The last word in jazz, 2008

Culled from a year's worth of interviews, here are some of my favorite quotes from jazz artists I spoke with over the past 12 months.

"I had a dream, the strangest thing, that my music should be like a hurricane or a tornado. Always turning and lifting up things and throwing things up and down. ... And I thought about Cecil Taylor and the way the plays and seems to create a hurricane. So I started to listen more to CT at that time, and I didn't develop his style, but I developed his magnetism, to sweep things up and bring them back down. It was like a development we had to practice to see where we could go."
— Bobby Few, on the influence of Cecil Taylor (February)

"It's not like I suddenly went out to make millions, I was just trying to follow my voice where it was leading me. I haven't abandoned what I was doing before in any way. It's just that I feel another dimension has been added. I always say that; it's not that I suddenly just went crazy and abandoned everything I ever did or was. That's all totally a part of me, and when I play solo concerts, that's very much in evidence, I think."
— Marilyn Crispell, on the more lyrical direction her music has taken over the years (March)

"I like to improvise, but I like to find ways to say it with words. ... Not necessarily vocalese, either, but when it comes to improvistation, I kind of split the difference. There might be some wordless vocals, but I'll try to find some way to connect ... . So I place a lot of value on how to bring in the new listener. I constantly struggle with that. If I'm going to sing a tune, and I'm going to improvise, and it's not just scatting for scatting's sake, and I find that I gravitate toward language, to use words to express a feeling, kind of in the way that Aretha Franklin does when she's in the back end of a tune, and she's just kind of doin' what she soes so brilliantly. It's kind of like taking the words and going exponentially to the next level of expression."
— Carmen Lundy (March)

"When I wrote it ... I said to myself that every tear that wanted to come out of my eye, I would hold back and somehow transcribe it into words. ... My mother, the first time she heard it, she started crying. Because she always felt guilty that her priorities — we can only do so much being human beings, and sometimes things fall through the cracks. I said, 'There's no reason to feel guilty. This is my love song to you, and this to let you know that through it all, the feeling that remains is one of love and one of longing. But sometimes we just gotta do what we gotta do.' "
— Vocalist Simone, on her song "Child in Me," which was written about growing up as the daughter of Nina Simone (April)

"Jazz, and the people involved in jazz, are creepy. First of all, writers and the people in magazines think they got some parvenue to hog everything about jazz. They're the only ones who can write about it; you can't write about it, because they're a jazz magazine. ... I know more about jazz than they do because I've been following it since 1936."
— Fight Doctor Ferdie Pacheco, on his long love of jazz (May)

"It was the same energy and the same attitude and the same sense of rebellion that those early punk bands had as the free jazz guys had in New York in those days. So I felt very comfortable listening to the music. Of course, the decibel level was much higher, but still, it was just free, man. The early punk bands, it wasn't slick at all, not like the recordings that came afterwards. ... The early days of CBGBs had a big influence on me, to this day, and I'm now starting to realize that."
— Kenny Millions, on his punk roots (May)

"By 1946, I was already in the Apollo Theater in New York, I was already in the clubs in Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas, Texas, gone all over the country two times. I was already booked to go back to these places and I said, 'It's too soon. This is not all I want to do, to be like this. If I want to be a writer, I've got to study some more classical music.' And that's what I did. I disbanded my band. I came home here and started studying ... ."
— Gerald Wilson, on his decision to take a hiatus from the bandstand in 1947 (August)

"Who woulda thought, I listen to Donovan. Everytime I see or hear something by Donovan, I think, 'Shit, that's good!' I didn't necessarily realize it, but it holds up. I didn't like 'Mellow Yellow' or anything, but I do now."
— Randy Newman, on songs that survive the test of time (August)

"I didn't like it."
— Ellis Marsalis, on his reaction to first hearing Monk's music, to which he paid tribute on his 2008 quartet release An Open Letter to Thelonious


"So what happened was, Jon [Hendricks] took Henry [Grimes] cross-country, and Henry had a little dog with him. And they're going through the Salt Lake Desert, and Jon doesn't like Cecil Taylor and those [avant-garde] guys. Because a lot of them, to be honest with you, can't swing. So Jon is saying Cecil Taylor is crazy. And Henry Grimes likes Cecil Taylor, so they get in this argument. I wasn't there, but they tell me Jon said, 'If you like Cecil Taylor, you're crazy, too.' And Henry gets his bass and his dog out of the car and drops out in the desert. And he goes to San Francisco. But Henry, I had a great time playing with him."
— Larry Vuckovich, on a serious culture clash between Jon Hendricks and Henry Grimes (September)

"The door opened and all this smoke came out, I had never smelled anything like that before. And one of them said, 'Come on in, kid.' And they're all wearing their undershirts, whiskey and gin all over the place. So one of them asked me, he said, 'So you want to be a jazz musician?' I said, 'Yeah!' He said, 'Well, look around the room.' So I went to every face, and looked at one person then went to the next face. He said, 'Do you want to end up like this?' I said, 'Yeah!'"
— Charlie Haden, on meeting the members of the Kenton band at a hotel when he was a teenager (November)

The best jazz and blues spins of 2008

I don't really have any sweeping statements to make about the jazz or blues worlds in 2008. Both genres continue to be marginalized by popular culture, with the occasional radar blips, such as Herbie Hancock's River: The Joni Letters winning a Grammy for Album of the Year (a hen's-tooth rare honor for a jazz recording), or the big-screen epic Cadillac Records, basically a Chess Records bio-pic, reminding the mainstream how cool jazz and blues are ... for about a second. That said, jazz and blues artists continue to chug along and, against all odds, released some excellent recordings this year. Here are my favorite jazz and blues albums of the past 12 months.

Jazz:
1. History, Mystery: Bill Frisell (Nonesuch). Frisell once again ventures into eerie, backwoods Americana, his razor-stropped guitar lines dancing gleefully through a soundscape rife with the tones and colors of jazz, country, chamber music and world music over the span of two sonically fascinating discs. Featuring familiar cohorts such as violinist Jenny Scheinman, violist Eyvind Kang and cellist Hank Roberts, Frisell's ensemble has been honed to a keen edge, beautifully bringing his singular, sepia-toned vision to life.
2. Dreams Come True: Andrew Hill and Chico Hamilton (Joyous Shout). Idiosyncratic pianist and composer Hill engages in eloquent musical conversation with drummer and composer Hamilton, the pair responding to one another with terrific sensitivity. Rather than simply keeping time, Hamilton comments on Hill's fractured, Monk-inspired bop lines, adding layers of texture and excitement and showcasing a dazzling virtuosity at any tempo, any volume. Recorded in 1993, the session serves as a unique entry in the discography of Hill, who died in 2007.
3. Norma Winstone: Distances (ECM). British vocalist Norma Winstone's crystalline intonation and dreamy, image-laden lyrics are set jewel-like against the sparse accompaniment of pianist Glauco Venier and reed player Klaus Gesing. The mood is introspective, as Winstone sings poetic, metaphorical verses that wander "unfathomed streets," vaguely recall "villages of confused colour" and gaze out on "sun-silent seas." Bass clarinet and soprano saxophone add to the tonal pallette and accentuate the air of mystery and melancholy. (Winstone, Venier and Gesing will perform in West Palm Beach in February. Details to come.)
4. Solo Piano: Paul Bley (Justin Time). Over the years, Bley, 76, has returned time and again to the solo format, finding new avenues of expression each time. Here, Bley explores the long form, as he departs on a 33 and a half-minute journey that takes him through ever-shifting emotional terrain, from pissed-off to mocking to surprisingly tender. For a followup, the pianist dives into the familiar changes of Sonny Rollins' "Pent Up House," a humor-filled and affectionate nod to his own bebop roots.
5. Live at the Village Vanguard, Vol II: Paul Motion Trio 2000 Plus Two (Winter and Winter). Drummer Motian's subtle shadings and nuances render him as of one of jazz's true master impressionist. His Trio 2000 Plus Two was captured in all its thorny glory during a live set at the Village Vanguard in 2006, the second volume of which was released earlier this year. Here, the drummer's sly, silvery percussion insinuates itself throughout an exceptional set alongside saxophonist Chris Potter and bassist Larry Grenadier. Pianist Masabumi Kikuchi also provides spiky explorations throughout.

Blues:
1. One Kind Favor: B.B. King (Geffen). This stripped-down, powerful album is one of my favorite B.B. King recordings in years. With bare-bones production from T-Bone Burnett, the 82-year-old blues icon touches bedrock with versions of classics by heroes such as Blind Lemon Jefferson, T-Bone Walker, Howlin' Wolf and Lonnie Johnson. Nathan East's rich-toned bass and Jay Bellerose's ever-present bass drum root the selections in the loamy soil of the Delta, as King — in terrific if somewhat aged voice, and still making Lucille sing with heartrending, jazzy precision — makes each selection indelibly his own.
2. Roamin' and Ramblin': Honeyboy Edwards (Earwig). A variety of harmonica players provide accompaniment on new and vintage tracks by nonagenarian blues great Edwards, whose haunting, dusty vocals and distinctive fingerpicking engage with Bobby Rush, Billy Branch and the late Big Walter Horton. An archival cut from 1942, "The Army Blues" provides a snapshot of Honeyboy as a young artist and shows how deep was Robert Johnson's influence on his young protege just a few years after his tragic death.
3. Midnight Blues: Magic Slim and the Teardrops (Blind Pig). Despite constant personnel changes, Slim and the 'Drops have long ruled the Chicago blues scene, and the incarnation captured here provides ample justification. Guest stars such as James Cotton and Little Ed Williams up the excitement ante, but Slim's big voice rightly remains centerstage as he digs in on classics such as Muddy Waters' "You Can't Lose What You Ain't Never Had" and Willie Dixon's "Spider in My Stew."
4. 2 Man Wrecking Crew: Cedric Burnside and Lightin' Malcolm (Delta Groove). The grandson of Mississippi Hill Country blues giant R.L. Burnside, drummer Cedric Burnside teamed up with guitarist Lightnin' Malcolm on the appropriately named 2 Man Wrecking Crew. The pair pay heartfelt homage to forebears such as Junior Kimbrough, and of course, grandpa Burnside, who's celebrated on the opening track that bears his name, but they're obviously determined to forge their own sound with all original material.
5. The Mannish Boys: Lowdown Feelin' (Delta Groove). An allstar assemblage of veteran bluesmen takes turns fronting a superb band, with Chicago vocalist Bobby Jones featured prominently. He's spelled at the vocal mike by equally character-rich singers Finis Tasby and Johnny Dyer, as well as Little Sammy Davis, who damn near steals the show with a read of his laid-back groover "When I Leave." Instrumental backing throughout is topnotch, with stinging contributions from guitarists "Paris Slim" Goldwasser, Kid Ramos and Junior Watson.

A week of jazz and blues in San Francisco, part III

As promised, here is the final installment of my recent adventure at the San Francisco Jazz Festival, the rest of which is recounted in previous posts below.

