Jazz musicians don’t always have stellar reputations as parents and spouses. It’s not wickedness or selfishness, but the devotion to the instrument and the music.

Billy Butterfield is a shining exception, a genuine family man and a devoted husband. He and the fine singer Dorothy “Dottie” Smith married in 1952 and enjoyed 36 years together. Here’s an example of their working relationship, revealing stylish art rather than nepotism:

It pleases me to offer that long-playing record (beautifully recorded jazz-enhanced dance music with an all-star cast) as nostalgic evidence of a time when pop / jazz / easy listening / dance music could not only co-exist but flourish. I was alive in 1958, and I can imagine a few suburban couples dancing in someone’s living room. Did they know they were listening to Urbie Green or Cliff Leeman? I doubt it. But Dottie, who idolized Ella Fitzgerald, is splendidly unaffected and melodic.

Dottie didn’t have many chances to record with Billy, but here she is in Holland with the Dutch Swing College Jazz Band for BLUE TURNING GREY OVER YOU, which begins at 26:11. And she’s charming:

That second record is very important. Billy didn’t keep his records, but this one he framed and hung on the wall.

When I wrote my original post on Billy and family in 2021, one of my regrets was that there was no filmed record of Billy and Dottie performing. I had to wait another five years for one to surface, but here it is — warm and swinging, from November 28, 1982.

Billy Butterfield, trumpet; Dottie Smith Butterfield Smith, vocal*; Roger Munnell, trombone; Johnny Mince, clarinet, Ed Metz, piano; John Haynes, double bass; Sonny McGown, drums. Elks Hall, Manassas, Virginia; Johnson “Fat Cat” McRee, m.c, vocal.

INTRODUCTION / ROYAL GARDEN BLIES / PRESENTATION (Billy speaks) / ALL OF ME* (Dottie sings, Billy plays) / SUMMERTIME / ALICE BLUE GOWN (Fat Cat sings) / I CAN’T GIV E YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE (Mince, rhythm) / HINDUSTAN //

Sweet marital harmony, a wonderful thing. Bless all the Butterfields and all of you, too.

May your happiness increase!

In Kris Tokarski’s gently erudite introduction to the third song performed in this set, ANGRY, he sketches the documented meeting of Bix Beiderbecke and Jelly Roll Morton at record session on July 17, 1923, where Jelly played piano for the New Orleans Rhythm Kings, records released on Gennett. I am not a playwright, so I won’t imagine the dialogue between the young man from Davenport who had yet to record and the New Orleans composer-pianist with two record dates already completed. But the encounter was witnessed, reliably.

That meeting is the emotional footing for the set of music that follows: songs, mostly by Morton, performed by the Mortonia Seven at the 2025 Bix Beiderbecke Jazz Festival. The musicians are Kris, piano; Hal Smith, drums; Steve Pikal, double bass; Jacob Alspach, banjo; Mike Davis, trumpet; Colin Hancock, trombone; Dave Bennett, clarinet. The effective videography is by JAZZ LIVES’ Chief of Staff, Mark Voitenko.

The songs are KANSAS CITY STOMPS; BUDDY BOLDEN’S BLUES (or I THOUGHT I HEARD BUDDY BOLDEN SAY); ANGRY; THE PERFECT RAG (Kris, Steve, Hal); SOMEDAY SWEETHEART; MY GAL SAL; KING PORTER STOMP (Kris, Mike); WININ’ BOY BLUES; THE CHANT; MILENBERG JOYS (for Ida Shoufler Melrose); FROG-I-MORE RAG. Eleven lively gems, either by Morton or songs he performed:

Hot, sweet, and subtle. The Ancestors are smiling.

May your happiness increase!

Experiences that are truly pleasing don’t require much explanation. The superb young singer Cemre Necefbas gave her M.A. recital at City College; I was there; I was delighted; I will share the results with you.

I first encountered Cemre on YouTube, the library of this world, and I was thrilled. I wrote that here, having heard her in person at Temple Court last September.

When I learned about her M.A. recital, I offered to video-record it, and what follows is that recording, from my seat in the third row, far left. Her songs are UNDER THE SUN* / ON THE STREET WHERE YOU LIVE / EV’RY TIME WE SAY GOOD-BYE / TEA FOR TWO / IT’S YOU I LIKE / FORGET ABOUT IT* / OVERNIGHT* / THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE. (* are Cemre’s own compositions: she’s got talent in that realm as well!)

The instrumentalists are Pavel Widestrand, piano; Daniel Oetz Salcines, double bass; Matthias Meyer, drums; Joan Osca, alto saxophone; Hani’el Mastriani-Levi, tenor saxophone; Gaspard Moglia, trombone.

Here’s a charming hour of mutual celebration:

Keep an eye out for Cemre and her colleagues here, resonant musical adults, who will continue to bring us joy.

May your happiness increase!

One of the most intriguing pianists playing today is perhaps better known away from the keyboard. That’s the splendidly talented Andy Schumm (cornet, clarinet, saxophone, banjo, drums, arrangements, compositions, scholarship, bandleading . . . ).

Here’s Andy in a too-brief solo program at the 2024 Scott Joplin international Ragtime Festival, performing music associated with the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, Bix Beiderbecke, Harold Arlen, the Dorsey Brothers, Earl Hines, and more. I would call it either classical barrelhouse or shirtsleeved Chicago: you can make your own variations. But when Andy says his pianistic hero is Arthur Schutt, you know that he is a fine melding of scholar and hedonist, archeologist and joy-spreader.

His creative playing is lyrical and stomping, as the music and impulses dictate, and completely restorative.

The fine video is the work of JAZZ LIVES’ Chief of Staff, Mark Voitenko, who earns our gratitude.

