Taken from the news service:
One of jazz music's most prolific voices over the past half century, has gone silent.
Singer-songwriter Abbey Lincoln died Saturday, Aug. 14. She was 80.
While not as well-known as her contemporaries, such as Nancy Wilson and the late Nina Simone, Lincoln was revered by jazz purists and music aficionados keyed into her phrasing, emotion and signature style.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Independence Day 2010
Beautiful weather in New York town, temperature hitting the low 90's and humidity nil, skies clear and blue. What a day. Tennis is over and a minor clean up is taking place from our party last night. Time to reflect on what a great place this country is....
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Winter: The Weather not the guitarist
THE JAZZ BUS: Remembering Winter
What a winter! Thinking back to this past October, I remembered watching a local television weather person quoting from Poor Richard’s Almanac with a prediction of a very cold, snowy, few months ahead. What we on Long Island would call winter weather. Whenever weather is predicted, especially a long range forecast, I am skeptical to say the least. A weatherman only needs to be right occasionally. A fifty -fifty shot each day. Hey, I can do that and when wrong he/ she returns the next day with no penalty, no foul. But looking back to October, I guess he was correct. Next year I’ll buy an early edition of the almanac, and make my plans to be out of town if weather like this is predicted again.
Three snow storms. Blizzard style snow falls, with whipping winds and plenty of white stuff. After the first I said “nice”, now hopefully we are done for the winter. But then the second one arrived. A huge dig out. Okay, enough, I had hoped. But, no, a third. “Are you kidding me?!” Most municipalities claimed their “snow” budgets were maxed out by the end of the second storm. Schools were closed and snow days used. Roads were difficult to drive on and parking non-existent. Snow plowers and local chiropractors must have loved it.
Following all that was the rainstorm of March 13, 2010 with the merry month of May type weather on March 19th. My body was confused. Snow, rain, warmth, what next? I should not have asked. More rain, sort of like penance. A record rainfall of over 12 inches in one month. It was not even time for those April showers and yet it was soggy. Please, no more, I begged. But then the high wind gusts and rain storms from mid to end of March. My roof is blown off, siding missing and water rising in the basement faster than two sump pumps could get it out. Mementoes destroyed. Huge Tupperware style boxes somehow toppled over and filled with the rising water. Carefully stored books, records, cds, soaked, and one of my prized drums filled with water like an aquarium. The heating unit and water heater’s pilot lights were drowned out. The water table would need to subside and both units need to dry out before a relighting could take place. This would take days. At least the house was somewhat warm.
I remember snow days as a kid, anticipating the early morning radio announcement that school would be closed. Waiting patiently while the announcer read from an exhausting alphabetical listing of schools. Then, the ultimate joy. Yes, school was closed. Outside we would go, as soon as practical, building snow men, shoveling the walks, and heading through the neighborhood to help dig people out. Snow was fun, rain, not so much. But this winter we had the most snow on Long Island since 1947/48. Rainfall had to be a record also. Not fun anymore. More work than fun. But now, it is June and easy to forget the unforgettable winter of 2009-2010.
jazzbus@gmail.com
What a winter! Thinking back to this past October, I remembered watching a local television weather person quoting from Poor Richard’s Almanac with a prediction of a very cold, snowy, few months ahead. What we on Long Island would call winter weather. Whenever weather is predicted, especially a long range forecast, I am skeptical to say the least. A weatherman only needs to be right occasionally. A fifty -fifty shot each day. Hey, I can do that and when wrong he/ she returns the next day with no penalty, no foul. But looking back to October, I guess he was correct. Next year I’ll buy an early edition of the almanac, and make my plans to be out of town if weather like this is predicted again.
Three snow storms. Blizzard style snow falls, with whipping winds and plenty of white stuff. After the first I said “nice”, now hopefully we are done for the winter. But then the second one arrived. A huge dig out. Okay, enough, I had hoped. But, no, a third. “Are you kidding me?!” Most municipalities claimed their “snow” budgets were maxed out by the end of the second storm. Schools were closed and snow days used. Roads were difficult to drive on and parking non-existent. Snow plowers and local chiropractors must have loved it.