The Cecil Taylor concert at Grace Cathedral was highly anticipated, and San Franciscans showed up in number to hear the ever-thorny 75-year-old avant-garde pioneer. Pews were packed, as were extra seats in back. Visibility of the stage and performer were almost besides the point; the space itself — cavernous and magically lit — with its sweeping gothic arches and high-vaulted ceiling, was charged with excitement. Taylor's voice appeared before he did — there was a seven-second delay, we were told, until what happened on stage hit our ears — as his booming voice came echoing out of the darkness and the pianist recited cryptic verses that had something to do with the elements and the origin of man, his delivery wild and incantatory.

Then, suddenly, Taylor appeared, looking quite miniscule against such a massive backdrop. But when he took his place at the piano, his sound was huge. Lengthy pieces were dramatic, sweeping, building in intensity like the clouds of a gathering storm. Furious flurries of notes issued from the apse, thunderous, rolling chords contrasting with more filigreed, delicate sounds. Wizened and wizardly, Taylor truly presented a performance worthy of the space. I left the church dazzled but at peace and sat in the adjacent courtyard listening to the splash of a fountain before making the climb down Nob Hill.

The next afternoon's festival performance would prove equally remarkable. A dense fog had descended, cooling off a week of unseasonably warm weather, and the view of the bay (let alone the Golden Gate Bridge) from the hilltop Legion of Honor was almost entirely obscured. Inside the stately, columned building, Marilyn Crispell presented a solo piano concert in the round jewelbox of the Florence Gould Theater.

Attired all in black, Crispell seemed totally absorbed in her music, her brunette tangle of hair obscuring her features as she leaned into the keyboard. Crystalline notes seemed to hang suspended, as Crispell orgainically built her emotionally involving narratives. While they certainly are spiky, Crispell's compositions are nowhere near as untethered as Taylor's, and snippets of melodic and rhythmic passages appeared almost as if in collage. Transitions between edgy and melodic movements seemed natural albeit sometimes jarring; in one particular piece, the lovely tune seemed to lose its mooring and descend into a chaotic jumble as notes crashed and tumbled one over the next before returning to the serene music with which it started, like the sun breaking through again after a storm. The near-capacity audience cheered wildly, enticing the shy pianist, who spoke not a word, to re-emerge for a couple of encores, one spiky as hell, the other just gorgeous, which was a perfect a summation of what had just gone before.

I switched gears that evening with a concert by funk maestro Maceo Parker, James Brown's famed right-hand saxophonist and composer fronting his own tight ensemble. Tall and dapper, black wraparound shades hugging his bald head, Parker was Mr. Excitement as he danced to the funk rhythms, blew his signature alto and sang in a quite engaging voice. Amused at being included in a jazz fest, Parker did a double-take looking at the SF Jazz banner behind him and jokingly played a few bars of "Satin Doll." Parker knew what he was there to do, and he proceeded to stir up an ecstactic rhythmic stew, tossing in classics by the Godfather of Soul as well as The JB's, the latter represented with a no-way-to-keep-still read of "Pass the Peas." Indeed, seats up front were cleared and those so moved go up offa that thang and made themselves feel better. All in all, a perfect capper to the week's performances.

The only disappointing night of the event was the double bill of the Eldar Trio and singer Sophie Millman. I had never seen 21-year-old pianist Eldar Djangirov, but his recordings, which I have been listening to since he was being touted as a teenage prodigy, have never elicited much more than a "eh, the kid's talented" response. Live, I realized even more why I don't care much for his music. Grandiose and showy, Eldar lacks subtlety; he subsitutes virtuosity and flash for soul or any kind of meaningful expression or emotional connection. The sheer volume at which he played made his hands seem like canned hams crashing on the keyboards, each finger like an individual sledge hammer. Bassist Armando Gola was no help, and he actually sounded kind of lost, although I really enjoyed drummer Justin Brown's performance. (He'll be performing for South Florida Jazz in January if you want to see for yourself.) As for Millman, middling is the best way I can describe her. There was absolutely nothing special about her delivery or song selection, and there's no way in hell she should be headlining a major jazz festival, although many in the audience felt otherwise; she was enthusiastically clapped back for an encore, although I didn't sit through it.

Blues road warrior gives all, string quartet does Trane

Janiva Magness was tired, frazzled from a tour schedule that had her hopscotching all over the state during her recent swing through Florida. While she may be in need of some (well-deserved) time off, she never half-assed her performance on Friday at The Back Room in Boca. At the start of the show, the vocalist apologized if her pipes were rustier than the way fans may have remembered from other gigs (including the previous weekend's appearance at the NSU Blues Fest), but I didn't detect too much degrading of her powerful instrument till I tried to talk to her after the show and she could barely whisper. And it seemed like she gave her usual all-she's-got on-stage, as she belted out blues and soul and danced and shimmied along with her excellent band. This is a woman who struggled and scrapped to get where she is today (she copped back-to-back Blues Music Awards for Contemporary Blues Female Artist of the Year in 2006 and 2007), and she's well aware that she did it one audience at a time.

Guitarist Zack Zunis proved a great foil for Magness, his tortured leads recalling West Side Chicago touchstones such as Otis Rush (a great influence on Magness) as well as a host of Texas string-benders, and he brought plenty of emotion and showmanship to his solos without ever sounding overindulgent. But for me, keyboardist Benny Yee stole the show, somehow pulling the sound of a 500-pound Hammond B3 out of a slender electric piano and working all kinds of grooves and atmosphere with his busy hands.

For her part, Magness passionately revisited tunes from her terrific new album, What Love Will Do (her debut for the Alligator label), and kicked some serious ass on Tina Turner's self-empowerment anthem "Get It, Get It," as well as Annie Lennox's "Bitter Pill" and the über-funky "That's What Love Will Make You Do." The singer must have been grateful when she spotted longtime friend and current Singer Island resident Terry Hanck in the audience, handing over the bandstand (and her band) to the honky-tonk sax master who lit it up with his Junior Walker-inspired wailing and soulful vocals and providing Magness a much-needed breather. All in all, a tremendous night.

Saturday night, I was eager to hear the Turtle Island Quartet. The string ensemble was on-hand to help South Florida Jazz celebrate its 17th anniversary at the Miniaci Performing Arts Center, not so much a stretch when you realize that TIQ has delved into the songbooks of Monk, Ellington and most recently, Coltrane on its excellent 2007 recording, A Love Supreme: The Legacy of John Coltrane.

I was a bit disappointed at first, as the foursome seemed to lack the passion and gravitas they exhibited in playing Trane's music, and tunes such as Cedar Walton's "Bolivia" were merely pleasant. But then, the group seemed to awaken a bit, particularly when they played violinist Mads Tolling's intriguing composition inspired by the mischeivous Norse deity Loki, and generated some sparks with a piece by Ralph Towner, of Oregon fame.

But the best was saved for last, as Turtle Island took the stage after intermission and jumped right into Coltrane's "Moment's Notice," the frisky jazz tune that opens their recording, as well. They offered a brief but lovely version of the shiver-induing love song "Naima," and invested all of the substance seemingly lacking in the first set into the Love Supreme suite of "Acknowledgment," "Resolution," "Pursuance" and "Psalm." The fact that David Balakrishnan's warm, burnished tone was featured more prominently, and that cellist Mark Summer was plumbing the richer, fuller depths of his instrument, also made the second set far more rewarding.

NSU Blues Fest: Groovin' on a Sunday afternoon

Truth be told, I wasn't all that tantalized by the lineup of this past weekend's South Florida International Blues Festival. Now in its second year on the nicely groomed main campus of Nova Southeastern University, the event was heavy on the generic blues-rock guitar slingers, nothing new in these parts. But I was intrigued enough to attend at least a few shows Sunday afternoon.

I was most curious to hear what Daniel "Slick" Ballinger was up to. Last I had seen the babyfaced guitarist-blues shouter at the Riverwalk Blues Festival, I was mightily impressed by his insistent grooves, powerful tenor vocals and almost involuntary rubber-legged dance moves; the kid seemed to be channeling the spirits of the Deep South, and had certainly absorbed plenty through his mentor, the late cane-fife master Otha Turner. But apparently, Ballinger, 24, had a religious awakening some years ago, and now was putting his talents in the service of the Lord.

The grooves were as thick as ever, as Ballinger took the stage noon Sunday, accompanied solely by a drummer for a set of hardcore gospel sermonizing set to mesmerizing, neck-snapping cadences. Looking like a country preacher from another era, a well-scrubbed Ballinger was attired in a dark suit and tie, his combed, close-cropped hair parted near the middle. He then proceeded to launch into some heartfelt hollering — even when he was singing blues, you couldn't doubt his sincerity, but this was something closer to the marrow, as he sang his love for Jesus and the importance of getting right with the Lord with evangelical fervor. Yet, it never came off as obnoxious, and secular audience members (like me) could appreciate the hard-bitten Hill Country rhythms that defy your body parts to remain still, as well as the conviction in Ballinger's performance. Oh yeah, and in case any fans were wondering, Slick remains as animated as ever, and even in his church clothes (he did shuck his jacket), he danced about the stage and leapt and landed with both feet, as if he were stomping his defiance of the devil himself.

Next up was Blind Mississippi Morris Cummings, who played harmonica on Ballinger's Oh Boy recording Mississippi Soul. Joined by his longtime musical partner Brad Webb on guitar and drums, Morris was in excellent voice. Resplendent in striped scarlet-on-scarlet slacks and vest, the Memphis bluesman put over some hoodoo blues with great humor and charisma, providing a contrast to Ballinger's spiritual material as he explored spooky Deep South mythos involving the crossroads and more earthly delights, and even evoked in one lyric the age-old African marriage tradition of "jumping over the broom." Morris and Webb were soon joined by a band of South Florida stalwarts — Darrell Raines on keyboards, George Coleman on bass and Richie Coricelli on drums. While the guys did fine work, the show somehow seemed less special with the addition of the band.

The singular James "Super Chikan" Johnson followed, and he appeared to be having a great time as he burned up a lime-green guitar that was customized with his signature bejeweled decorations. Accompanied by a tight and funky quartet, including his daughter on drums ("at least that's what her mama tells me," he joked), Super Chikan worked very electric territory, bending strings and evoking the late Albert King. While not as idiosyncratic as his acoustic shows, in which he plays his homemade "Chi-kan-tars" and sings more personal, Delta-centric material, this performance was nonetheless quite a bit of fun, for audience and entertainer.

I was determined to check out former South Florida harmonica hotshot Jason Ricci, at least for a couple of songs, and that's really about all I could sit through. His opening two numbers could hardly have been more generic and less engaging. And given that the sun was fierce and there was really no appreciable shade out on the main festival grounds, I split, deciding to catch powerhouse vocalist Janiva Magness, who I've seen before, at another time (namely, this weekend at The Back Room).

So, my advice to festival organizers for next year: Put up a few tents, even if they're not the costly big tops of years past, so people can duck out of the sun, and please, give us more acts like Ballinger, Morris and Super Chikan.