The songs are CLARINET MARMALADE / OUT OF A CLEAR BLUE SKY / CAUTION BLUES / OUT OF THE DAWN / WAS IT A DREAM? / LITTLE BY LITTLE:

I caught Andy playing something pretty at the piano — musing beautifully — between sets at the 2025 Redwood Coast Music Festival. When he was through, because I didn’t want to intrude and fracture the spell, I asked him the name of the song. He told me it was his favorite one, THE THINGS THAT WERE MADE FOR LOVE.

Here are Andy and his band, the Chicago Cellar Boys, in their 2018 incarnation, playing it — so you can have it to hum to yourselves:

I have been marveling at Andy since I first saw and heard him at Joe Boughton’s Jazz at Chautauqua in 2009, and he continues to impress me as a deeply honest artist — someone who truly knows that music is one of the things that were made for love. A man in love with the music, and such beings are rare and must be cherished. That the MacArthur Foundation doesn’t yet know his home address is only a momentary lapse of ignorant bureaucracy.

May your happiness increase!

People who didn’t know the emotional depth of Vic Dickenson’s playing might have an aural caricature of him: suggestive lower-register growls hinting at naughty thoughts but landing perfectly in the midst of a “Dixieland” ensemble.

Here is a one-minute example with no audio trickery:

The trombone can be effective comically, and Vic, like Tricky Sam Nanton and others, made the most of it when he chose to. Like Dickie Wells, he could speak wordlessly through the horn.

But that was not the whole of Vic. We heard it most often when he was an ensemble player in bands used to a very familiar repertoire: ALL OF ME, KEEPIN’ OUT OF MISCHIEF NOW, SWING THAT MUSIC, SWEET GEORGIA BROWN. I believe that Vic made his living as part of those sextets and septets. He didn’t want to lead his own groups, yet when he was in the spotlight, a different Vic emerged. He played ballads with the passion we are ready to ascribe to Louis, Ben, or Billie, but if we are expecting the comic Vic, we might miss it.

I’ve posted a particularly emotive example — Vic playing YESTERDAYS as if it were an aria — here. I invite you to stop and listen.

Another beautiful expression of passion without words has just emerged: Vic with Jimmy McPartland, cornet; Gene Sedric, clarinet; Marian McPartland, piano; Max Wayne, double bass; Bob Varney, drums: performed on December 23, 1950, at the Savoy Cafe in Boston. It’s DON’T BLAME ME:

Gorgeous. I’d like my Vic-crusade to continue and expand. Play this for someone without telling them who it is, and ask them how it sounds to them (not the usual Blindfold Test of guessing the player). Let this be their entry into the surprising worlds of Mr. Dickenson.

May your happiness increase!

I thought of calling this post KANSAS CITY VISITS THE REDWOOD COAST, or vice versa, for good reason.

IN A MELLOTONE:

This delightful session took place near the end of the 2024 Redwood Coast Music Festival (itself delightful), at the home of exuberance, the Eagle House.

The rewarding creators are Duke Robillard, guitar; Marc Caparone, cornet; Riley Baker, trombone; Jacob Zimmerman, reeds; Carl Sonny Leyland, piano; Samuel Wolfe Rocha, double bass; Josh Collazo, drums; Dawn Lambeth, vocal.

Duke reminds us that the guitar is meant for the blues, with T-Bone Walker’s YOU DON’T LOVE ME:

Dawn sings Walter Donaldson’s swinging moral lecture, LITTLE WHITE LIES:

Who lied to Ivie? Dawn sings about dark loneliness in Ellington’s ROCKS IN MY BED:

We miss Herschel. Playing DOGGIN’ AROUND is one small salve for that wound:

That Blue Note groove is invaluable; here’s Ike Quebec and Tiny Grimes’ BLUE HARLEM:

In honor of Bennie Moten and his noble children, YOU’RE DRIVING ME CRAZY / MOTEN SWING:

Lovely to revisit this rousing scene. But you know that this year’s Redwood Coast Music Festival will be even more expansive and life-affirming, don’t you? Make plans, brothers and sisters!

and

Let Louis be your guide:

May your happiness increase!

Part One of this series took us to Evanston, Illinois. I am amusing myself and I hope pleasing others by presenting brief interludes of memorable music that are barely documented or completely undocumented. They leave no footprints in any discography or bio-discography, but they sound wonderful.

Part Two is a trio, date and place unknown, although I guess somewhere around Chicago in the early to middle Fifties. The song is a lyrical leisurely ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET; the under-celebrated heroes of this art are Frank Chace, clarinet; possibly Jim Baby, heard most often on cornet, here on piano; perhaps Walt Gifford on drums. Frank is instantly recognizable (no, that is NOT Pee Wee Russell); the Stacy-ish pianist might have been Pete Hewitt, but someone says “Jim,” approvingly, and it is not Professor James Dapogny. I am guessing Walt Gifford but it could be any of a number of able drummers, professional or not.

The details surrounding this music are so cloudy, a deep exercise in misdirection or perhaps human fallibility, that I will linger over them for a moment here. The tape was originally someone’s prized reel-to-reel, transferred to cassette, labeled with the names of two famous musicians playing, perhaps separately, at George Wein’s Boston “Storyville” club. Neither of them appears on the tape. The tape runs for two and one-half hours; one hour of that is blank. What is audible is a group of semiprofessional musicians who may have played gigs in Boston. But in the middle of all this, no prelude, ON THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET appears. Someone valued it, preserved it, and for that we must be infinitely grateful.