Following all that was the rainstorm of March 13, 2010 with the merry month of May type weather on March 19th. My body was confused. Snow, rain, warmth, what next? I should not have asked. More rain, sort of like penance. A record rainfall of over 12 inches in one month. It was not even time for those April showers and yet it was soggy. Please, no more, I begged. But then the high wind gusts and rain storms from mid to end of March. My roof is blown off, siding missing and water rising in the basement faster than two sump pumps could get it out. Mementoes destroyed. Huge Tupperware style boxes somehow toppled over and filled with the rising water. Carefully stored books, records, cds, soaked, and one of my prized drums filled with water like an aquarium. The heating unit and water heater’s pilot lights were drowned out. The water table would need to subside and both units need to dry out before a relighting could take place. This would take days. At least the house was somewhat warm.
I remember snow days as a kid, anticipating the early morning radio announcement that school would be closed. Waiting patiently while the announcer read from an exhausting alphabetical listing of schools. Then, the ultimate joy. Yes, school was closed. Outside we would go, as soon as practical, building snow men, shoveling the walks, and heading through the neighborhood to help dig people out. Snow was fun, rain, not so much. But this winter we had the most snow on Long Island since 1947/48. Rainfall had to be a record also. Not fun anymore. More work than fun. But now, it is June and easy to forget the unforgettable winter of 2009-2010.
jazzbus@gmail.com
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Reading and Listening
Funny how a blog written back in April will find me in June still listening to a Moby Grape collection. My condition is usually labeled Musical Attention Deficit Disorder, or MADD, a few seconds of sound and if it doesn't grab me, next track, next cd, next artist.Even friends will affectionately refer to me as "the musical snob", not for my ability to play music but rather for my tastes in music.
So had did a Moby Grape collection stay on my cd player for so long? Easy. A recent flood in my basement caused me to perform many manual duties in the dark dingy space. Clean up took two weeks,then repairs, then paint, the walls, ceiling, floors, trim. One portable cd player plugged in, and five Moby Grape albums. Plenty of time. I know all the tunes by heart. I did expand my taste this week by adding Love, the Arthur Lee fronted band of the Sixties, then threw in The Dead, and a smoking 3 cd collection from The Allman Brothers Beacon run of 2003.I didn't tempt fate by bringing down any jazz records, knowing the bride might beg me to put the radio on, and a sloppy painter am I, I didn't want to spoil one Coltrane cd jacket.
Spare time reading has been SuperFreak Economics, which I will eventually finish, and of course continuing on with the Vince Flynn series.
So had did a Moby Grape collection stay on my cd player for so long? Easy. A recent flood in my basement caused me to perform many manual duties in the dark dingy space. Clean up took two weeks,then repairs, then paint, the walls, ceiling, floors, trim. One portable cd player plugged in, and five Moby Grape albums. Plenty of time. I know all the tunes by heart. I did expand my taste this week by adding Love, the Arthur Lee fronted band of the Sixties, then threw in The Dead, and a smoking 3 cd collection from The Allman Brothers Beacon run of 2003.I didn't tempt fate by bringing down any jazz records, knowing the bride might beg me to put the radio on, and a sloppy painter am I, I didn't want to spoil one Coltrane cd jacket.
Spare time reading has been SuperFreak Economics, which I will eventually finish, and of course continuing on with the Vince Flynn series.
Hockey Soccer Basketball Baseball Golf, etc...
This time of year my television is on every night, usually, oh well, always tuned into a major sporting event. The Black Hawks have regained Lord Stanley's Cup,after a long draught, defeating the despised Broad Street Bullies of old, Philadelphia Flyers. The Hawks, clearly the better team had to fight until the last seconds against a scrappy, somewhat questionable, group of guys who fought their way up the playoff ladder to game seven.
The U.S.A. soccer team played England to a one one draw on a shaky performance of the British goalkeeper. In the blink of an eye a routine stop slithers away and ties the score. While I am keeping an eye on the box scores of this the most watched sporting event in the world, I am only rooting for our home team, and that incessant noise has got to go.
Mets, Yankees, almost perfect/imperfect games, grand slams, Strasberg, give it to me. The MLB channels are on constantly, with me wearing out the batteries on the remote by moving from one event to the next, and next, and next.
Tiger, Phil,The US OPEN. Need I say more. The press harps too much on their family lives. Cut it out already. Let's just play golf. Man versus the little white ball.While I hope Tiger makes a run at the title, and Phil is his partner on Sunday,deep down I say the trophy should go to someone else, a rising star who has no known baggage the announcers can drone on for hours at a time. Just golf this week boys.