A week of jazz and blues in San Francisco, part II

I wasn't quite sure what to expect from Archie Shepp. One of the avant-leaning fire-breathers of the '60s and '70s, the saxophonist rarely performs Stateside these days, and I had heard mixed reports about the state of his chops. But when he took the stage of the stately Herbst Theater, one of SF Jazz Fest's main venues in the War Memorial downtown, I was put at ease as soon as he put reed to lips. Sounding strong and lively, Shepp began with a tune in tribute to the late pianist Elmo Hope, which started out as a ballad but developed into a hardbop swinger.

Attired in a sharp charcoal suit and fedora, the 71-year-old Shepp (a Fort Lauderdale native!) appeared dapper and in full command of his excellent band featuring Tom McClung on piano, Avery Sharpe on bass and the exceptional Ronnie Burrage on drums. As far out as he's traveled, Shepp has always remained connected to the blues, and he offered some honky-tonk choruses during a read of "Don't Get Around Much Anymore" on which he also took a vocal turn, playfully shouting the blues and affecting an Ernie Andrews-style phrasing. The leader also brought Burrage up front to demonstrate a lightning-handed hambone, relating it back to African and slave tradition before launching into a very moving piece about New Orleans that made use of both singing and spoken-word performance ("Take this cannibal's kiss and turn it into a revolution") and evoked the best of his '60s-'70s work. Other highlights included a celebratory song he wrote for his daughter — titled "Ujama," it also relates to Kwaanza; and a nice read of "Lush Life," on which Shepp took the vocal lead in classic balladeer style, and perhaps in recognition of John Coltrane's gorgeous version, blew a breathtaking solo that seemed to echo Trane's tone. But best of all was "Steam," the beautiful sing-song melody that has captivated me since I first heard it on Shepp's 1972 recording Attica Blues. Explaining that he wrote it for a cousin who was killed in a knife fight when he was just a teenager, he proceeded to sing the sighing melody and blew some lovely lines on soprano sax. I couldn't get the song out of my head, and whistled it all the way back to my hotel.

STILL TO COME: Cecil at Grace Cathedral, Marilyn Crispell at the Florence Gould and Maceo Parker on the one

A week of jazz and blues in San Francisco, part I

For a little more than a month, the San Francisco Jazz Festival presents an array of jazz acts from across the spectrum of subgenres and generations and tosses in a few nonjazz performances, as well. Not having the ability to spend most of October and a bit of November in the Golden Gate City, I studied the schedule and decided on a week when Archie Shepp and Cecil Taylor were playing. It was a very, very good week.

The jazz gods were smiling. On my first night in town, Billy Bang was playing Yoshi's, the venerable Oakland jazz venue that last year opened a sister club in San Francisco's Fillmore District. The violinist displayed remarkable soul and technique as he and his quartet navigated melodically and spiritually rich compositions such as the opening "Prayer for Peace" and "At Play in the Fields of the Lord," a song inspired by and titled for the film of the same name. He also delved into the obviously deeply felt "Moments for the Kiamia" (that's "killed in action/missing in action") from his Vietnam: The Aftermath recording. Still, the feeling was mostly upbeat and uplifting, as Bang led his talented young group through a wild song dedicated to former employer Sun Ra, which also showcased his fine pianist (I'd like to tell you his name, but I dropped my notebook in the cab on the way back to the hotel, and didn't notice till after the guy took off), and even plunked his violin tres-style by way of introduction to a Buena Vista Social Club-like descarga.

The next night presented an interesting double-bill, as SF Jazz paired 22-year-old singer Melody Gardot with 83-year-old vocal master Jimmy Scott. Gardot, who was injured in a bicycle accident at the age of 19 and subsequently discovered her songwriting gifts, lightly leaned on a cane as she took the stage solo, tinted glasses shading her sensitive eyes. She proceeded to sing a smoky a cappella number that came across almost like a field chant or gospel number, keeping time by clapping her hands. Her wonderfully responsive band joined in on the next tune, featuring to nice effect the undertstated, often-muted trumpet of Patrick Hughes, the melodic upright bass of the big-bearded Ken Pendergast and the shimmering cymbals and brushes of Charles Staab. Charming and self-effacing, Gardot won over the crowd with her sexy-joky manner, but was most affecting when she put aside the vamping and really showed something of herself, as she did on a remarkable piece titled "Love Me Like a River Does." By the time she finished the tune, on which she also plays piano, she was wiping away tears.

Another singer with a fragile heart pinned to his tuxedoed sleeve, Jimmy Scott was rolled on-stage in a wheelchair, looking every year he's lived but in seemingly great spirits as he beamed broadly and seemed to treasure being in front of a crowd that was excited to see him. A superb band featuring alto saxophonist T.K. Blue, pianist Dee Spencer, bassist Hillard Greene and drummer Dwayne Cook Broadnax provided the settings for his dramatic, soaring tenor as he lingered over syllables in timeless tunes such as "Sweet Embraceable You" and "Time After Time." But when Scott belted out "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child," the emotional impact was just stunning. (Scott's mother died in a car accident when he was 13.) Long, bony fingers gesticulated, sliced the air and came to rest on his wrinkled brow as he listened to the instrumentalists about him. Thunderous applause prompted an encore, and Scott went all the way back to the beginning with a terrific read of "Everybody's Somebody's Fool," his 1950 hit with the Lionel Hampton band.

Biscuits and Blues, a great basement blues joint, was nearly empty later that night, as a crowd of maybe 20 people showed up to hear sparkplug blues-shouter and harmonica-blower John Nemeth. But Nemeth and his band played as if they were in front of a packed house, although the singer took the opportunity to down glass after glass of Maker's Mark. (I didn't care if he wanted to chug whiskey, as long as it didn't effect his performance adversely, and it didn't seem to, but I was really put off by his desperate attempts at cadging drinks from the audience. Not classy, although several people were happy to oblige. And he also begged drinks for his band, so I guess that makes him at least a good bandleader.) Anyway, the cat is terrifically entertaining, has a huge voice and is a damned decent harpoon man. As the show wore on and the liquor hit its mark, Nemeth grew increasingly animated; with remote mike and harp in hand, he roamed the room, climbed the bar, shook his ass, disappeared into the kitchen and even went upstairs, all while keeping his harp buzzing. Not for the last time that week, I went back to my hotel smiling.

Next post: Shepp gets steamy, Cecil gets spooky, Amoeba takes my money and Marilyn Crispell ... ahh, Marilyn Crispell

A sweaty, entertaining night of Dutch chamber jazz

Dutch trumpet virtuoso Eric Vloeimans must have been regretting his choice of a red velour shirt last night. The scant air-conditioning at the Byron Carlyle Theater on Miami Beach did little to cool the air on this ridiculously humid October night, and a visible sheen of sweat glistened on Vloeimans and his Fugimundi trio-mates, pianist Harmen Fraanje and guitarist Anton Goudsmit. However, the music they created was fresh, engaging, expertly played and very, very entertaining.

The drumless trio's blend of chamber music with a modern jazz aesthetic was far from ponderous or overly intellectual. If Vloeimans' outfit didn't give it away — besides the ill-suited red top, he also sported yellow, checkered pants of the Barnum and Bailey variety and extremely pointy white shoes — perhaps tunes he explained were inspired by the funny little motor carts at the airport, The Godfather and Bonanza might have made it plain. Then, of course there was the living cartoon of guitarist Goudsmit, but more on him later.

Vloeimans proffered a warm, sensual sound, and his dynamics were fascinating to observe; utilizing tremendous control, he played for the most part at a very low volume, occasionally placing his hand inside the bell of his horn, a much less strident alternative to using a mute. On another occasion, he just allowed his breath to emanate from the trumpet, as he rhythmically blew into his mouthpiece. Of course, when he wanted to, Vloeimans let go with high C blasts that cut through the soupy air like a siren. Compositions such as "Corleonne," the piece he related was inspired by The Godfather, were rich and complex, yet full of romantic feeling.

Seated at an upright piano that looked like it had been dragged out of a rehearsal room, Fraanje also maintained an exquisitely light touch, for the most part lyrically comping behind his bandmates. However, his understated expressions on the above-mentioned "Corleonne" and on an otherwise unremarkable duet with Vloeimans on "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" made me want to hear more from him; in fact, I wish Vloeimans had let him perform the tune on his own. Fraanje also wrote several of the evening's most interesting compositions, including the delightful "March of the Carpenter Ants," which did indeed conjure the image of the tiny buggers on the move.

But it was Goudsmit who really stole the show. Resembling a younger, thinner Brian Posehn or Chris Elliott, the guitarist mugged shamelessly throughout the concert, for example blurting out the word "Bumpercars!" like a Tourette's sufferer on the aforementioned piece about airport transport buggies. However, his musicianship was so fine, his goofy antics so seemingly natural, that it hardly detracted from his or his bandmates' performances; in fact,it looked like Vloeimans was truly getting a kick out of his guitarist, who, he explained to the audience, behaves the same way off-stage. Drawing angular, Bill Frisell-like lines, Goudsmit subtly worked a foot pedal and flipped an effects switch to and fro or rapped on the body of his instrument for percussive effect. His wordless vocals were tuneful and pleasant, as opposed to say the piercing cries of Keith Jarrett, a welcome accompaniment to his intriguing solos. The audience hooted at this unusual character's odd tics, as when he pretended to be adjusting controls in his head or launched into a hilarious parody of rock and blues shredder excess on a tune that Vloeimans wrote for him titled "Anton."

The closing number, the piece which the trumpeter explained was inspired by watching Bonanza as a kid growing up in The Netherlands, was one of the trio's least interesting, hardly conjuring images of Hoss and Little Joe, nor offering a particularly compelling melody. But in no way did it keep the audience from cheering wildly or leaving the show with grins fixed to their mugs. It was truly a treat to witness musicians, particularly jazz musicians of this caliber, who don't take themselves too seriously.

I pity the fool who missed Bobby "Blue" Bland

Bobby "Blue" Bland's still got it. Even at age 78, hobbling gingerly up the steps to the stage and remaining seated throughout his performance, the soul-blues giant radiated charisma and riveted the attention of an adoring audience Saturday night at City Limits in Delray.

Accompanied by his veteran, three-piece horn section and a phenomenal band, Bland dug into the classics that have made him such a revered icon: "Farther Up the Road," "I Pity the Fool," "That's the Way Love Is/There Ain't Nothin' You Can Do," "Goin' Down Slow" and "Driftin' Blues," among them. "If you're gonna walk on my heart," he crooned throughout, almost as punctuation and clearly enjoying the humor and crowd reaction, "please take off your shoes." As is his practice, Bland also singled out a woman from the audience for vocal seduction, singing a sexy line and then asking her, "Can you handle it?" She obviously could, as she remained plastered to the front of the stage for the duration.