If Frank Chace catches your ear, as I hope he does, he was one of my heroes. We had conversations and correspondence late in his life, and he bequeathed his clarinet to me. Honors beyond honors. I knew him when such photographs were relics of the distant past:

When we spoke, I asked him for a photograph. He sent me his expired bus pass, which should tell you a good deal about his whimsical view of the world:

Enough doily-making, to quote another hero, guitarist-composer-painter John Scurry. Here’s the music, thanks to the Goddess.

Wonderful music, and if you want to brood about WHERE and WHEN and WHO, go ahead, but keep this performance playing. Thank you, Goddess, for this and other blessings.

May your happiness increase!

Since 2008, JAZZ LIVES has chronicled extraordinary musical experiences in prose, sound, and photography.

But that’s only a sliver of the magic found and the magic to come. In a much larger concentric circle around those tangible experiences are marvels to be found: rejected takes in discography, shattered glass discs, sessions reported but not recorded.

I wrote about such semi-mirages does-st-anthony-like-jazz/ not long ago, reminding us that no one expected to hear all eight Jones-Smith,Inc., sides, for a handy example. Here!

In the spirit of joyous musical experience now offered that perhaps two hundred people saw and heard once, here’s some joy-spreading at the highest level, performed at Joe Boughton’s Jazz at Chautauqua, September 12, 1997.

I wasn’t there to see or record this, so the fact that Joe assembled these musicians, gave them space to perform, drummed up a receptive audience, and recorded this: it’s miraculous, and a miracle we can revisit. Thanks are also due Bill Boughton and Sarah Boughton Holt for recognizing the value of their father’s work, and allowing me to share it with you.

Marty Grosz, guitar, vocal, badinage; Jon-Erik Kellso, Puje trumpet; Bobby Gordon, clarinet; Scott Robinson, baritone saxophone, soprano saxophone; Bob Havens, trombone; Keith Ingham, piano; Bob Haggart, double bass; Hal Smith, drums.

Marty reminds the band of STOMPY JONES / ONE, TWO, BUTTON YOUR SHOE / LIBERTY INN DRAG / LITTLE WHITE LIES / CAROLINA IN THE MORNING (Haggart) / IT’S A SIN TO TELL A LIE / SMILES (in two parts) //

I can’t be grim after hearing and seeing this, but I can be pragmatic.

Sometimes, intermittently, it feels as if the audience for this hot-jazz cotillion has diminished. If you find this life-enhancing, won’t you spread the good noises by copying this blogpost and sending it to someone who might be interested? I am not looking for a greater financial reward: I have lost money, happily, on JAZZ LIVES, since its inception.

But I would be thrilled if more people saw this. JAZZ LIVES wants to bring joy to a world that can be too dark for words.

May your happiness increase!

Cue the band.

Now, some enticing visual evidence!

and

and (shirt not included) a ceremonial object to be released on June 6 to celebrate her Verve recordings

There is a good deal of (to be polite) jazz-adjacent merchandise available for less than discerning enthusiasts. A t-shirt that costs six dollars and dyes everything its color in the wash is sold with a blurry photo of Coltrane or a man in a straw hat with a banjo — for forty dollars. Exploited workers, poorly-made product.

Few people have made JAZZ LIVES their first stop for jazz ornamentation, but I present reasons to change that.

The splendid guitarist Dave Kelbie and the delightful double bassist Sebastien Girardot — trustworthy members of the Order of Lyrical Swing — have started their own Etsy enterprise, BACK LINE MERCH, with ten pins now for purchase. Lovely stylish artifacts, designed by Dave. I’ve bought four so far.

Wear your jazz with pride AND support swinging musicians who create wearable art. Visit BACK LINE MERCH.

Next time you see me, I will have this beauty pinned to my shirt or jacket lapel.

May your happiness increase!

I’ve known these Gentle Men of Swing for quite a few years, on record and in person, and since this is the first CD they have created together, it is a pleasure. No, an Event.

If you are someone with little time for formalities, you can skip immediately to Hal Smith Trio | Hal Smith, the Bandcamp site, where you can listen to and purchase the music. I can’t state the price for the digital version here, but it is less than the make-your-own omelette at our local diner: it’s a single-digit figure. You’ll see. Good value for the precious contents!

From the left, Pikal, Tokarski, Smith.

and further announcements and more good news here.

Now you know it all. How about a few tastes from the buffet table?

Don Ewell’s PARLOR SOCIAL and Scott Joplin’s LEOLA TWO-STEP.

I am also charmed by the trio’s reading of Joe Sullivan’s MY LITTLE PRIDE AND JOY and the sweet perennial I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH ME, but I will leave it to intrepid web-explorers to find them here.

“Music speaks louder than words,” we’ve heard in person and from the lips of Charlie Parker, but a few words are permissible. This is a splendidly engaged and intuitive trio. Egalitarian and democratic, with each person getting time and space to deliver his own sermon. Although the music is venerable, the approach respectful, this isn’t a visit to the do-not-touch museum. This CD, with the lovely cover art by “Jennifer Dee,” is also peerless dance music, proven mood-enhancement, and music for people who say they only like one kind of music. I hope it gets heard! Do your part.

The trio didn’t record James P. Johnson’s OLD FASHIONED LOVE this time, but this bright green square (physical or digital) is the happy embodiment of that song’s title.

May your happiness increase!

By popular demand . . . here’s Part Two! This set begins with one of the best versions of I’M GONNA SIT RIGHT DOWN AND WRITE MYSELF A LETTER, and proceeds through SUGAR / JAZZ ME BLUES / DOIN’ THE NEW LOW DOWN / KEEPIN’ OUT OF MISCHIEF NOW / STRUTTIN’ WITH SOME BARBECUE / DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO MISS NEW ORLEANS? / INDIANA / TIN ROOF BLUES / SHIM-ME-SHA WABBLE / A PORTER’S LOVE SONG TO A CHAMBERMAID //

And my post about Part One, which follows.