Game seven in L.A., Lakers versus the Boston Celtics. Pretty cool. Even to those who do not like N.B.A. Basketball, this event has to draw you in. Doc Rivers, Phil Jackson, Rondo, Kobe, whew, I am tired and a bit hoarse through game six coaching both teams from my comfy chair.
So honey, I'll paint the fence next week, ah but wait, isn't it N.F.L.training camp? Maybe the next week for that fence.
The U.S.A. soccer team played England to a one one draw on a shaky performance of the British goalkeeper. In the blink of an eye a routine stop slithers away and ties the score. While I am keeping an eye on the box scores of this the most watched sporting event in the world, I am only rooting for our home team, and that incessant noise has got to go.
Mets, Yankees, almost perfect/imperfect games, grand slams, Strasberg, give it to me. The MLB channels are on constantly, with me wearing out the batteries on the remote by moving from one event to the next, and next, and next.
Tiger, Phil,The US OPEN. Need I say more. The press harps too much on their family lives. Cut it out already. Let's just play golf. Man versus the little white ball.While I hope Tiger makes a run at the title, and Phil is his partner on Sunday,deep down I say the trophy should go to someone else, a rising star who has no known baggage the announcers can drone on for hours at a time. Just golf this week boys.
Game seven in L.A., Lakers versus the Boston Celtics. Pretty cool. Even to those who do not like N.B.A. Basketball, this event has to draw you in. Doc Rivers, Phil Jackson, Rondo, Kobe, whew, I am tired and a bit hoarse through game six coaching both teams from my comfy chair.
So honey, I'll paint the fence next week, ah but wait, isn't it N.F.L.training camp? Maybe the next week for that fence.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
New Music Week of April 20
I have been listening to a live Moby Grape collection which shows the instrumental power of the band, while the vocals could have been mixed clearer. Always loved that band though.
Jimi Hendrix-Valleys of Neptune, a nice collection, good mix, and The Experience, while Buddy Miles was mainstay, almost house band at most Madison Square Garden shows in the Late 60's/ early 70's with his EXPRESS, I always perferred Mitch on the kit.
Jeff Beck-Emotion and Commotion The world's best living guitarist has his best selling collection straight out the box since his career began. Took awhile for the world to catch on.
The Beatles- Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Deluxe Edition) This is only 4 tracks but each taken apart into 4 tracks just as the boys heard it out of the cones.Interesting, especially when listening to the lead guitar track without all the horns, strings, backgroung sounds.The studio was George Martin, the 5th Beatle.
Found a 3 cd collection of The Doors in a Case Logic, it is in the player now.
Miles Davis LIVE at Fillmore up next.
Jimi Hendrix-Valleys of Neptune, a nice collection, good mix, and The Experience, while Buddy Miles was mainstay, almost house band at most Madison Square Garden shows in the Late 60's/ early 70's with his EXPRESS, I always perferred Mitch on the kit.
Jeff Beck-Emotion and Commotion The world's best living guitarist has his best selling collection straight out the box since his career began. Took awhile for the world to catch on.
The Beatles- Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Deluxe Edition) This is only 4 tracks but each taken apart into 4 tracks just as the boys heard it out of the cones.Interesting, especially when listening to the lead guitar track without all the horns, strings, backgroung sounds.The studio was George Martin, the 5th Beatle.
Found a 3 cd collection of The Doors in a Case Logic, it is in the player now.
Miles Davis LIVE at Fillmore up next.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Radio, Radio...
The Jazz Bus: New York Radio - No Jazz, No Country, Just….
The Jazz Bus just returned from a three week tour, traveling south throughout the eastern seaboard, mostly along I-95 and then inland. During that time, not having satellite radio in this year’s model, we were forced to listening to cds, our own singing, or the local radio. New York, while a great metropolis, has many, many radio stations. One would think that with so many stations on both the a.m. and F.M. dials that there would be many different formats available to the listener. Sadly, most New York radio stations play the same thing. For people my age it is Pink Floyd every fifteen minutes whether you need it or not, followed by Led Zeppelin. The only other viable alternative seems to be talk radio, which is no prize either.
This trip The Bus pulls out of Long Island heading to The Jersey Turnpike while listening to THE FAN, sports radio. It is amazing at 3 a.m. on this cold March Saturday morning. Most of the callers sounded a bit tired, with raised, slurred voices shouting words of admonishments for the previous caller’s ignorance, and using phrases like “being a human being, I…”.It is hilarious listening to these “experts” at that time in the early morning while driving away from New York. Almost truly comical, but actual sad when you consider this my form of entertainment.
