Suggested Listening

I bought Alex Ross’s The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century this Christmas, and spent the last month collecting the “Suggested Listening” listed in the back of the book. The recordings are a revelation, but instead of waxing ecstatically about his choices, I thought I’d perform an homage and try to make my own.

Ross isn’t promoting a list of essential recordings or desert island discs, and beyond their inclusion in his book, the choices do not seem to establish a unified musical aesthetic (except that they’re classical, and mostly notational). And yet grouping them together under one roof creates an inspiring and magical context for listening to diverse styles of classical music in a thoroughly enjoyable way. Even when the music is difficult, the context isn’t about innovation, progress or the future of “serious” music: it’s about enjoyment, beauty and pleasure.

With that in mind, I made a list of 15 jazz records that contextualize what I love about contemporary jazz. I will define contemporary jazz as jazz performed in a style that postdates what I understand to be the "common knowledge" or standard jazz canon. I do not intend this to dismiss or replace that jazz canon, but I can add that I like these recordings just as much as those (mostly) modernist jazz classics. This is not “The Best Jazz Records 1969-2001,” or most influential, or most innovative. It is just a very personal “Suggested Listening,” full of omissions, and as such is merely a starting point for anyone interested. One list among many, I hope.

In alphabetical order followed by release dates:

1. James Carter, Chasin’ the Gypsy (2000)
2. Ornette Coleman, Dancing in Your Head (1977)
3. Miles Davis, Filles De Kilimanjaro (1969)
4. Dave Douglas, Parallel Worlds (1993)
5. Bill Evans, The Paris Concert, Edition One (1983)
6. Andrew Hill, Nefertiti (1976)
7. Keith Jarrett, Belonging (1974)
8. John Lewis, Evolution (1999)
9. Nils Petter Molvaer, Solid Ether (2001)
10. David Murray, Morning Song (1984)
11. Art Pepper, Winter Moon (1980)
12. Don Pullen, Healing Force (1975)
13. Sonny Rollins, This Is What I Do (2000)
14. James Blood Ulmer, Odyssey (1983)
15. David S. Ware, Earthquation (1994)

"It's after six. What am I, a farmer?"

I fell in love with 30 Rock at the end of season 1, so now I'm finally catching up with the first season on DVD. By the fifth or sixth episode, the actors find their rhythm with each other and it's pure genius. Think wit and absurdity like Arrested Development ("I'm having a love affair with this ice cream sandwich...") but less mean. I can't encapsulate it for you fine people in a sentence, but for those who watch it, laugh with me: Jack is writing a speech for his mentor at a dinner and continues to badger Liz Lemon for an opening one-liner (like: "Well, it’s almost Thanksgiving, everybody, and I know what this crowd’s giving thanks for: estate tax reform!" You have to hear the delivery; it's a work of genius). He offhandedly informs Liz that the dinner isn't for several months, and Liz asks, "then why are you wearing a tux?" And he deadpans: "It's after six! What am I, a farmer?" I could kiss this man. 30 Rock 4 Ever.

Quite Possibly the Most Beautiful Thing Ever Said

After coining the hilarious phrase, "you cannot out-engineer crazy" in the latest issue of Rolling Stone magazine (Nov. 15, 2007, p. 124), Jon Stewart says quite possibly the most beautiful thing ever. When asked if he's still an optimist after coining the above phrase, Stewart responds:

"The reason I don't worry about society is, nineteen people knocked down two buildings and killed thousands. Hundreds of people ran into those buildings to save them. I'll take those odds every fucking day."

Pullen at Destination: Out

Check out this beautiful appreciation of Don Pullen at Destination: Out, posted on August 2. All I can add is an emphatic, "Yes!" These are many of the same basic points of my thesis. Props to writers and proprietors Chilly Jay Chill and Prof. Drew LeDrew (not joking). Note: read the comments.

Don Pullen Mixtape

Wes asked me for a mixtape covering some of the material I plan to discuss in my thesis. I gave it a shot, but got this instead. There’s plenty of Don Pullen, but fewer promised ‘80s jazz favorites. Maybe next time. Here’s my playlist and note to Wes:

‘80s Jazz? Well, almost. Perhaps “Don Pullen + Context” is better. Or “Pastiche, Vamps & Atmosphere.” Either way, it’s good. Dig in and enjoy.