The music I am privileged to share here is, to me, life-enhancing and far more expansive than any name or categorical box some listeners might want to place it. Given the repertoire, is it “New Orleans jazz,” “trad,” “OKOM,” “Dixieland,” “hot jazz,” “classic jazz,” “swing,” “Condon-style”? I dismiss those non-Homeric epithets with a derisive wave of my hand. The label on the jar is rarely an accurate representation of its contents. All I hear is a wonderful interlude on the path that leads from King Oliver and James P. Johnson right up to the music played by people who know — both the tradition and the joy of innovation — around the world in 2026 and beyond. Sweetness and ingenuity are the hallmarks here, from the quiet of SINGIN’ THE BLUES to the Frolick of STEALIN’ APPLES and the rollicking saunter of JUST A CLOSER WALK WITH THEE. I would single out the tender conversations that make up WABASH BLUES as particularly life-enhancing.

The music never cared what you called it, as long as you came to gigs ready to listen. I call this marvelous — in spur-of-the-moment inventiveness and empathy, in solos that run the gamut from delicate to extrovert.

I would have you pay close attention to the least heralded member of this group, the gracious cornet player John Bucher, who died at 89 in 2020. I didn’t see him often, primarily in 2005 and 2006, at the not-long-for-this-world restaurant The Cajun, and once at a midtown hamburger emporium. (Devoting half my salary to alimony made seeing him at high-priced nightspots as a member of Woody Allen’s group impossible, although you can hear him on the soundtrack to SLEEPER, which I remember well.)

Here is John’s obituary notice, which told me things I hadn’t known. In my two or three encounters with John, I admired his laconic harmonic deftness, his lyrical sweetness. Shades of Bobby and Bix to be sure, but not consciously following their paths. He preferred middle-range conversational melodic embellishment, and his solos were compact, never calling attention to themselves. John was a stockbroker by profession, friendly but almost shy, modest about his own playing but completely gracious. I sensed he was someone often amused by what went on around him, but observing quietly. In this band, the microphone placement didn’t favor him (or perhaps he didn’t want to play at more than discreet volume) and he is surrounded by extroverts of various sizes and shapes, but he deserves the closest listening.

Here’s sixteen bars of John, delicate and definite, out in the open (the rest of this evening can be found on YouTube):

Here’s the first part of a leisurely session:

‘The Somerset Hills Gang”: John Bucher, cornet, leader; Ed Hubble, trombone; Kenny Davern, clarinet; Dill Jones, piano; Marty Grosz, guitar, vocal; Milt Hinton, double bass; Ronnie Bedford, drums. Martinsville Inn, Bridgewater Township, New Jersey, March 11, 1979. ‘WAY DOWN YONDER IN NEW ORLEANS / SINGIN’ THE BLUES / JUST A CLOSER WALK WITH THEE / TISHOMINGO BLUES / STEALIN’ APPLES (Dill) / THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE / EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY / Introducing the players / WABASH BLUES //

I was an observer-listener enthusiast in 1979, and had brief conversations with all of the musicians here except for Hubble and Bedford, and got to hear and see them at close range.

Kenny, Marty, and Milt are the subjects of books. I hope I am not alone in remembering and celebrating John, gracious in person as man and musician. He deserves a substantial place in the pantheon.

May your happiness increase!

In a good year, I am fortunate to hear and see a great and varied banquet of uplifting music. And 2025 was a great year.

This was one of my favorite sets of the year: romping, expert, groovy, and above all, HOT. The fellow in charge: cornet, vocal, head arrangements, repetoire, and fashion: Professor David Kosmyna of Toledo, Ohio.

That’s him, in repose, happily enjoying the sounds. Here he is, at the helm of a stellar band, inspiring and being inspired.

The aptly-titled INCENDIARY SEVEN led by cornetist / singer Dave Kosmyna, singeing the curtains at the Redwood Music Festival on October 5, 2025. They are Kris Tokarski, piano; Katie Cavera, guitar; Sam Rocha, double bass; Benny Amon, drums; Andy Schumm, alto saxophone; Charlie Halloran, trombone; Dennis Lichtman, clarinet.

The songs — what repertoire! — DOWN IN HONKY TONK TOWN / BOUNCING AROUND / ISN’T THERE A LITTLE LOVE? / add Valerie Kirchhoff: YOU GOT EVERYTHING A SWEET PAPA NEEDS BUT ME* / THERE’LL BE NO FREEBIES AT MISS JENNY’S BALL* / MY HEART AT THY SWEET VOICE / PATROL WAGON BLUES / KISS ME SWEET / HE LIKES IT SLOW* / YOU GOTTA GIVE ME SOME* //

And for all of you who think jazz musicians only function in darkness, I point out that this glorious set began at 1:30 in the afternoon, in bright daylight.

I know there’s more where this came from. Mark your dance cards.

Sure enough. We’ll be there. Will you? Visit https://rcmfest.org/tickets-2026/ for crucial (and crucially satisfying) information. But take it from me, a semi-veteran of the RCMF joys. Don’t sleep on this, no pun: the most comfortable hotels get sold out quickly.

May your happiness increase!

I think you will want to get to the music as quickly as possible, if the enthusiastic reaction to the first part is any indication, so I will present the second part with no more preamble. (However, if you want to hear this band play I MAY BE WRONG in ways that make the title hilarious, click the link above.)