Bland's voice has held up quite well over the decades, perhaps not as powerful an instrument as it once was, and yet still full of that beautiful honeyed tone that makes him a master of the tear-stained ballad and slow-blues burner. One of the great moments for me was when Bland launched into "Stormy Monday Blues," his reading all-but definitive of this T-Bone Walker classic. And while I was delighted to hear "Members Only," a late career hit from the mid-'80s that takes me back to my college years (if you heard it playing on the jukebox at the Rathskellar at Washington University, you knew I was in the house), Bland kind of beat it to death by dragging out a battle-of-the-sexes sing-along contest that grew tiresome after a dozen choruses or so. ("OK, let me hear the men again," etc. etc.)

No question, Bland is a master entertainer, and it was cheering to see a packed house to honor the man, even on a night when the rain was slanting sideways and the highways were particularly treacherous. It was also great to see a more-integrated than usual audience, as often black audiences stay away from blues shows, especially if they're in venues that are deemed "white." However, that seems to be more a statement about Bland and the great esteem in which he's held than about how black audiences are flocking to blues shows.

Mandrill funks up the Clambake

How was I not hip to Mandrill? Sure, I'd heard the name spoken reverently by fans of old-school funk and soul and had passing familiarity with hits such as "Fencewalk" and "Mango Meat," but somehow I'd missed out on the snap-tight, brass-fueled 10-tet led by the Dominican-born, Brooklyn-raised Wilson brothers. Last night on Hollywood Beach, headlining the weekend's seventh annual Clambake, the mega-influential, monkey-monikered multiculturists put on a two-hour master's class in rhythm and groove that marks them as more than than a match for better-known contemporaries such as War, Tower of Power, Chicago and Rare Earth. It was hardly an exercise in nostalgia, either; the band sounds fresh and timeless, not only thanks to the addition of a (very unobtrusive) turntablist, as well as a rap performance by Lou Wilson's son, One Sun Lion Ra, but also because these cats were ahead of their time, pioneers of world-music and funk, and they play it like they still mean it.

The Wilson brothers, who formed the band in 1968, remain on the front line and cut quite a figure: Carlos dancing around the stage with his trombone slung over his shoulder; zebra-shirted Lou handling most of the lead vocals, blasting trumpet and trilling flute; Ric with a spray of gray dreadlocks cascading from a topknot blowing sax; and the cigar-chomping Wilfredo bopping away on congas and percussion. The ecstatic horns upped the excitement with unison lines, and vocal harmonies were as tight as you'd expect from a band of brothers, especially on the close-sung "House of Wood," which they dedicated to their granddad, and even an a cappella novelty ditty about a housefly gleefully shitting on everyone and everything.

A superb band, including original guitarist Omar Mesa, lent dynamic support, with particularly energetic drumming and Hammond B3 helping drive the action. Tunes such as the above-mentioned "Fencewalk" and "Mango Meat," as well as stone-cold acid-funk workouts on "Peace and Love," "Rollin' On" and "Polk Street Carnival" kept audiences smiling and dancing in the sand and on the dance floor in front of the stage.

For more on the band, check out Mandrillis.com. And for sure, next time they come to town, be sure to be in the house.

Farewell to Nappy Brown

One of the great voices in blues and R&B was lost this Saturday with the passing of Nappy Brown. Even at an advanced age — he would have turned 79 in October — Brown was still singing beautifully, his deep blues shout drawing raves on last year's Long Time Coming for the Blind Pig label.

As anyone who saw him perform can attest, Brown was also one hell of an entertainer. When he'd hit the floor on a tune like the raunchy "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," he was connecting with generations of great blues and R&B showmen before him, from Howlin' Wolf to Big Jay McNeely. I spoke with Brown, who was born Napoleon Culp Brown in Charlotte, N.C., several years ago before he was set to perform at the Bamboo Room, about his stage antics, as well as his authorship of "Night Time," which became a smash for Ray Charles (as "Night Time Is the Right Time"), and his lack of both credit and royalties for same. Here are some excerpts from that interview.

On "Night Time": "After I wrote and recorded it [in 1957], that was a hit for a long time. And then after it cooled off, it ceased a little, and then Ray Charles picked it up. Only my ‘Night Time’ was slow, slow-like tempo, drop a beat behind it. His was fast-tempoed, with the Raelettes. That’s what pushed it over. Because he had everything note for note from mine, everything.”

On Savoy Records president Herman Lubinsky, who put his name as author of "Night Time": “Yeahhh. He was one of the biggest crooks there was [cracks up]. You see, when I recorded it, it was under my name, Napoleon [Culp], and that was in the studio. So, it was a long time before I knew it. So when it left out the studio, it had Herman Lubinsky and Arthur Kadina and N.C., that was me. Arthur Kadina he was the jazz band there."

On his laying down on-stage during performances: “I’ll tell you what. When I was a little boy, I used to go to a place where they used to have the dances, they would call it the I’m Not a Tourist dance. And they’d have different ones, you know, and we’d pay to go in and see different ones, like teenagers do. And, so, where I got that from, Roy Brown started that [chuckles]. And I been doin’ that every since. Except when I was in gospel, I come up in gospel, I started walking all up in the audience, but that layin’ down? That really come from Roy Brown. And Big Jay McNeely, when he laid down and blow his sax. Uh huh.

“If you got a good show, it takes you a long ways. Something that they’re not doing today. See, they don’t do that stuff now. When I come on the stage, doing this dancing and all this stuff, see, they don’t do that now. All that stuff was back in the '50s. Singing, dancing, acting and everything else. Really, it’s just one of those things."

On raunchy songs like "I'm a Lemon Squeezin' Daddy," which got him discovered and signed to Savoy after he sang it in a talent show: “Back in those days, you couldn’t record it. It was a little too, what I call, a little too vulgar-like. You couldn’t record like you record now. Everything had to be clean. And Roy Hamilton, he was on the talent show, and he won first place with ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ And I won second place with ‘Lemon Squeezin’ Daddy.’ In fact, they wanted me, the two managers trying to choose between me and Roy about ‘You Never Walk Alone.’ So, I told them that wasn’t in my vein, that was for Roy. ‘Lemon Squeezin' Daddy’ was for me. Roy was a ballad singer.”

"Savoy didn’t have a problem with that. The only problem was they wouldn’t let me record it. It’s not too long ago that I started to record it. Back then, everything had to been clean and polished. Today you can use words such as ‘fonky this’ and ‘fonky that.’ In fact, you can say anything you want these days. You couldn’t say that back then."

Moore better funk

Stanton Moore couldn't stop smiling. And who could blame him? On-stage at a packed City Limits, the New Orleans funk drummer was in the cat-bird's seat, displaying huge chops and on-the-spot creativity alongside comrades Robert Walter on the Hammond B3 and Will Bernard on guitar. The all-star trio lived up to its rep over two crackling sets, as Walter trilled and filled and added bottom, Bernard scratched out rhythmic funk and went to the slide on stabbing solos and the bespectacled Moore drummed up a parade ground of shuffles and added color and swing and booty-shaking percussive propulsion. (For a taste, dig Emphasis! (on Parenthesis), the threesome's most-recent slab.)

Booking agent Jackie Bressler was able to snag Moore and co. on the fly, as the trio was wrapping its tour and the drummer was headed back to N.O. to rejoin his bandmates in Galactic for an upcoming East Coaster. While Moore may have moaned a bit about having to trek this far down the peninsula, gas prices being what they are, he didn't look or sound like he regretted the sidetrip in the least, finishing up a lenghty second set on a joyous note with the Blue Note-era-sounding "(Late Night at the) Maple Leaf," a tribute to the famed Carrollton nightspot.

This well-attended Sunday-night party represents one of the first big shows at the new City Limits, which recently reopened just across the railroad tracks (and across the street from its longtime former location) on Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. Brick-walled and high-ceilinged, the location apparently once was a warehouse. While it's handsomely appointed, the venue's vibe is casual (though drinks ain't cheap; I shelled out $8 a pop for VO and Sevens.) And it's plenty roomy, with two wall-length bars running along the main performance space, a smaller bar off to one side behind it, and yet another in the comfortable upstairs space.

Bressler, who formerly booked bands at Revolution, has some exciting upcoming acts. On Friday (Sept. 19), Big Sam's Funky Nation (also playing at Hollywood's Clambake the following week) joins up with Miami's own Spam Allstars for what's sure to be one helluva fun double-bill. And on Oct. 4, Bressler pulled off a real coup in booking soul-blues legend Bobby "Blue" Bland. Check out newcitylimits.com or Myspace.com/citylimitsdelray for more. And look for more dispatches right here, as I know I'll be trekking up there again in the very near future.

Found my MOJO

I've been trying to get my office into some semblance of order for about, oh, six months now. I just managed to sort through 10 years' worth of City Link magazines that had formed along one wall, and I'm now delving into the boxes that contain at least that many years' worth of accumulated notes, press releases, CDs, cassettes (remember them?) and old magazines.

While excavating last night, I came across an old issue of MOJO, the Brit music mag, and stayed up way too late reading in-depth articles about Tusk era Fleetwood Mac and the glory days of Gil Scott Heron. Anyway, MOJO also ran a short feature in which they asked performers as diverse as Siouxsie Sioux and Dr. Ralph Stanley a handful of questions that I found quite revealing about their musical tastes. It also got me to thinking that as a journalist, I often ask these types of questions in interviews, but I never get to answer them. (Yeah, yeah, poor me. No forum except a column that ran for eight years in City Link and another one that appears monthly in Jazziz.) So, here are my responses to the MOJO quiz, as reported by, well, me:

What music are you currently grooving to?

Ah, thanks for asking! The Talking House label has just released the first three volumes of its excellent Blueprints of Jazz series, which have been in heavy rotation here in the jazz and blues bunker. Killer straight-ahead jams by drummer Mike Clark's sextet, with Christian McBride on bass and Donald Harrison on alto (Vol. 1); tenor saxophonist Billy Harper's octet, featuring the brilliant spoken-word artistry of Amiri Baraka, who traces the roots of black music from its African origins to 52nd Street and beyond (Vol. 2); and drummer Donald Bailey's quintet grooving high on the hardbop with a couple of heavy cats in tenor man Odean Pope and trumpeter Charles Tolliver (Vol. 3).

What, if push came to shove, is your all-time favourite album?

Again, great question, even if you are resorting to British spellings. I'd have to say John Coltrane's A Love Supreme is one of a few albums I can return to again and again and never get tired of hearing it. The suite of songs is so rich and beautiful, played by one of the best ensembles in jazz (Trane, McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones), and deeply moving. Trane's playing reveals his utter confidence in a higher power but also seems to be searching for answers to existential questions.

What was the first record you ever bought? And where did you buy it?

The first records I remember picking out on my own were 45s of "Welcome Back, Kotter" and the theme to "Happy Days." I had just turned 10, and my next door neighbor's dad ran a record store. So, for my birthday, he invited me to the store to select my gift. I had no idea at the time that John Sebastian had been the lead singer of Lovin' Spoonful, but I liked his voice and the urban vibe of the opening "Kotter" credits. Also, I was really into the '50s doo-wop sound, which seemed to have a resurgence in the early to mid '70s with groups like Sha-Na-Na, who even had their own TV show. Certainly, "Happy Days" did its share to boost nostalgia for that era. I also remember thinking boy, that Potsie sure could sing!

