intuitive and personal. 

 

Mingus is to me all things American. The good and bad, the achingly beautiful and coarsely ugly. He could be tender, sweet, loving, and mercurially harsh and abusive. His own ethnic heritage was African, Asian, and European. He was the great melting pot. 

 

I believe America is a country of immense potential, often great optimism, and crushing letdowns and ugliness. Mr. Mingus isn’t as bad as the latter, but it could get bad. Jimmy Knepper once said something to Mingus that made Charles so mad, that he punched Jimmy in the face and knocked crown out. Jimmy said he lost part of his embouchure and the top octave of his range on the trombone. And yet, they worked together again later. Charles was serially unfaithful to his girlfriends and wives.

 

These things fade into the distance as the people are gone, but the work continues to thrive. His transgressions pale in comparison to, say, those of Bill Cosby. Cosby is unredemptive and irredeemable, and any positive work he may have made will always be tainted by his private behavior. Mingus’ behavior wasn’t serially criminal, and while sometimes bad, is understandable. He had reasons to be angry. And he was a hothead.

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I don’t know if you can picture this, but there’s Ben Opie, aged 13 or so, in his corner room in an old farmhouse in Pleasant Valley, PA. Yes, Pleasant Valley. I had started playing clarinet in the 5^th grade (I liked how it looked) and picked up my first tenor saxophone in the 9^th. My father had a nice collection of records, which I listened to often, but had a far larger collection of 7.5” reel-to-reel tapes. This was before cassettes were commonplace. 

 

Dad taught at Louisiana State University from 1965-1970. We lived in an historic plantation house in Port Allen/West Baton Rouge. That’s a story for another time. 

 

Dad would borrow records from anyone, students and teachers alike, and dub them to those reel to reel (R2R) tapes, usually at slow speed. He could slap on a tape in his painting studio, and let it play for an hour while he worked. I had one of his old portable R2R players in my room, and would go exploring through his collection.

 

I don’t remember the order, but I discovered some great stuff in that collection of tapes: Cream, the first Led Zeppelin records, and more importantly, a tape entirely of the original Mothers of Invention.

Aside from the Mothers and Hot Rats, one tape really caught my attention. It opened with Mingus Ah Um: no song titles, just the artist and album title . That record turned me on my ear. The opening gospel cries of “Better Git It in Your Soul” sounded instantly catchy. I was drawn in. Follow that up with the dryly, sadly lyrical “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat”, and I was hooked. (That one note with the two saxophones a half step apart!) Turns out, Dad had a physical copy (now in my possession) which led me to know the composition titles.

 

I consider it to be the single greatest record ever recorded. It’s a concept record before such a thing existed. Every piece is some reference to another artist or style, even in jape (“Fables of Faubus” is both my favorite work on the record, and a huge middle finger to the racist governor). So much of what I am today as a musician, comes back to the tapes of Uncle Meat and Mingus Ah Um I studied in my youth. 

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I taught at CAPA High School (High School for the Creative and Performing Arts) in Pittsburgh from 1998-2008. During one of those early years, I was asked (told) to run the school jazz band for a single period (45 minutes +/-) after wind ensemble once a week. There was a hole in the schedule and it needed to be covered. This was basically an impossible task; run a dedicated ensemble for so little time each week?

 

The Charles Mingus: More Than a Fakebook had been published prior to that, and I thought, let’s just do a Mingus deep dive. The multi-part pieces translated to a big band easily. 

 

As we were digging into the repertoire, one of the trombonists asked me a question rehearsal. He was rather formal: “Mr. Opie, why does Mr. Mingus write so many wrong notes?” I had to stop for a moment to respect the question. “Maybe he isn’t writing the wrong notes,” I said, “Maybe you just haven’t heard what he’s doing yet.”

 

At the end of academic year, we played an entire Mingus program, and I insisted we do “Better Git It in Your Soul” entirely from memory. That was the Mingus way. 

 

I salute you Mr. Mingus. Despite your flaws, the world is a better place from you having been in it. I hope that those who follow me can say the same. Thank you.