Here are three more imperishable performances — the standard repertoire uplifted over the moon by enthusiasm and art: ST. LOUIS BLUES, UNDECIDED, and SUGAR. I call your attention specifically to UNDECIDED, a fugue for two trombones. Lou and Vic appeared as parts of “The Big Eighteen” in 1958 and the World’s Greatest Jazz Band in 1970, but there is no official recording that finds them together in this fashion. I put it at the same level as a previously unknown Emily Dickinson (no pun) poem. Listen and marvel:

These musicians are my heroes, and I miss them terribly. That we have them back with us for four songs seems magic. I hope you agree. And thanks to David Leonnig for making this offering possible!

And by the way, good things sometimes do last in this mutable world: the sixtieth West Texas Jazz Party is happening next month in Odessa, Texas, from June 4-6. All hail! Better yet, all get tickets and go . . .

May your happiness increase!

Everyone has their own idea of “a perfect band.” When I was bored at work, trying to stay awake at department meetings, I would make lists of such bands that never existed: now, 1970, 1940, and so on. I hope I simply looked as if I was taking notes on what was said, which was far from the case.

But when a perfect band has the good fortune to be recorded, we must rejoice. And, please, don’t write in to say how this band a) is not your idea of perfect, or b) how it would be perfect if only X was replaced by Y. I will come to your house and point out the imperfections therein. Beware!

The exquisite melodists here are Teddy Wilson, piano; Buck Clayton, trumpet; Lou McGarity, trombone; Vic Dickenson, trombone; Jack Lesberg, double bass; Cliff Leeman, drums. They all went ‘way back: Teddy and Vic knew each other from Midwestern bands (I think Speed Webb); Jack and Cliff played with everyone from the early Thirties on; Lou and Vic were the trombone section of the World’s Greatest Jazz Band; Teddy and Buck may have met in the Brunswick studios in 1937. And so on: draw your own flow chart or Venn diagram.

But aside from one missed harmony note at the start, they were professionals and more: the Heifitz, Szigeti, and Casals of graceful swing:

There will be more.

And by the way, good things sometimes do last in this mutable world: the sixtieth West Texas Jazz Party is happening next month in Odessa, Texas, from June 4-6. All hail! Better yet, all get tickets and go . . .

This post is possible because of the gracious kindness of David Leonnig, who feels about the music the way I do.

My title is serious: this group of subtle wise improvisers know and knew that song and melody were always at the heart of the music, that there was more to any composition than a set of extended harmonies. In slightly over half an hour, they teach deep lessons by example. They are Harry Allen, tenor saxophone; Ken Peplowski, clarinet and tenor saxophone; Joe Wilder, trumpet, flugelhorn; Dave McKenna, piano; Michael Moore, double bass; John Von Ohlen, drums.

All of these life-lessons took place at Jazz at Chautauqua, Friday evening, September 15, 2000.

The songs, all enlivened by loving energy, are I WOULD DO MOST ANYTHING FOR YOU, I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING BUT LOVE, IT’S EASY TO REMEMBER, and THE WAY YOU LOOK TONIGHT, the last a Sonata for Two Saxophones.

Thanks as always to the Onlie Begetter, Joe Boughton, who not only envisioned such festivals of melodic improvisation but made them happen and then had them preserved for us. Additional gratitudes are due Bill Boughton and Sarah Boughton Holt, who allow me to share these performances with you.

And here they are.

A mere quarter-century ago. The video is occasionally less sharp than what we are accustomed to, but the music is as fresh and lively as anyone could want. And melody never grows stale!

Not to become too melancholy, but I must point out that we lost Ken Peplowski this year. There will be a jazz memorial for him on May 19 at St. Peter’s Church in Manhattan, and it will be live-streamed Jazz Memorial for Ken Peplowski. If you miss Ken as much as I do, you might want to mark your calendars.

And something very far from melancholy: the blissfully active Harry Allen will be playing alongside Jon-Erik Kellso (sitting in for Danny Tobias) at Winnie’s Jazz Club (66 West 38th Street, New York City) on Thursday, May 21. Mark that down.

May your happiness increase!

Yes, by the laws of physics, it was impossible. But last night, twice, Hilary Gardner and The Lonesome Pines made Jazzcultural something it couldn’t be otherwise, transforming a comfortable but clearly enclosed midtown-Manhattan jazz club into the prairies of the West, complete with well-behaved cattle, horses looking for cool water, gunfighters and a sprinkling of doomed romance. There was swing and joy and wit as well as beautiful sounds. Even the jazz snobs (I write as a reformed example) enjoyed the night air and the absence of nail salons.

The creators were Hilary Gardner (in exceptionally beautiful voice), Justin Poindexter, guitar, Sasha Papernik, accordion (both of them contributing immaculate unfussy harmony singing), Noah Garabedian, double bass, and Aaron Thurston, drums and percussion.

Perhaps you weren’t at the club; perhaps you weren’t enjoying the live-stream. But you can be there now, and this video will open up anything that might be constricted in your day or night. And you can scroll forward to the music, or sit with your coffee and pretend you were there. I encourage all participation! Mayor Mamdani is at this very moment discussing proposals to have West 46th Street made auto-free and planted with tall grasses. Director of Operations Julia Kerson is supervising it, so it will happen.

If you need me, I’ll be in the barn, humming SILVER ON THE SAGE as I tend to the animals. Later on, the OAO and I will ride the range in our Ford V-8 (really a Subaru, but Johnny Mercer could find the rhyme for that without even leaving his bed).

And — did you know? — Hilary and the Lonesome Pines made a superb CD and are heading into the studio for a second one as I write this. Good news, pardners and hep cats alike.

May your happiness increase!