Which musician have you ever wanted to be?

Keith Richards.

What do you sing in the shower?

Well, this morning, I worked through an early Dylan medley. But depending on my mood, I like to belt out tunes by Chicago, Little River Band, The Commodores, Steely Dan, The Doobie Bros., Poco, John Prine, Chris Smither, Ted Hawkins and all manner of blues, jump swing and R&B. It's a great act, really. You should catch it sometime. (Bring your own soap.)

What is your favourite Saturday night record?

Miles Davis' Kind of Blue has that slinky, nocturnal energy that gets me going and anticipating what the night will bring.

And your favourite Sunday morning record?

Charlie Parker With Strings. Sunday paper, big ol' mug of coffee and Bird caressing "Just Friends" and "Autumn in New York" with that sumptuous orchestra behind him. About as good as it gets.

Remembering Spider Martin

Tom Marcello, manager of vibraphone wizard Joe Locke, checked in with BWJAZZANDBLUES this weekend regarding a previous post about South Florida jazz fave John "Spider" Martin. Initially, Marcello wrote, "In all honesty, Spider wasn't much of a tenor player, but he was a virtuoso self promoter. Even from the grave!" He then enclosed a flier that Locke sent along to him regarding a Sept. 6 tribute to Spider at the Ontario House in Niagara Falls, featuring B3 Hammond monster Joey DeFrancesco. (Apparently, Spider's brother, Kenny, had sent the flier to Locke.)

That may be so, I countered, but on the recording I was writing about, Live From the Breakers of Fort Lauderdale Rooftop, Spider played with plenty of heart and feeling, and I still think the disc holds up as a great snapshot of the mid-'80s jazz scene here in South Florida. (Dr. Lonnie Smith and Ignacio Berroa are also on it, and Blue Note record store owner Bob Perry is the emcee.) It's also a fond rememberance of the troubled saxophonist who tragically passed away in 2000 after battling demons and addictions for decades.

Here's Marcello's affectionate reminiscence of palling around with Spider in upstate New York:

"Spider and I hung out a lot during the '70s after he was released from Attica. I spent many a good night listening to him play and going out to the after-hours clubs. It was he who introduced me to Dizzy and Max [Roach]. Fond memories!

"I meant not to dis Spider's playing so much, but the fact is if he put as much effort into his horn as he did in his hustles, he would have been greater.

"Spider could always hustle a gig. It wasn't too many months after he was released from jail that he got a concert with the Rochester Philharmonic! He also gave gigs to many of the young guys in Rochester (who needed the experience) like Joe, Barry Kiener, Greg Skaff and many others. In fact, Joe still uses one of his sayings when he ends a set: "Stick with your party and don't bother nobody." You have to say it with the right accent on the vowels!

"He burned his bridges here in a number of ways (small rip-offs and passing bad checks; that's what landed him in jail) and he split to South Florida. My first wife was from Miami, and in January of '86 we were down there visiting and I saw an ad that he was at the Gusman doing a MLK tribute concert with Joe, Dizzy, Mongo [Santamaria] and Nestor Torres. I stopped by and was happy that he had become one of the main players there. That's the last time I saw him.

"So, a lot of fond memories of Spider Martin for me!"

In addition to managing Joe Locke, Marcello is also a helluva photographer. Check out his amazing jazz snaps at http://www.flickr.com/photos/11447043@N00/. He truly captures the Rochester and New York loft scenes of the '70s; look for some killer shots of Sam Rivers holding court at Studio RivBea.

Matt "Guitar" Murphy is still one bad mother

I wasn't quite sure what to expect when I trekked up to The Back Room last night to see Matt "Guitar" Murphy. The Mississippi-born guitarist, who made his name alongside blues elite such as Memphis Slim and Sonny Boy Williamson II and gained mainstream fame with The Blues Brothers movies, is either 78 or 80 years old (depending on what source you cite) and had suffered a stroke a few years back that severely affected his right side. As it turned out, there was no need for concern, as Murphy delivered the goods and then some.

But that wasn't evident from the get-go. First off, Murphy and his wife, who were driving up from Kendall, were having trouble finding the venue, which is on a long, dark stretch of Dixie Highway in Boca. Although he didn't arrive till 11 for a 9:30 show, the wait was more than tolerable thanks to the extremely entertaining and talented Darrell Raines and his excellent band, including the dynamic harp blowing of Pix Ensign, the rollicking keyboards of Jerry Mascaro and the terrific rhythm team of bassist George Caldwell and drummer Dr. Bob Sellani. A somewhat limited vocalist who nonetheless sells each song with plenty of feeling, Raines has great charisma and a fiery but not flamboyant guitar style that shows his deep respect for and knowledge of the idiom. His library of licks recalled everyone from Freddie King to Elmore James to Jimi Hendrix (but not in that derivative fashion that makes so many Hendrix-inspired guitarists so damn tiresome), and he reminded me of similarly powerful but restrained guitarslingers such as Lurrie Bell.

When Murphy arrived and began making his way to the stage, the image was shocking. If your enduring image of him is the vital, musclebound dude from The Blues Brothers, you couldn't help but be taken aback by his deliberate gait and the loose skin that hangs from once-taut biceps. Still, once he gingerly stepped on stage, sat down and strapped on his blond Telecaster (the same one, Jim Nestor tells me, that graces the cover of Murphy's Down South album), a familiar smile creased his broad face and he was once again Matt "Guitar" Murphy.

The band launched into "Matt's Guitar Boogie," Murphy's signature tune, and his jazzy chordings and sweet intonation, which calls up Memphis like no other sound, were in fine form. Even without the use of the digits on his right hand — he used just his right thumb, and believe me, the fingers on his left hand were as speedy and precise as ever — Murphy masterfully evokes the city where he found fame early on; his sound will be instantly recognizable to anyone who spent a great deal of time with The Blues Brothers' Briefcase Full of Blues album, as I did as a kid.

Murphy's and Raines' contrasting styles worked beautifully in tandem, as the pair traded leads and Murphy also displayed expert chops as a rhythm player. Even if you swore you'd never sit through another version of "Sweet Home Chicago" again, the version these guys cooked up was a real treat, full of improvisational back-and-forth as the two guitarists laid into the groove and jammed on a lengthy instrumental intro.

For the second set, Nouveaux Honkies guitarist Tim O'Donnell joined the proceedings, and like Raines, showed the utmost deference to Murphy as he was obviously thrilled to be sharing the stage with him. Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, O'Donnell played slide and did some fleet-fingered soloing on his hollow-body jazz box, as well as singing a couple of numbers alongside Raines and Murphy, who obviously got a kick out of him and shared more than a couple of laughs that seemed to suggest, "How does this white boy know all this shit?" Best of all was when O'Donnell inquired if Murphy remembered "Mother Earth," the great existential blues by Memphis Slim. "Oh, yeah," Murphy replied, as they launched into the doomy, familiar riff, with O'Donnell powerfully vocalizing and Murphy time-tripping back to another era as they concluded the set on a high note before Murphy hit the highway back to South Miami.

Certainly, Murphy is no museum piece. This show was just flat-out fun, and it seemed like everyone on stage was just delighted to be there. That goes for everyone off-stage, as well.

Poppa, you can hear him

It's always a treat to catch up with Poppa E. Not only a talented interpreter of various blues styles and an excellent songwriter, the Miami-based bluesman also happens to be one helluva decent cat and a captivating storyteller. All of this will be in evidence Friday, when WLRN airs my conversation with Poppa on Ed Bell's South Florida Arts Beat sometime between 1 and 2 p.m.

The New York-born musician talks about his grandfather's and his uncles' influence on his life and music — his granddad fled Cairo, Ill., with the law on his trail after shooting some white men who harrassed his wife; his uncles ran a pool hall and record shop, respectively — as well as his return from Nam, life in Chicago and session work with Bill Withers on some of the pop soul singer's biggest hits ("Lean on Me," "Use Me"). Poppa also unpacked his guitar and loaded up his rack harmonica for a couple of tunes, one of which was an amazing, Delta-fied rendition of "Folsom Prison Blues," the other a pretty blues ballad called "Melonera's Blues."

You can find Poppa at Tobacco Road 10 p.m. Tuesday, Aug. 19 and 10 p.m. Aug. 31. Check out Poppae.com or Blackowlmusicmiami.com for more.

It's a sad day, children: Remembering Isaac Hayes

It seems like Isaac Hayes was always part of the cultural landscape. I remember seeing him on TV when I was little and thinking he was the coolest human being on Earth. The fathoms deep voice, the bald head, the shades, the flamboyant outfits, the big, muscular frame and just an unshakable air of confidence and authority all contributed to a sense of preternatural cool, a way of being that was far beyond the scope of a Jewish kid from the burbs of Philly. Before I ever heard of Richard Roundtree or blaxploitation, I knew the signature wah-wah sound of Shaft and its obscenity-preventing injunction to "Shut your mouth!"

Of course, years later, I would become familiar not just with the badass John Shaft, but also Hayes' great body of work. He and songwriting partner David Porter wrote just about all the best Sam and Dave tunes, from "Soul Man" and "Hold On, I"m Comin'" to "When Something Is Wrong With My Baby," "You Don't Know Like I Know" and "I Thank You."

Hot Buttered Soul, the huge breakthrough album that put him on the map, contains two of my favorite Hayes moments, both covers that the iconic soul man made completely his own: Burt Bacharach and Hal David's "Walk On By" and Jimmy Webb's "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." The former adds layers of drama to the wistful song that was a hit for both Dionne Warwicke and Aretha Franklin, thanks to an acid-etched wah-wah guitar riff, a skyscraping horn and synth motif and, of course, Hayes' tear-stained delivery. On the latter, a hit for Glen Campbell, Hayes constructs a rambling, spoken narrative by way of introduction to the familiar tune, personalizing the song and making listeners feel as if he were sharing a very intimate moment ripped from his own back pages.

The Shaft soundtrack is something of a mixed bag, containing the amazingly constructed title theme, but also plenty of filler that sounds a bit dated. If you're in the mood for a little time-tripping on a Sunday morning, however, this double-LP will more than fill the bill.

To witness Hayes at his iconic peak, rent or own a copy of Wattstax, the documentary film of the August 1972 concert featuring incredible performances from Hayes, Rufus Thomas, The Dramatics, The Staple Singers and The Bar-Kays. One story has it that The Bar-Kays, who backed Hayes on Hot Buttered Soul, had planned to ride into the L.A. Coliseum on horse-drawn chariots, but the organizers were wary of their upstaging Hayes. They needn't have worried. The man known as Black Moses lived up to that sobriquet, his towering charisma, outrageous outfit (some kind of chain-mail shirt as I remember it) and trademark clean-shaven dome and shades riveting the attention of the packed arena.