With the signal fading out about Exit Two on the Jersey Turnpike, just before the Delaware Bridge, the need to find a new station starts me on an interesting journey through the dial. We find a jazz station or two on the left of that dial and a few country music stations throughout the remaining airwaves to the right. Hitting the expected traffic jam on the Wilson Bridge in Washington D.C. on a beautiful morning with a view that is breathtaking, we find a few more jazz stations. One in particular is playing Mingus, Ellington, and then Monk. Over the bridge into Virginia we go, as the jazz station faded away with the sounds of ALABAMA by John Coltrane. A few more spins of the dial left the jazz station behind and unveiled more country stations then you could shake a stick out of.
Interesting, this country music thing. With no country station to speak of in the greater New York area we gave it a shot. The next experiment began: Three weeks on the road, south of The Mason- Dixon Line and we would listen to nothing but country music. Now, not being a native southerner and not accustomed to “their” lingo, it took me all of the three weeks to finally get it. Today, as a newly well versed country boy, I am comfortable talking about a “Copenhagen ring on the pocket of my jeans”, and feel good about wearing my boots to church. I now know what a 30 yard six is, and am considering getting me one of those F-150’s complete with a gun rack to sport around in. All these significant items will help you make friends when you travel throughout the south. Sitting on the porch swing while drinking mama’s homemade sweet tea is a major event, better than therapy. And traveling through the back roads to the party, but that usually gets broken up when the “blue lights” arrive. Everybody there plays a “geetar”, while looking out for the gators at the fishing hole, AKA ” redneck yacht club”.
“Hey y’all” is usually a general greeting while south of the Mason-Dixon line but when said from a stage to a crowd that is proudly raising their PBR longnecks, the response back is nearly deafening. And you don’t have to be a southerner to offer it. It’s not like a secret society with their own signature greeting. Everybody will say it. Then ask the natives where you can catch some catfish or largemouth bass but be prepared for a story about “ one time that Billy Bob was hooking the big one, but it got away. Funny how most men introduce themselves with two first names or initials. Hey Y’all, I’m JP, pleased to meet ya. Southern hospitality, ain’t nothing like it.
Country music will teach you things like, “ Grandpa is always right” and you probably should have listened to him. Music is music, whatever that means. Listening to Brooks and Dunn, a band which is ending their twenty year partnership, I heard the Rolling Stones circa Exile On Main Street. But from “B and D”, dynamic duo, I learned it’s always” Beer Thirty, Honky Tonk time”, and “Life’s too short, the party’s a starting, so get to kicking, and get in line”. I now know that” Paycheck Fridays” are not traditional calendar days but are celebrated more like a national holiday, “I gave the man my 40, it’s 5 p.m. and I need a little twang”. And the juke box is always filled with Hank.
Country music in New York City and vicinity seems to be an underground thing. There are a few scattered clubs in the area and in the neighboring town of Lindenhurst regular dances with live music are sponsored monthly by the Long Island Country Music Society. Truthfully, I have been listening to country music for many years. My dad was a Johnny Cash- Buck Owens fan so we had a few country albums in the record rack. He loved to watch Johnny Cash’s television show and listening to Patsy Cline. I remember when I worked nights the boss would put on radio station WHN 1050, the only country music station during the early and mid 1970’s. “Gessie With a G”, the female announcer nightly played songs by David Allan Coe ,Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and George Jones.
So I ask. With so many stations available on the dial, why do the playlists consist of the same thing. I gotta get me that satellite radio. I already miss “the twang”.
Note: Hank Williams is being posthumously awarded a special citation from the Pulitzer Prize Board for his "craftsmanship as a songwriter" and his "pivotal role in transforming country music into a major musical and cultural force." Williams died in 1953 at age 29. His songs have been recorded by hundreds of artists in a variety of genres.
jazzbus@gmail.com
The Jazz Bus just returned from a three week tour, traveling south throughout the eastern seaboard, mostly along I-95 and then inland. During that time, not having satellite radio in this year’s model, we were forced to listening to cds, our own singing, or the local radio. New York, while a great metropolis, has many, many radio stations. One would think that with so many stations on both the a.m. and F.M. dials that there would be many different formats available to the listener. Sadly, most New York radio stations play the same thing. For people my age it is Pink Floyd every fifteen minutes whether you need it or not, followed by Led Zeppelin. The only other viable alternative seems to be talk radio, which is no prize either.