Watching and listening to our departed friend Rebecca Kilgore is both painful and joyous for all the obvious reasons. One side of the brain says with deep melancholy, “Our Roo is gone, gone, gone,” while the other side tries to be cheerful and opines, “She will never leave us as long as there is a record, CD, or video. She is immortal.”

I leave it to you to decide which side of the cortex wins this one. But I want to complicate and uplift at the same time. I met Becky in person in September 2004 at the very same Jazz at Chautauqua, although I had been listening to her singing with delight for more than a decade. I learned that her earliest recordings were grounded in the happy regional musical genre known as “Western Swing,” which was once the popular music you could hear in cities but much more in the “wide-open spaces.” Even though some of those songs were composed by people whose only equine experience might have been a carousel in Central Park north of 59th Street in Manhattan, the love of Western expansiveness shines through.

And that joy is so deeply and effortlessly conveyed by our dear Beck-a-Roo.

ALONG THE NAVAJO TRAIL / I’M AN OLD COWHAND / SLOWPOKE. Rebecca Kilgore, vocal, guitar; Cal Collins, guitar; Michael Moore, double bass. Sunday morning, Jazz at Chautauqua 1997.

That, dear readers, is one kind of immortality.

But there are others more subtle and expressive than even a video or CD can contain or convey. Rebecca Kilgore was an inspiring teacher, and she taught by delicate expert example. How to actually sing the song. How to phrase lyrics so that they make sense, emotionally and musically.

Every great artist has their spiritual descendants. Louis had Buck Clayton; Lester Young had Jimmie Rowles. And so on. There is no official School of Kilgore, but many wise singers have followed her lead. One I know well and admire deeply is Hilary Gardner, whom I first met in 2005. I first encountered her as someone with a broad and rewarding aesthetic range: Tom Waits shared a drink with Lorenz Hart.

But during the pandemic, Hilary, like many of us, yearned for larger vistas, delicious spaces to escape to (from the “city’s mad inhuman noise”) and she began to explore a repertoire, once beloved and now perhaps sidelined, the songs of the West, riding the trail, surveying an enticing (and enticingly underpopulated) landscape from horseback, on a hill. You know these songs: think of Gene Autry and Roy Rogers, of Bing and Frank and Connee. Hilary and a few like-minded, deeply intuitive musicians got together to form a spunky and sweet group, the Lonesome Pines.

I’ve written about the group and their first CD here. They aren’t gimmicky; they aren’t playing dress-up. The music they revere and re-imagine is heartfelt and spacious. And they can be hilarious. Becky Kilgore was part of a group called B E D (for Becky, Eddie Erickson, and Dan Barrett); their mission statement was unfussy and to the point: “To swing and have fun.”

I knew Becky Kilgore well enough to know she approves, most happily.

But a word more about Hilary and the Lonesome Pines. They will be appearing tomorrow night (that’s Thursday, May 7, at the splendid new club on West 46th Street in New York City, JAZZCULTURAL. Sets are at 7 and 9 PM (seating at 6 and 8:30 PM). We’ll be there! If you can, you should.

And they are recording their second CD later this month. I predict, on the basis of experience both in-person and through the speakers, it will swing. It will be fun. And you’ll hear memorable songs you didn’t know before. Happy trails, pardners!

May your happiness increase!

The days and nights fly by, so Tonight is now Yesterday. But we spent part of April 24 at the very delightful Winnie’s Jazz Club, still at the same location in the Refinery Hotel, 66 West 38th Street. The redecoration leans towards deep comfort, which is supported by a most amiable staff and topped off by a new menu with rewarding food and drink.

And then, of course, there is the comfort and joy that only fine music can bring. The bringers were Danny Tobias, trumpet; Nathan Tokunaga, clarinet and tenor saxophone; Chris Flory, guitar; Pat O’Leary, double bass; Kevin Dorn, drums. Here are highlights from early in the evening:

DEED I DO / POOR BUTTERFLY / HONEYSUCKLE ROSE / LULLABY OF THE LEAVES / POLKA DOTS AND MOONBEAMS / TRISTE / SOME OF THESE DAYS:

The video cannot convey just how pleasant a place Winnie’s is, and how embracing the atmosphere.

To utilize some version of the subjunctive tense, “Would you like to have been there had it been possible for you?” Well, you can only get to April 24, 2026, by this video or by intense yet-unknown manipulation of the calendar. And, as a colleague of mine used to say with raised eyebrow, “Good luck with that!”

But hark! The Tobias Musical Stock Company is pulling into midtown as I write this, for an evening of joy at Winnie’s slightly more than two weeks away: time to make plans and reservations and more.

Earrings and Louise Brooks’ hairdo encouraged but not required.

They’re lucky to us, and we’re lucky to have Winnie’s, and the delightful Tobias-and-friends residency. Come join in!

May your happiness increase!

The ocean doesn’t require explication, unless you want to become a marine biologist. Here I present an oceanic half-hour of sounds and textures, created by two piano masters, Dick Hyman and Roger Kellaway, in concert on June 26, 1982. The songs they improvise on, construct and reconstruct, are standard repertoire, but what happens here is anything but formulaic: IT’S ONLY A PAPER MOON / TEA FOR TWO / CARAVAN / TENDERLY.

Note: the music presented here comes from a concert performance, and the record cover used as an illustration is only that.

Remarkable, densely textured: music that will not reveal its glories on a single hearing, a tribute to these players.

May your happiness increase!

Maybe it’s a snobbish pleasure in possessing something that few have (although I share these treasures here) but I am most enamored of the one-of-a-kind recording, as opposed to the (let us say) famous record date for Columbia, Victor, or Decca, of which there might be a million copies on disc, to say nothing of the countless views and hearings online.