Hayes further cemented his rep as the coolest cat on Earth when he took the role of Chef on South Park, showing that he wasn't afraid to make fun of himself and his rep as the smooth ladies man; who could forget Chef's singing about his "chocolate salty balls"? Unfortunately, his tenure with the show ended badly when Hayes objected to its eviscerating Scientologists, and the cartoon's creators killed off the beloved character.

Hayes died Sunday at age 65. If you happen to be up really late tonight (Monday), tune into AMC at 4:15 a.m. for Blues Brothers 2000, which features Hayes as part of the all-star Louisiana Gator Boys band with the likes of B.B. King, Lou Rawls, Koko Taylor, Gary U.S. Bonds and Stevie Winwood (the best part of the movie, and, along with the remarkable sequence that plays along with the credits — performances by Junior Wells, Lonnie Brooks and James Brown — pretty much the only reason to sit through it to the very end) jamming on "How Blue Can You Get" and "New Orleans."

Dispatches from the bunker: Wilson, Newman and Marsalis

It's been a crazy few days over here at Bob's jazz and blues bunker. After twiddling my thumbs (and chewing my nails) for a good portion of last week, all of the interviews I needed to conduct came through — all at the same time. But I'm not complaining: Since Friday, I've had amazing conversations with legendary composer-arranger-bandleader Gerald Wilson, sardonic songwriting genius Randy Newman and New Orleans jazz partriarch Ellis Marsalis. (The Marsalis interview will air sometime between 1 and 2 p.m. Friday on South Florida Arts Beat, WLRN-91.3 FM, in advance of his Aug. 14 show at the Coral Gables Congregational Church.)

• Talking to Wilson was a great treat. The bandleader, who turns 90 in September and was feted at a grand celebration at the Hollywood Bowl in late July, reminisced about his school years at Manassa High in Memphis and at Cass Tech High in Detroit in the 1930s. (Keep in mind, I was interviewing him for a column that will appear in the education issue of Jazziz, which will hit newsstands sometime in October.) Wilson skipped out on his senior year at Cass — a renowned music school that has turned out jazz giants such as Alice Coltrane and Ron Carter, not to mention South Florida's own Kenny Millions — to go on the road with Jimmie Lunceford's band in 1939, stepping into the huge shoes of trumpeter-arranger Sy Oliver, and he just kept going. A fixture on the L.A. jazz scene since the 1940s, Wilson more or less set the template for the contemporary big band sound, especially with his Pacific recordings of the 60s. And he's still setting the bar with suberb late-career recordings such as In My Time, New York, New Sound and Theme for Monterey. I'll include some excerpts from our conversation in a future post.

• I was a bit nervous about interviewing Randy Newman. Would he be as sharp-edged and misanthropic as his songs would lead you to believe? Turns out the cat could not have been nicer, conversing amiably and at length from his room at New York's Ritz-Carlton, where he was staying in advance of tonight's appearance on Letterman. We talked about his terrific new album, Harps and Angels — with its atypical "A Few Words in Defense of Our Country" specifically calling out the Bush administration and the Supreme Court — politics, the state of satire (we both agreed that the recent New Yorker cover kind of missed its mark tonewise), his roots in L.A. and New Orleans and, of course, some of his jazz heroes, as this piece, too, will appear in an upcoming issue of Jazziz (likely November's). His first recording of new material in nine years, Harps and Angels features Newman doing what he does best: revealing truths about human nature through incisive character songs. I'll post some choice portions of that interview, as well.

• Besides the ones that lived under his roof — you know, Wynton, Branford, Delfeayo and Jason — pianist Ellis Marsalis has mentored some of the leading jazz figures to emerge from the Crescent City. Harry Connick Jr., Terence Blanchard, Donald Harrison, Nicholas Payton and Irvin Mayfield all passed under his tutleage at the New Orleans Center of Creative Arts. The longtime educator and New Orleans jazz scene favorite recently released Open Letter to Thelonious, a superb tribute recording to Monk, on which he and his quartet explore the music of one of the genre's most distinctive composers. When I asked him for his initial reactions to Monk on first hearing his music, Marsalis gruffly replied: "I didn't like it." In fact, he related, it took him years to come to grips with Monk, but he does so beautifully on Open Letter, never trying to copy Monk's splayed-finger style, but rather staying true to his own understated phrasing. And the band is fantastic, especially tenor and soprano saxophonist Doug Duget, who gets a sound similar to longtime Monk associate Charlie Rouse. Marsalis' youngest son, Jason, does a tremendous job on drums, as he explores the connection between Monk and funk, the backbone of much of New Orleans' music, particulary evident on the track "Teo." Tune into WLRN Friday between 1 and 2 p.m. to hear my interview with Ellis Marsalis, and by all means, go see him perform (a solo piano show!) Thursday, Aug. 14 at the Coral Gables Congregational Church.

What's in a noir?

Like pianist Larry Vuckovich, I'm a huge fan of film noir. So I eagerly dove into his trio's latest recording, High Wall: Real Life Film Noir (Tetrachord Music), anticipating all the dark and portentous music I've come to expect from the cinematic genre. But instead of conjuring desperate people in dire straits and what they might be capable of when backed into a corner, Vuckovich's music bursts with positivity and irrepressibly sunny grooves. Great piano jazz? To be sure. Noirish? Not really.

However, the shadowy textures of those great old movies abound in bassist Ben Wolfe's excellent debut recording as a leader, No Strangers Here (MaxJazz). With a supporting crew including saxophonist Marcus Strickland, pianist Luis Perdomo and drummer Greg Hutchinson, as well as a superb string quartet, musician-composer Wolfe alternates between gritty bop and emotionally complex chamber pieces, all of which would sound right at home in a noir flick.

Dig the anxious setup on the opening "Minnick Rule," with Wolfe's quick-stepping bass lines evoking the jacked-up heartbeat and hurried stride of our hero as he hides in doorways, hoping not to be noticed on a busy city street. Perdomo's angular chords, Strickland's troubled tenor, guest trumpeter Terrell Stafford's heated blasts and Hutchinson's inexorable, pulse-quickening sticking all contribute to the frenzied feel. The lovely title track cools the fever as the strings come into the picture, putting silken sheets under Strickland's becalmed blowing.

With drama-laden pieces such as "Blue Envy" and "Rosy and Zero," the former featuring the subdued bass clarinet of Victor Goines, the latter truly showcasing the wonderful strings (Jesse Mills and Cyrus Beroukhim on violins, Kenji Bunch on cello and Wolfram Koessel on cello), No Strangers Here plays like a ready-made noir soundtrack, from its pyschologically involving mood pieces to the song titles themselves. As both a composer and musician, Wolfe is exceptional, and guests such as Branford Marsalis and Jeff "Tain" Watts attest to the high regard in which he's held.

A Yugoslavian immigrant who's lived in San Francisco since his teen years, Vuckovich was inspired by the films he loved as a kid. In fact, High Wall, the title track to his muscular new recording, was taken from Bronslaw Kaper's soundtrack to the 1947 movie of the same name about a man who may or may not have killed his wife (a brain injury provides convenient blackouts), and is the most noirlike piece here. Yet Vuckovich — or at least his music — doesn't revel in the cynical view of human nature that generally provides the dark heart of noir storytelling.

Make no mistake, this is top-flight stuff — and it does conjure the era when noir was most popular, if not the form itself — featuring rotating sidemen in different trio and quartet configurations. Hector Lugo's bongos and congas add Cubano bop flavor to the proceedings, reminiscent of Chano Pozo's work with Dizzy Gillespie — dig the smoking rendition of Diz's "Ow!" — and undergird a soul-jazz workout on Joe Sample's boogaloo classic "Put It Where You Want It." A mix of Latin rhythms with Eastern European roots propels an intriguing hybrid titled "Gyspy Roma Mambo (Dark Eyes)," and a read of Rodrigo's "Concierto de Aranjuez" starts off stately and then jumps into a 6/8 descarga.

On a quieter note, "View From Telegraph Hill," a heartfelt love letter to Vuckovich's adopted hometown that conjures the San Francisco skyline at twilight as the lights blink on, and a gorgeous solo meditation on "A Handful of Stars," are simply gorgeous.

My suggestion: Cue up either Wolfe's No Strangers Here or Vuckovich's High Wall for a straight-ahead jazz fix, and get Netflix to send you a copy of Double Indemnity or Touch of Evil to get your noir kicks.

Summer teeth: Mehldau's and Frisell's lastest

Brad Mehldau and Bill Frisell are hardly underrepresented in my CD collection. That's probably because whenever one of them cuts a new joint, I run right out and pick it up and am generally dazzled by the results. And predictably enough, I've been spinning their latest respective recordings on a fairly regular rotation this summer, both of which should be included among the best work of the artists.

Pianist Mehldau teams up once again with perhaps his best rhythm team, bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Jeff Ballard, for the exquisite double-disc simply titled Live (on the Nonesuch label). Recorded over several nights at The Village Vanguard in 2006, the trio works through a repertoire encompassing everything from Oasis' "Wonderwall" and Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" to Jimmy Heath's "C.T.A." and Trane's "Countdown." And yet, it hardly sounds schizophrenic or forced, but rather all of one piece, that is, like excellent piano jazz played at a dizzyingly high level. Mehldau originals such as "Ruby's Rub" and "B-Flat Waltz" provide plenty of excitement and harmonic complexity, as Grenadier provides sensitive and toneful accompaniment and Ballard is simply a marvel as he uses color and texture like a master impressionist. The pianist has been honing his trio sensibilities over the years live and in the studio, and it's a thrill to hear just how far he's gone within the genre.

Mehldau's Nonesuch labelmate Frisell also returns to familiar terrain with the aptly titled History, Mystery, also a double disc. As he has so effectively over the past decade or so, Frisell delves into dark corners of a variety of roots musics, exploring and probing the fascinating and creepy things he finds there. The guitarist and composer assembles frequent collaborators including violinist Jenny Scheinman, violist Eyvind Kang, cellist Hank Roberts, cornetist Ron Miles, bassist Tony Scherr and drummer Kenny Wollesen for a creepy, moonlit ride along dusty backroads, perhaps stopping to peek under the tent of a traveling freak show or a town peopled by circus folk. The program almost feels like a motorist fiddling with the radio dial as he drives — particulary given Frisell's penchant for electronic noodling — tuning into various stations along the way. In addition to his own chill-raising compositions, Frisell also interprets world music, bop (Monk and Konitz both get the Frisell treatment here) and R&B, this last represented with a cool (but not glib) slink through Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come," featuring some beautiful work from saxophonist Greg Tardy, who sermonizes like a country preacher. Frisell sounds like no one else, unless of course they're copying him; he continues to refine his genius for this style of music and plays this terrific ensemble like another instrument in his arsenal. Brilliant stuff.

More local-jazz CD faves

Here are some more of my favorite South Florida jazz recordings. Got some of your own? Respond to the blog or send 'em to me at Bobweinberg@mac.com.