1. Don Pullen, “Once Upon a Time” (New Beginnings, 1989)
2. Jan Garbarek & Bobo Stenson Quartet, “A.I.R.” (Witchi-Tai-To, 1973)
3. Don Pullen, “Healing Force” (Healing Force, 1975)
4. Jaki Byard, “Nocturne for Contrabass” (Freedom Together!, 1966)
5. Matthew Shipp, “Galaxy 105” (Harmony and Abyss, 2004)
6. James Blood Ulmer, “Love Dance” (Odyssey, 1983)
7. Don Pullen & George Adams Quartet, “Just Foolin’ Around” (Breakthrough, 1986)
8. Hank Crawford & Jimmy McGriff, “One Mint Julep” (The Best of Hank Crawford & Jimmy McGriff, 1986)
9. David Murray, “Milano Strut” (Shakill’s Warrior, 1991)
10. Sonny Sharrock, “Broken Toys” (Guitar, 1986)
11. Craig Taborn, “The Golden Age” (Junk Magic, 2004)

Notes: Gary Peacock (Ayler, Jarrett) and Tony Williams (Miles, his own bad self) accompany Pullen on “Once Upon a Time.” Pullen and Adams’s quartet (here playing “Just Foolin’ Around”) includes Dannie Richmond, who played consistently with Charles Mingus from the late fifties to Mingus’s death in 1979, then with Pullen and Adams until Richmond’s death in 1988. Pullen wrote “Milano Strut,” and plays organ with David Murray on this session from 1991; Andrew Cyrille (Cecil Taylor) is on drums. “Healing Force” is performed unaccompanied, and is the title track from one of Pullen’s own favorite recordings (and mine). Oh, and that’s George Benson on Crawford and McGriff’s “One Mint Julep.” Weird.

Close to the Edge

As a white American male aged 30, I have a certain closeted affinity for the band Yes. Waiting for my wife to get home from work this Friday night, I opened a beer and threw on "Close to the Edge" for the umpteenth time, marveling at the minor thrill I get when musicians strive to make music sound more complicated than it ever needs to be. This thrill comes at a cost, of course: just like every other time I listen to "Close to the Edge," I completely zoned out after about 9 minutes—at the beginning of "I Get Up I Get Down," I think.

In his capsule review for Tales from Topographic Oceans, Christgau writes, "the whole is definitely less than the sum of its parts, and some of the parts are pretty negligible." He could just as well be reviewing "Close to the Edge," and yet I get a very strong and particular thrill from this song and album that I don't get from, say, something by Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Skeptics damn their virtuosity, but virtuosity doesn't tarnish The Inner Mounting Flame or Countdown to Ecstasy, and it doesn't usually tarnish Yes. And if their pomposity lacks taste or cool, at least its good-natured. So I love the thrill I get from Yes, even if it only lasts for half of a (20-minute) song (or less), and subjects me to some god-awful lyrics.

Speaking of god-awful, I urge fans to read the behind-the-scenes comments about Yes over at Wikipedia. Under the sub-heading "Incredibly Pretentious and Awful," fans discuss how to handle Yes's wealth of negative criticism. Fans dismiss the need for it, but bigger fans should want to include it. If you love them, a little bad press (and historical truth) can't hurt you, and more discussion is always far better than less. Yes is one of those great bands that made some terrible music. It's okay to embrace the truth.

Junot Díaz

I'm not a big fiction reader: I love stories and language, but I rarely know who and what to read. I spend most of my time reading up on music and film, which consumes my life, so I just haven't found the time to truly uncover the novel. But now that my sister-in-law works for a literary agency in the publishing industry, I think I should take a better swing at it. I do cherish what few contemporary writers I have investigated, like Walter Mosley, but I also find clunkers that just aren't for me. Perhaps when I find my Christgau of the literary world, I'll have a better ratio of success.

Thankfully, I may have found another writer to dive in to. In Sunday's Star-Ledger, Mosley is quoted naming Junot Díaz's Drown "a masterpiece," which piqued my interest. Then I open the latest New York Magazine, and there Díaz is again, promoting The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, his follow-up to the acclaimed Drown. If I was merely interested before, now I can't wait to devour his work, if only because of this sublime observation on the difficulty and subsequent rewards of the writing process:

"When I talk to people I'm such a dumbass. . . . [But] when I enter that higher-order space that's required to write, I'm a better human. For whatever my writing is, wherever it's ranked, it definitely is the one place that I get to be beautiful."

As you all know, when someone can be profound and find room for the word "dumbass" in the same statement, I'm in. Like anyone who loves words and sentences yet struggles to write them clearly, I know the allure of this beautiful place. Deep.