What follows is such a rarity: taken from a collector’s cassette with no particular provenance — the trail goes cold, as they say in detective fiction — but the music is tangible, even with surface noise produced by loving playings of an aluminum disc with a heavy tone arm. The record cover above shows musicians listening to just such a recording, although the music you will hear comes from no commercially issued disc.

It features Bud Freeman, tenor saxophone; Jimmy McPartland, cornet; Bud Wilson, trombone; Rosy McHargue, clarinet; Joe Rushton, bass saxophone; probably the host and proprietor, Edwin “Squirrel” Ashcraft III, piano, and others, possibly Howard Kennedy,guitar. The songs are TIME ON MY HANDS and YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME, and there is no date attached, but I am guessing 1940:

I’m grateful that such objects got created, recorded, and preserved. Given the fragility of so many things, I think the ability to visit Squirrel’s house eighty-six years ago for a little under ten minutes is an extraordinary gift from the Goddess of Hot Music.

You’ll notice I’ve headed this post “Part One.” Future installments, sometimes brief, often mysterious, will follow: one featuring Bobby Hackett, and another featuring Frank Chace.

May your happiness increase!

Benny Carter by Enid Farber

I remember this concert with deep feeling: in 1972, Benny Carter and these noble veterans were alive and well. There were two shows, 5 and 9 PM, and we were at both, from seats only a few rows back. It was thoughtfully planned, not an exercise in nostalgia, repeating famous recorded performances, with the two exceptions being HONEYSUCKLE ROSE and SLEEP. Much of the other material was blues-based, a wise choice even for veterans used to reading charts. And the Carnegie Hall soundmen had learned something about how to mike a piano so that Wilson comes through clear but not oppressively. One of the shows was broadcast live on WRVR-FM, and somewhere in this rabbit warren of music I have the tape. Whether it’s the early or late show I can’t recall.

The music you will hear below comes from the later show, as Carter explains in his announcement. I assume it was recorded for the Voice of America. Missing from this oddly-named YouTube presentation are an original ballad, YOU ARE, another brief composition by the band to play themselves off, and a short set by Maxine Sullivan and the rhythm section, with brief accompaniment by Budd Johnson and Joe Thomas, if memory serves. After intermission, there was the Count Basie orchestra with Joe Williams. Jimmy Rushing was supposed to appear but had died earlier; his spot was taken by Al Hibbler.

Memorable music!

Benny Carter w/The Swing Masters Concert (Carnegie Hall, New York NY, July 2, 1972) : Harry “Sweets” Edison, Taft Jordan, Carl Warwick, Joe Thomas; trumpet; Tyree Glenn, Quentin Jackson, Benny Morton, Dicky Wells, trombone; Benny Carter, Earle Warren, Buddy Tate, Budd Johnson, Howard Johnson, Haywood Henry, reeds; Teddy Wilson, piano; Bernard Addison, guitar; Milt Hinton, double bass; Jo Jones, drums.

Introduction by Joe Franklin:

Honeysuckle Rose:

Carter speaks:

Doozy:

Carter speaks:

Blues For Beginners:

The Juke Box:

I Can’t Get Started:

Sleep:

Masters of Swing, indeed. Bless each and every one of them for their generous vibrations.

May your happiness increase!

I am having a hard time writing about Daniel Huck, singer, saxophonist, emotional and spiritual catalyst, who left us just last week. I’ve celebrated him before, so it’s not as though I don’t have the words:

and

But the trouble I am having is the result of mixed emotions. I sorrow that I came too late to the party to kneel in front of Monsieur Huck and no doubt embarrass us both by protestations of reverence in my limping French. I sorrow that I never saw him in person, although he surely comes through ferociously even on my iPhone. I sorrow that his last years were marked by illness and (is this selfish of me?) that he is no longer playing, now that I and the OAO visit France. But all this grief is seriously balanced, perhaps overbalanced by joy. It is impossible for me to even type “Daniel Huck” without grinning.

If our spiritual worth is measured by the joy we give to others, Daniel Huck remains one of humanity’s greatest philanthropists. I do not exaggerate when I place him on an equal footing with Louis.

Evidence herewith:

and

and

I watch those performances (created by the blessed and diligent Jeff Guyot) through tears of joy. If Daniel’s second scat chorus on SUSIE doesn’t prove him one of the most expressive improvisers ever, then I despair.

and because it’s irresistible, Daniel in 1977, performing Monk, so soulfully:

Thanks to Pascal Anquetil for this tribute:

Great sadness! Daniel Huck left us peacefully tonight at the age of 78, defeated by that horrible Lewy bodily disease, the same one that took Nathalie Baye. Emotional and friendly thoughts for his wife Monique and his two sons Louis and Charles. Only memories in the company of this free and independent man, so gifted, funny, scholar, wise, humble and generous. So unique and magical. What wonderful moments spent with Dominique Cravic who introduced me to him. With Eddy Louiss and his Multicolor Feeling Fanfare, etc. I remember this crazy night at Calvi jazz festival. Stefano Di Battista had told Daniel, alto sax to feverish vibrato but foolishly labeled “old style” by mocking young saxophonists because they are ignorant of his path: “Daniel, I love you. Tonight is going to be our night. I like your sound and music. Let’s play the game of the night all the way through. The meeting was magnificent and the very short sunny night was made by this joyful and brotherly day. The “jazz attitude” in all its glory!