6. Gary Keller: Blues for an Old New Age (Double Time). Saxophonist Keller pays the ultimate compliment to UM facultymate/mentor Ron Miller by recording a selection of his wonderfully evocative compositions. Doubling on tenor and soprano saxes, Keller leads an excellent crew — including pianist Kenny Werner, bassist Drew Gress and drummer Billy Hart — through Miller's tunes, which are redolent of orange blossoms and ocean air and draw the connection between the Florida sound and the music of Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter.

7. Jaco Pastorius Big Band: The Word Is Out! (Heads Up). Peter Graves helms this amazing group of South Florida players and special guests (Bob Mintzer, Randy Brecker, Toots Thielemans) as they revisit the brightly hued compositions of Pastorius on this second outing. (The first recording, 2003's Word of Mouth Revisited, is a must-own, as well.) Rather than fixating on the bass, the recording puts the attention squarely on Pastorius' writing, featuring outstanding arrangements of classics such as "Cannonball," "Three Views of a Secret" and the delightful "Good Morning Anya." Packed with local greats such as saxophonists Billy Ross and Gary Keller, trumpeter Jason Carder, trombonist Dana Teboe, pianist Mike Levine, guitarist Randy Bernsen, bassist Jeff Carswell, percussionist Bobby Thomas Jr. and steel-drum master Othello, many of whom actually knew and played with Jaco, you could hardly find a more-fitting band to pay tribute to one of South Florida's most-influential musicians.

8. Don Miller: Dial M for Bass (High Life). Not to be confused with keyboardist-composer-UM professor Ron Miller, bass virtuouso Don Miller put together some stellar small ensembles on Dial M. The trio including pianist Felix Gomez and drummer Jonathan Joseph navigates noir era tunes such as "Street of Dreams" and "I Hear a Rhapsody," and takes on modern composers such as Shorter, Hancock and Benny Golson, as well. Another trio comprises pianist Brian Murphy and drummer Duffy Jackson, and Ira Sullivan adds tenor sax and trumpet (dig his cheerfully muted playing on MIller's own "S' Gettin' Better All the Time") on a couple of tunes.

9. John "Spider" Martin and Dr. Lonnie Smith: Live! From the Breakers of Fort Lauderdale Rooftop (Mirror Image). This is a true classic, sometimes spotted in the cut-out bins at used CD stores. Tenor saxophonist Spider Martin drives the action on a live set of bop and hardbop burners, leading a grooving band consisting of Hammond organ wizard Dr. Lonnie Smith, guitarist Jerry Byrd, drummer Ignacio Berroa and percussionist Tony Verdejo. A snapshot of the era (likely the mid '80s, as son Pookie, who sits in on drums, was just a tyke), this live session documents the late Martin at an artistic peak. Although it's somewhat muffled, the introduction is worth turning up the volume on your stereo for, as the unmistakable Bah-stahn accent of Blue Note record store owner Bob Perry briefly welcomes Spider and co. to the stage.

10. Scott Routenberg: Lots of Pulp (Denmaster). This 2003 recording from UM-trained pianist-composer Routenberg blew me away. While you marvel at the inventiveness of his sound-design — he sampled everything from the jingle of sacks of change to the thwuck of concentrated orange juice squeezed from its container — the masterful compositions and good humor win you over. Colors from violin, harp and cello to flute, sax and oboe add to the tonal pallette, mixing the organic and electronic in a very modern and satisfying way.

RTF? WTF? WLRN FRI

Jazz-fusions fans are drooling over this one: the return of Return to Forever. The lineup of the band from its commercial peak in the early-to-mid-'70s has reunited for a world tour that brings the group to The Fillmore on Miami Beach on Wednesday, July 30. Comprising Chick Corea, Al Di Meola, Stanley Clarke and Lenny White, RTF has been reviving material from its classic recordings like (the pre-Di Meola) Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy and Where Have I Known You Before in front of ecstatic audiences, some of whom surely were too young or maybe not even born during the group's heyday.

A newly released double-disc anthology culls selections from this incarnation of the band's four albums, some of which have aged better than others. But damn, these cats could play! Pick it up for Clarke's and White's contributions alone, as the slippery bassist and speed-bag-punching drummer injected some powerful funk and righteous rock into the occasionally ponderous material. And go to the show for the same reason, as well as to see the virtuosic Di Meola and the remarkable Corea; while RTF isn't my favorite setting in which to hear Corea perform (unless, of course, it's the earlier version of the band with Flora Purim and Airto Moreira), the man is a master, whether he's seated at a grand piano or a bank of synthesizers.

Oh yeah, and if you want to hear more on my take of RTF and the new anthology, tune into Ed Bell's South Florida Arts Beat on WLRN-91.3 FM Friday sometime between 1 and 2 p.m. Also, check out the band's site at Return2forever.com, complete with tour blogs and set lists.

Chicago blues fest, soggy final chapter

The rain had been intermittent for most of Chicago Blues Fest (June 5-8), certainly nothing like the raging thunderstorms that buffeted much of the Midwest that week and kept me on the ground at the Cincinnati aiport for nearly five hours. (More like underground; travelers were actually evacuated from terminals and herded into a seemingly endless concrete corridor beneath the airport, which, I was told was actually in Kentucky, not Cincy.) Then came Sunday of blues fest, the last day of the four-day event, and dark clouds fulfilled their threat by drenching Grant Park with a biblical downpour.

I had started out the day with the brilliant harmonies and exuberant dance steps of the Victory Travelers on the Front Porch stage, a highly entertaining gospel legacy group that's been around since the '60s, and then made my way to the Crossroads stage to check out Rodney Brown's salute to Louis Jordan, which was everything that Duke Robillard's tribute to Jordan a couple of nights before was not — you know, fun. That's when the skies opened and it looked as though relief would not be coming any time soon.

There really is no shelter to be had at Grant Park, and longtime festgoers know they will get alternately scorched and drenched during the weekend. I darted for a stand of trees, and the thick canopy provided some protection as an announcement on the PA encouraged people to head for the parking garages. I stood my (sodden) ground. After about a half an hour, by which time I was fairly soaked, the rain stopped. Just like that. Within about another half hour, performers began taking the stages again. Remarkable. Imagine that happening at an event in South Florida ...

With a newly purchased festival T-shirt the only dry apparel on me, I squooshed my way over to the Louisiana Bayou stage to catch excellent acoustic blues interpreter Paul Geremia. I was a bit put-off by the usually reliable David Whiteis description in the Chicago Reader fest guide of Geremia as being "rooted in someone else's past." Um, well, yeah, he's playing country blues and he's a white guy; does that invalidate every white player who didn't grow up on a plantation chopping cotton? Seemed specious to me, and Geremia proved as much, with his brilliant heartfelt renditions of songs by the likes of Blind Willie McTell and Mose Allison.

Tony Joe White was as craggy and intriguing as I had always heard he was, his vocals dark and well-lived in, his lyrics equally so and tinged with humor as black and dry as gunpowder. Went back for second helpings of Cedric Burnside and Lightnin' Malcolm, the still-inexhaustible T-Model Ford and Otis Taylor and his excellent band, all of whom were more than worth the price of the previous drenching. (Did I mention the entire four-day fest is free?)

Magic Slim and the Teardrops are among my very favorite Chicago blues bands, and the fellas were as potent as the hot peppers and giardiana gravy on an Italian beef. By this time, the sun was not just back in the sky, but out for vengeance, as it beat down mercilessly on the crowds who were starting to fill the bandshell for the evening's headliner: B.B. King. I was thankful for my old damp shirt, which served as a cool do rag.

Little Willie Littlefield heated up the stage for B.B., his huge personality and boogie-woogie piano filling the enormous Petrillo Bandshell. Once again, off came the right shoe, as Littlefield, a contemporary of B.'s, stomped the stage with his stockinged foot and rolled out the rollicking piano blues that established him as a late '40s-early '50s powerhouse performer.

Then, it was star time. As the bandshell filled, and B.'s band took the stage, Buddy Guy came out to welcome his old friend and presented him with some kind of official city proclamation. The King was obviously moved by this grand greeting, as well as by being back in Chicago, and he reminisced about his time spent in the city amongst giants such as Muddy Waters. He then launched into classics from his heyday, truly feeling it on classics such as "Three O' Clock in the Morning" and "Don't Answer the Door." A concession to age, King remained seated through most of his performance, but was in great voice, as was Lucille, as distinctive a sound as there is in the blues world.

King provided the perfect capper to the festival, which was more than worth the delayed flights, the sunburns and the drenchings. This event is truly one-of-a-kind, featuring many performers you rarely see elsewhere and presented with reverence and respect for a genre that's often reduced to lowest-common-denominator blues-rock clones and cliché.

Weinberg on Gilmore on WLRN on Friday

If you happen to be within earshot of a radio sometime between noon and 1 p.m. Friday (7/11), I'll be reviewing Joey Gilmore's fine new CD, Bluesman. Dial up WLRN-91.3 FM and tune in to Ed Bell's South Florida Arts Beat.

The new recording is a real crowd-pleaser, filled with some classic blues interpretations, a couple of originals and a pair of Graham Wood Drout bookends, including an excellent read of "Ghosts of Mississippi," which is punched up here with horns and backup vocals. Gilmore more than does justice to the image-laden lyrics that earned "Ghosts" a Blues Critics Award for song of the year when a different version of the song appeared as the title track on Gilmore's 2005 recording.

Five guys named Moe, one guy named Louis

The first time I heard a Louis Jordan song, it was featured in, of all things, a Tom and Jerry cartoon from the '40s or '50s. (And yes, wise guy, it was rerun I watched as a kid growing up in the '70s.) As I remember it, Tom was wooing a lady cat armed with an upright bass and slyly crooning "Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby." It was irresistible, as were almost all the tunes by the hugely influential Little Rock, Ark., native, whose centennial was celebrated July 8. (Jordan died in 1975.)

His tunes were like humorous playlets set to boogie rhythms that defy all efforts to not jitterbug like one of the case-study kids from Reefer Madness. This was proto-rock'n'roll, Ur&B, the template for Chuck Berry and Little Richard and Bo Diddley and Ray Charles and B.B. King and Gatemouth Brown. Discovering his music was, for me, like finding the Rosetta Stone.

And wouldn't you know it took Joe Jackson's 1981 tribute album Jumpin' Jive to affect the proper introduction (from an Enlgishman, no less!). Fingerpoppers such as "Jack, You're Dead," the aforementioned "Is You Is" and especially "Five Guys Named Moe" captured my imagination, brought me back to a fabled time when Jordan and Cab Calloway and Lester Young were the jukebox kings of the day. Over the years, I would delight in finding collections of Jordan's work, as well as tunes that popped up on albums by the likes of Lou Rawls (who does one of my favorite covers of "Saturday Night Fish Fry" with Joe Williams and Lionel Hampton on his Portrait of the Blues recording) and B.B. King, who did a superb album of Jordan covers that remains one of his late-career best. And, hell, who didn't cover "Caldonia," still one of the most ecstatic call-and-response tunes to ever get a crowd hoppin' on the dancefloor.