This trip The Bus pulls out of Long Island heading to The Jersey Turnpike while listening to THE FAN, sports radio. It is amazing at 3 a.m. on this cold March Saturday morning. Most of the callers sounded a bit tired, with raised, slurred voices shouting words of admonishments for the previous caller’s ignorance, and using phrases like “being a human being, I…”.It is hilarious listening to these “experts” at that time in the early morning while driving away from New York. Almost truly comical, but actual sad when you consider this my form of entertainment.
With the signal fading out about Exit Two on the Jersey Turnpike, just before the Delaware Bridge, the need to find a new station starts me on an interesting journey through the dial. We find a jazz station or two on the left of that dial and a few country music stations throughout the remaining airwaves to the right. Hitting the expected traffic jam on the Wilson Bridge in Washington D.C. on a beautiful morning with a view that is breathtaking, we find a few more jazz stations. One in particular is playing Mingus, Ellington, and then Monk. Over the bridge into Virginia we go, as the jazz station faded away with the sounds of ALABAMA by John Coltrane. A few more spins of the dial left the jazz station behind and unveiled more country stations then you could shake a stick out of.
Interesting, this country music thing. With no country station to speak of in the greater New York area we gave it a shot. The next experiment began: Three weeks on the road, south of The Mason- Dixon Line and we would listen to nothing but country music. Now, not being a native southerner and not accustomed to “their” lingo, it took me all of the three weeks to finally get it. Today, as a newly well versed country boy, I am comfortable talking about a “Copenhagen ring on the pocket of my jeans”, and feel good about wearing my boots to church. I now know what a 30 yard six is, and am considering getting me one of those F-150’s complete with a gun rack to sport around in. All these significant items will help you make friends when you travel throughout the south. Sitting on the porch swing while drinking mama’s homemade sweet tea is a major event, better than therapy. And traveling through the back roads to the party, but that usually gets broken up when the “blue lights” arrive. Everybody there plays a “geetar”, while looking out for the gators at the fishing hole, AKA ” redneck yacht club”.
“Hey y’all” is usually a general greeting while south of the Mason-Dixon line but when said from a stage to a crowd that is proudly raising their PBR longnecks, the response back is nearly deafening. And you don’t have to be a southerner to offer it. It’s not like a secret society with their own signature greeting. Everybody will say it. Then ask the natives where you can catch some catfish or largemouth bass but be prepared for a story about “ one time that Billy Bob was hooking the big one, but it got away. Funny how most men introduce themselves with two first names or initials. Hey Y’all, I’m JP, pleased to meet ya. Southern hospitality, ain’t nothing like it.
Country music will teach you things like, “ Grandpa is always right” and you probably should have listened to him. Music is music, whatever that means. Listening to Brooks and Dunn, a band which is ending their twenty year partnership, I heard the Rolling Stones circa Exile On Main Street. But from “B and D”, dynamic duo, I learned it’s always” Beer Thirty, Honky Tonk time”, and “Life’s too short, the party’s a starting, so get to kicking, and get in line”. I now know that” Paycheck Fridays” are not traditional calendar days but are celebrated more like a national holiday, “I gave the man my 40, it’s 5 p.m. and I need a little twang”. And the juke box is always filled with Hank.
Country music in New York City and vicinity seems to be an underground thing. There are a few scattered clubs in the area and in the neighboring town of Lindenhurst regular dances with live music are sponsored monthly by the Long Island Country Music Society. Truthfully, I have been listening to country music for many years. My dad was a Johnny Cash- Buck Owens fan so we had a few country albums in the record rack. He loved to watch Johnny Cash’s television show and listening to Patsy Cline. I remember when I worked nights the boss would put on radio station WHN 1050, the only country music station during the early and mid 1970’s. “Gessie With a G”, the female announcer nightly played songs by David Allan Coe ,Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and George Jones.
So I ask. With so many stations available on the dial, why do the playlists consist of the same thing. I gotta get me that satellite radio. I already miss “the twang”.
Note: Hank Williams is being posthumously awarded a special citation from the Pulitzer Prize Board for his "craftsmanship as a songwriter" and his "pivotal role in transforming country music into a major musical and cultural force." Williams died in 1953 at age 29. His songs have been recorded by hundreds of artists in a variety of genres.
jazzbus@gmail.com
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