As a tribute, here’s this portrait I wrote in 1997 (Already almost 30 years ago! ) for Jazzman following the presentation of the well-deserved Django Reinhardt Prize by the Jazz Academy: “Jazz is a party”

“Incredible Huck! This crazy sax alto scatter is the most incredible character on the French scene. Self-taught, he doesn’t know how to read music but knows by heart the whole history of jazz. At almost 50, this independent hooligan still refuses to run his own group as if he had an agent, press-book or business card. Never does he call to find a gig. He prefers to be invited but accepts only if the adventure is festive. That’s why he keeps playing Everywhere. With Eddy Louiss, Dave Burrell, Slapscat or the jazz Little Wolves. What an eclecticism. Portrait of a funny amateur.

Daniel Huck is one happy jazzman. “I have led, I still lead a life that I could not have imagined thirty years ago when I started out.” I’m jazzing up the amateur and… I’m living it. I really don’t have excessive needs. I dont drink, smoke no more. When it comes to clothes, I’m a walking disaster. “So I have plenty of money to buy the books and records I want.” It’s rare that this nearly fifty-year-old young man lives jazz as a wonder that’s all over again. The secret of this happiness lies in a very simple word: amateur. More than a musician, he first asserts himself as a music lover, “an amateur professional” always ready to fiercely defend his independence. Daniel Huck is, in addition, less known, one of the few jazzmen experts in jazz history, mainly pre-war. In addition, his encyclopedic knowledge valued him to participate brilliantly twice in the “Jazz Quiz”, a famous radio competition for jazz studies organized by the UER.

Like many jazz-born fans in the ’60s, African-American music was a teenage passion for Huck. In 66, he lands his first job as a coffee boy at Jazzland. With his first payment, he runs to Pasdeloup to rent a sax alto, a superbly tuned Selmer Mark VI. “It’s Dexter Gordon, then a guest from Jazzland, who chose my anche and Marc Richard who found me a beak.” By himself, with the help of a method but without knowing how to read music, he learns from the first day to play Charlie Parker’s “Barbados”. By ear, tirelessly ironing the disk on his electrophone. Today, Huck proudly claims to be self-taught and still displays his visceral refusal of school. “However, I should not rant too much against teaching. Because the more jazz teachers there will be in France, the more opportunities I will have to work. “He doesn’t stop, every year, depriving students of the right to error, thousands of Coltranes are murdered in our conservatories.”

Daniel Huck’s land originality? First of all, it’s a sound that really doesn’t have any school. A unique, powerful alto sound, haloed by a feverish vibrato, deeply rooted in the tradition of the “old style” he loves so much. It’s also an irresistible “drive”, a rhythmic energy that propels his music to the peaks of the most natural swing. It is finally that gift of youthful generosity, this spontaneous ability to arouse excitement and sow a storm. Blowing in his alto like playing the scat vault. Huck is always up for a cheerful, hilarious “Showman” “play”. In the full sense of the verb.

So, a night of madness at Petit Journal, is he able to improvise a long impromptu rap on the historical roots of the Yugoslav drama to encourage Eddy Louiss to come and play a last set; and the next day to resurrect Slim Gaillard in the group Slapscat, to celebrate the blues of Panama with Dominique Cravic and his Primitives of the Future, to offer themselves a recess with the Little Wolfs of Jazz, to imagine a festive free funk with Carl Schlosser or to deliver with the pianist Dave Burrell a vibrant tribute to Jelly Roll Morton. Tel is Huck. Changing, whirlwind, surprising, but always true to himself. Eclecticism is her only way of life. Chameleon musician? To hell with labels. The important thing is that his life is never monotonous.

But why is Daniel Huck still refraining from wanting to lead a band or sign a record under his own name? “By ideology, by political conviction and certainly by perversion. I don’t want to have my little shop and strengthen the grotesque army of young business leaders with the compact by hand. I understand that with this attitude I go from the most total humility (I don’t want to be a conductor) to the most outrageous pride (it’s normal that my talents are used). But I refuse a little boss. First because I’d be a terrible leader, not having the “official” musical qualities required nor the patience required. Then command pisses me off because it requires ten times more work. Last and foremost I don’t want to get involved in the little boss’ adventure. I’d rather remain an employee. The most respected possible, of course, but an employee who freely chooses his bosses. Honestly what I love is being invited Getting along with as many musicians as possible, without exclusive, giving priority to those I like. Like Eddy Louiss to whom I must have experienced an absolutely irreplaceable human and musical adventure. Sure, it’s not always easy to handle, but so much more enjoyable to live. It continuously varies the pleasures.”

Daniel Huck’s real black beast, we’ll get it, it’s boredom. In life as in music, he can’t stand to be bored. But his problem is that he is transparent. “As soon as I fuck around, it shows. I don’t know how to pretend. So when I’m fed up, I break down. It’s physics. I can’t play and be bored at the same time. Can’t and don’t know how to “do the Trade” as they say. Me just living my musician life Eddy Louiss was very important for this. “He helped me understand that in music one should never abhor one’s dignity.”

That’s why today he is very irritated by his family of origin, the veterans of traditional jazz. “With a few exceptions, it has become the kingdom of bad.” They’re doing jazz like, sadly, they’re going to the factory. They have a retarded teenager mentality, a very “because of CRS” behavior: they hit the cardboard and drink an aperitif between two cases as in between two demonstrations. Music really not my way of living. Jazz must remain a permanent party. This is why I can never play under pressure and I hate rehearsals so much. What I enjoy is getting on stage, giving emotion with just what I got and trying to progress all naturally. While playing. »

We are blessed that Monsieur Huck chose our planet to enlighten and uplift. Wherever his spirit resides now, I hope it is surrounded by the joy and love he continues to give us. My condolences to his family and dear friends. Let us all be to others what Daniel was and is to us.

And a deep immersion into all things Huck, here is a precious 2021 conversation between Daniel and his dear friend, someone I am privileged to know, pianist-scholar Philippe Baudoin:

May your happiness increase!