Best of all was seeing the vintage musical "shorts" of Jordan which would often run on David Sanborn's excellent (and too short-lived) late-night Sunday television program. Mugging like the showman he was, Jordan instructed the fellas in the band to "Beware, brother, beware" when their girls were being suspiciously nice to them. But like Satchmo, Jordan was no clown, which was evidenced in his sharp suits and generally dapper appearance. And anyone who dared to think he was a novelty act would have his mind forever changed when Jordan hefted his alto sax and blew sometimes all-too-brief solos.

Here are my Top 10 Louis Jordan tunes:
1. "Choo Choo Ch'Boogie"
2. "Five Guys Named Moe"
3. "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens"
4. "Knock Me a Kiss"
5. "I'm Gonna Move to the Outskirts of Town"
6. "Salt Pork West Virginia"
7. "Fire"
8. "Big Bess"
9. "Early in the Mornin'"
10. "Beans and Cornbread"

Favorite local jazz CDs, part 1

This list is not meant to be definitive. Rather, it's a highly subjective selection of some of my favorite local jazz recordings. Got some of your own? Send 'em to me via the blog or e-mail me at bobweinberg@mac.com. In the meantime, enjoy this first installment.

1. Abbey Rader and Noah Brandmark: Open Friends (Abray Productions, 2001). A series of challenging free-jazz duets between roiling, powerhouse drummer Rader and edgy yet toneful tenor saxophonist Brandmark, Open Friends always gets my pulse racing like a triple shot of espresso. Scabrously delicious.

2. David Liebman and Michael Gerber: Souls and Masters (Cactus, 1999). New York reed master Liebman teams up with South Florida pianist Gerber on a selection of distinctive melodies by Miami's Rhoda Averbach. Liebs' fanged soprano sax intertwines with Gerber's rich and soulful playing, evincing the emotional complexity of Averbach's compositions.

3. Keshavan Maslak and Katsuyuki Itakura: Excuse Me, Mr. Satie (Leo, 1994). Kenny Millions' evocative recording of tunes composed and inspired by Erik Satie remains one of my favorites of his vast discography. Switching among clarinet, soprano and tenor saxes, he and frequent pianist-collaborator Itakura mine the humor and pathos of Satie's works to both pay homage and comment on this most-subervise composer. "Excuse me for being boring," Millions intones on the piece by the same name at the close of the album. Clearly, that's one thing he'll never be accused of.

4. Marilynn Seits: Karmic Tribute (CMR Jazz, 2000). Although she's since left the area, West Palm Beach pianist Marilynn Seits recorded a superb solo piano album that pays tribute to her favorite composers. Gorgeous interpretations of music by Billy Strayhorn, Charles Mingus, Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, Carla Bley and Steve Swallow display the breadth of influences upon which she draws.

5. Miami Saxophone Quartet: Take Four Giant Steps (Fourtitude, 2002). Comprising virtuosi saxophonists Gary Keller (soprano), Gary Lindsay (alto), Ed Calle (tenor) and Mike Brignola (baritone), the MSQ blew in like an ocean breeze on a stifling summer day with this wonderful recording. Lindsay's writing and arrangements are incredibly hip, particularly a dazzlingly fresh take on Coltrane's "Giant Steps."

One night slam at the Flickerlite

Apparently, the boys were missed. One of the Flickerlite's biggest weeknight crowds to ever elbow its way to the bar filled the Hollywood landmark last night for a chance to hear guitarist Michael Locke reunite with saxophonist "One Night Stan" Waldman on home turf. And these exceptional musicians didn't disappoint, keeping the place hopping way past midnight with thundering, horn-fueled Texas roadhouse-meets-Southside Chicago blues.

Bassist Reece Lincoln and drummer Mike Tate, who play with Locke back home in Ohio, laid down the snaky grooves and solid shuffles, as Locke launched into highly individualized renditions of classics by Freddie King, Junior Wells and John Lee Hooker, as well as some firebreathing originals. A version of King's instrumental "Hideway" served as a springboard to all kinds of improvisation, as Locke segued into several other tunes and then wound his way back. Same thing happened with Slim Harpo's "Scratch My Back," which showcased Locke's mastery of the idiom — he perfectly re-created the watery reverb and bumblebee sting of the original — as well as his dazzling creativity.

Waldman is simply a master of this style of blues, blowing one great tenor solo after another. His brawny tone is matched by a great sophistication and deep knowledge of the vital connections between blues and jazz, something he no doubt learned from observing Ira Sullivan for many years. A truly generous sort, Waldman welcomed a couple of protégés up to the stage (both named Anthony) to muscle up the horn section and add their own individual voices.

Locke introduced his original instrumental "Nitro" by saying he titled it after the greasiest cat he knows, a nod to San Francisco mentor Johnny Nitro, I assume, and that's just the way he and Waldman played it. The track also kicks off Locke's latest recording, The Lost Files, which is available at Michaellocke.net.

There were so many highlights to the evening, it's hard to pick just one, but I don't think anyone who stayed to the end of the final set will forget Locke's breathtaking solo encore. Pulling up a barstool, he proceeded to pick a lightning-fingered medley of Stevie Ray Vaughan instrumentals that concluded with a gorgeous, jazzy read of SRV's "Lenny," which made judicious use of the whammy bar to get that shivery sound.

A photo on a poster outside the Flickerlite showed Locke and Waldman from many years ago, grinning broadly and displaying the easy camaraderie of boyhood pals. As evidenced by last night's performance, their sheer joy of blowing the roof off remains undiminished.

When Locke came to town

First off, a big thank you to Sean Piccoli and the Sun-Sentinel for linking to BWJAZZANDBLUES.BLOGSPOT.COM. Please feel free to browse; we've got something for listeners of both kinds of music, you know, jazz AND blues.

If you're looking for something to do on this rainy Wednesday night, head for Capone's Flickerlite, as one Hollywood institution hosts a couple of other Hollywood institutions, namely Michael Locke and "One Night Stan" Waldman (both of whom, incidentally, should be institutionalized).

Longtime South Florida blues fans might recognize bandanna-sporting string-bender Locke and sax-blowing hipster Waldman from their band The Nightstalkers. Locke is a flame-throwing axman who never met a volume knob he couldn't coax past 11. Waldman, who operated the very-much-missed Hollywood nightspot One Night Stan's, boasts a big gritty sound inspired by greats such as Sonny Stitt and Gene Ammons. Currently living in Southwest Ohio, Locke is finishing up the last leg of a Florida tour. Expect plenty of barbecued, Texas-style blues, as well as some jump-swing and Chicago shuffle, when the pair reunite from 8 p.m. to midnight at the Hollywood pizza place on the Intracoastal.

Owned and operated by the Capone family for more than 60 years, the Flickerlite makes a great pie and probably the best Italian beef sandwich I've had outside of Chicago. It's located at 1014 N. Ocean Drive. Call 954-922-4232 or visit Flickerlite.com.

Scenes from a blues fest, part III

Yet more highlights from this year's Chicago Blues Fest, which took place June 5-8 in Grant Park:

• Tremendously entertaining vocalist Liz Mandville vamped it up in front of her excellent backing band, The BluesCrowns. Attired in a short, silver-sequined getup and shaking what her mama gave her, Mandville sang clever and sexy original material with great gusto. And The BluesCrowns, whom I mistakenly called The Blue Points in an earlier post (remember the cats from the Netherlands who backed Little Willie Littlefield and who I flew with from Cincy?), were spot-on, providing terrific accompaniment on saxophone, guitar, keyboards and upright bass.

• I always enjoy catching up with Otis Taylor, one of the most intriguing voices in blues today. His latest recording, Recapturing the Banjo, provided the theme for his show, as he was joined by Don Vappie and Guy Davis, on tenor banjo and harmonica respectively, to forcefully restate the instrument's African origins. Daughter Cassie Taylor provided the solid bass support, and an extraordinary young female violinist added a lively stringband dimension. Picking the five-string banjo and guitar, Taylor displayed a unique yet rooted approach, and sang in a dusty, powerful holler. The crew concluded the highly engaging show with a call-and-response throwdown on the "Hambone," as Davis came out front and performed a version of the age-old body-slapping dance.

• Years ago, I used to see diminutive singer Chick Rogers knocking out the late-night crowds at Kingston Mines, and often wondered what became of her. Apparently, she put the blues life behind her for a spell to perform gospel music. Well, she's back and, excuse the cliché, better than ever. Her voice filled the park from the Crossroads stage as she kicked the blues in the ass, her big vocals bursting with the bravado and positivity of someone who's seen the worst and lived to tell the tale.

• Theodis Ealey is an entertaining enough blues and R&B cat, but from his South Florida shows, I always felt like he was just playing the jive BS many white folks expect at a blues club. However, Ealey, who hails from Natchez, Miss., performed a superb and highly personal unplugged show with his significantly older brothers YZ and Melwin. Their teasing banter and reminiscences made the show even more special.

• Guitarist Lightnin' Malcolm came on like the second coming of Junior Kimbrough, as he hopped around the stage and played the huge, majestic chords associated with the Mississippi Hill Country master and his associate R.L. Burnside. Fittingly, he was backed by Burnside's son, Cedric Burnside, on the drums, who can truly be considered a master of the idiom. Tunes like Kimbrough's "All Night Long" and R.L.'s "Jumper on the Line" kept audiences bouncing and boogeying under the broiling afternoon sun.

• Neither advanced years nor soaring temperatures could keep T-Model Ford in check. In fact, the octogengarian Hill Country bluesman just didn't want to stop. With his cherubic 10-year-old grandson expertly beating the drums behind him, T-Model locked onto a groove like a pitbull on a mailman, his songs going on and on in mesmerizing fashion. At one point, a woman came onstage to tell him to wrap it up; T-Model nodded, took a nip from a bottle of Jack and proceeded to launch into a 20-minute boogie.

• Lil' Ed Williams remains one of the most-entertaining blues performers in the business, which he proved again with his bandshell show. The vertically challenged bluesman ruled the enormous stage with his athletic antics and, even more so, with his brute-force slide guitar and huge baritone vocals. His Blues Imperials, as always, laid down an amped and exciting traditonal-meets-contemporary blues sound, with standouts including the hilarious "Icicles in My Meatloaf" and the Ed Head jump-blues favorite, "Chicken, Gravy and Biscuits."

• Barbara Lynn's was probably my favorite of all of the bandshell shows. The lefty guitarist and still girlishly soulful vocalist from the Gulfcoast played to her strengths as she performed one excellent, old-school R&B gem after another, with topnotch backing from guitarist Lil' Buck Sinegal and his horn-fueled Buckaroos. The highlight, of course, was an emotion-laden rendition of her 1962 chart-topper "You'll Lose a Good Thing."

OK, we're coming to the end of what I can remember of this year's Chicago Blues Fest. Next time: I get soaked to the bone but still manage to catch great performances by Paul Geremia, the Victory Travelers, Magic Slim and B.B. King.