The All Seeing Sax
“In every grain of wheat there lies hidden the soul of a star.”― Arthur Machen
Saxophonist/composer/adventurer Wayne Shorter’s passing this past week hit hard: such a unique voice in the world of music whose artistry was so huge that he even transformed the work of the legends whose bands he rose up in. Both Art Blakey (and the Jazz Messengers) and then Miles Davis, during a chunk of the greatest part of his recording career, did not only feature Shorter the musician, but also featured Shorter’s compositions more than often. And the run of solo records Shorter recorded on Blue Note in the 1960s: WOAH. I was going about putting together a highlight real for y’all of my favorite Shorter moments when I got an e-mail from music journalist Ted Gioia, featuring his newest Honest Broker newsletter that includes a mighty Shorter curation. I recommend that you check that out. The only thing I would add, is that instead of just listening to one track of Shorter’s best tracks, one ought to listen to the whole damn platter they are featured on, especially when it comes to his incredible solo releases: Night Dreamer, Juju (oh, damn), The All Seeing Eye, Speak No Evil, Adam’s Apple and Schizophrenia (just, wow). What was Wayne Shorter drinking in the mid-sixties? Whatever it was: I want some.
Oh…and then you might also want to check out Lee Morgan’s album Search For A New Land, another all-time favorite that gloriously features Shorter in deep spiritual meditation with Morgan. I got to see Wayne Shorter at that pink Jazz club in Los Angeles whose name I can no longer remember (it was on Vine). I just remember my hearing that voice he threw out through his saxophone live for the first time: an old friend that I had heard on records for so long…that pure, rich tone he got from his instrument that was singular to him, his fingerprint on Jazz. Shorter always wore this pure, sweet smile on his face that masked the ferocity and danger he showcased in his style. He was a mystic of the dark arts who found such strength and melody in his explorations of dreams and juju and the dark recesses of the mind. Of the human’s journey into the unknown; he journeyed with his instrument, playing atop of the combos he was in like a well-weathered sailer.
His talent gave him the magic to push his craft forward with such memorable songs and inspired improvisation.
Wayne Shorter, RIP. One of the giants of Jazz who opened up our minds with his craft…
The Power of Art in a Political Age
I believe art holds a power greater than most anything besides love. And true art, arguably, IS love. I love this David Brooks article…and am so thankful he took the time and ink to talk about one aspect of why art is so needed in our lives. We must never take art or the artist for granted.
Boo Hooray's Catalog #18: FREE JAZZ NEW YORK JAZZ
Thanks to Josh Rosenthal & Tompkins Square for turning me onto this incredible catalog…a veritable on-line art gallery tour of incredible ephemera from underground (and some above ground) jazz of the 50s-80s. Just to imagine the new year’s eve party above: Cecil Taylor, Archie Shepp!! $2.50!!! Woah. There is so much more to gander in the catalog.
Dolly Parton’s Dream Box and Final Song
While T-Bone Burnett is figuring out how to box up a single song and sell it for millions, all the while claiming what he is doing is important…the great Dolly Parton has actually thought of something truly incredible: a song she has written that can only be debuted on her 100th birthday. And with any luck, we will be able to hear it with her!
Murder, He Wrote: Love Me Fierce in Danger: The Life of James Ellroy By Steven Powell
One of the great living writers, whose own tragic family story fueled many of his books…fueled a whole genre of modern crime novels…he is finally getting a biography! Today is James Ellroy’s 75th birthday……
My friend Cary Baker has made the life change from PR guru to journalist/writer and this article he co-wrote, published last week, about Sly Stone co-conspirator Cynthia Robinson is an excellent read…
A Climate of Fear: free speech skeptics abandon Salman Rushdie
Super interesting weekend read and contemplation around free speech and how two moments in Salman Rushdie’s career frames where we are as a thinking community around standing up for the true power of words and wordsmiths. The headline: we need to step it up.
Robert Russell’s paintings illuminate the dark history of the slave laborers of Dachau
Robert Russell once again uses his paintings to show a beauty with a dark, dark (DARK) undercurrent and story. The power of art on display NOW.
Voices From The Other World
By: James Merrill
Presently at our touch the teacup stirred,
Then circled lazily about
From A to Z. The first voice heard
(If they are voices, these mute spellers-out)
Was that of an engineer
Originally from Cologne.
Dead in his 22nd year
Of cholera in Cairo, he had KNOWN
NO HAPPINESS. He once met Goethe, though.
Goethe had told him: PERSEVERE.
Our blind hound whined. With that, a horde
Of voices gathered above the Ouija board,
Some childish and, you might say, blurred
By sleep; one little boy
Named Will, reluctant possibly in a ruff
Like a large-lidded page out of El Greco, pulled
Back the arras for that next voice,
Cold and portentous: ALL IS LOST.
FLEE THIS HOUSE. OTTO VON THURN UND TAXIS.
OBEY. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.
Frightened, we stopped; but tossed
Till sunrise striped the rumpled sheets with gold.
Each night since then, the moon waxes,
Small insects flit round a cold torch
We light, that sends them pattering to the porch . . .
But no real Sign. New voices come,
Dictate addresses, begging us to write;
Some warn of lives misspent, and all of doom
In way’s that so exhilarate
We are sleeping sound of late.
Last night the teacup shattered in a rage.
Indeed, we have grown nonchalant
Towards the other world. In the gloom here,
our elbows on the cleared
Table, we talk and smoke, pleased to be stirred
Rather by buzzings in the jasmine, by the drone
Of our own voices and poor blind Rover’s wheeze,
Than by those clamoring overhead,
Obsessed or piteous, for a commitment
We still have wit to postpone
Because, once looked at lit
By the cold reflections of the dead
Risen extinct but irresistible,
Our lives have never seemed more full, more real,
Nor the full moon more quick to chill.
First rate!!