Sunday, November 27, 2011

Roy Haynes Talks and Dances!

I was always looking for a jazz event like this. An event that gives me the feeling of observing an overflowing volcano of creativity and force, standings on the crater and watching the fire and ash clouds coming out. Seeing history been made, and in the meantime feeling good and relaxed. I couldn't imagine that one day the drummer of Charlie Parker with Strings (in live recordings from 1950 with Mr. Al Haig on piano) will gratify this wish of mine. I couldn't dream of seeing an 85 year-old man who has played with Lester Young or Thelonious Monk, in 2011, and the very same person in the very same date shows me that fire and explosion, that fun and charisma in jazz which is extremely rare now. Yes, Roy Haynes was in town for the London Jazz Festival, and he performed one the most magical sets in the two weeks of unstoppable concerts and events. What an auspicious night! His gig was about music, history, comedy, improvised jazz and improvised gags, and a lesson in how keep the pulse of every single audience in the Queen Elizabeth Hall.

Before the 7:30 PM gig with Fountain of Youth Band (Jaleel Shaw on alto sax, Martin Bejerano on piano and  David Wong on bass), he appeared on stage for a short interview with BBC3. I used my mobile camera to film a part of the conversation. The camera is far from stage. I've used maximum zoom and a big head in front of me blocks the view. These issues have resulted a poor quality in this video, though it is still listenable and watchable, especially if you want to see the man tap-dancing at 85!

same band, one year earlier

Radio Hawkins#15

 برنامه پانزدهم راديو جاز براي ايران
تقديم به جيمي راشينگ

مضامين اين برنامه
من و تويي كه قرار بود باشيم، شِكوِه، آخر شب و شايد خيلي دير، دوستت دارم و همينه كه هست، چند آمريكايي در پاريس، آذرماه در خراسان، خسته ام اما حتي خسته ام از تو سرخوش تر است، سمينار موزيسين ها، عاشقانه ها به روايت سويينگ چي ها، جاز ساخته شده براي و به وسيلۀ مردم، خانه

با آثاري از
جيمي راشينگ
آرت بليكي، زوت سيمز، فوبي اسنو، بابي تيمونز، دكستر گوردون، باد پاول، لي مورگن، بانكي گرين، و بسياري غول هاي ديگر

اپيزود پانزدهم

دانلود با كيفيت بالا (1) يا (2) و با كيفيت متوسط و حجم پايين تر اين جا

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Jazz in Iran Demographics

Click on to enlarge!
This very interesting demographics, showing gender and age of people listening to my recently started Jazz for Iran radio program, reveals something that needs more study and more appreciation: most of them are born during, or shortly after the revolution. They are born in a time that music, listening to it, or playing it was something out of question and simply belonged to the realm of satanic pleasures. Now one wonders how this affection, understanding, or curiosity emerged among this generation and how they kept exploring whatever was "forbidden" to them. This comes from Facebook page of the radio. All comments are welcome!

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Radio Hawkins#14

راديو هاوكينز: جاز براي ايران
اپيزود چهاردهم
 تقديم به روي هينز

مضامين اين برنامه
تنهايي، تلفن، مِه، خداييش من آدم خوبي برات نبودم؟، سيب حوا، ديروز، طبيعت، بلوز، جاهايي كه نبوده ايم

موزيسين هاي اين برنامه
جان لي هوكر، روي هِينز، لويي آرمسترانگ و الا فيتزجرالد، دوك الينگتن، ارل گارنر، تل فارلو، باك كليتن، جيمي راشينگ، وين شورتر، راجر كل اِوِي

Friday, November 18, 2011

Getz/Burton/Swallow/Haynes Revisited

"We are very happy to be in this wonderful London town [audience laughs]...what are you laughing at, I mean it! Especially after being all over the world and trying to speak languages you don't speak, it's good to speak my American English."  -- Stan Getz

Isn't it marvelous that after 50 years two of the gentlemen in this video from 1965 (or 1966) are playing in London again within a week. This is an episode from Jazz Goes to College TV programme, a phrase probably coined by Dave Brubeck as an attempt to take jazz to smaller, more intellectual, or more "hip" venues. (another jazzy coincidence: Brubeck family played at Ronnie Scott's last week and I managed to have a chat about Iran and middle east with wonderful Darius Brubeck!) In this show recorded at London School of Economics (it's good for students to learn how play economical!), master of tenor sax, Stan Getz, is playing with his quartet consisted of Gary Burton, vibes, Steve Swallow, bass, and Roy Haynes on drums. The rhythm section, Swallow and Haynes are now swinging in London again, though in a slightly different direction.

Last Sunday at Queen Elizabeth Hall, Swallow and his quintet played new original tunes by Swallow. It was an amazing evening. He had a story, a text. And he had textures and colors to illustrate his story in sound. Most of the gigs that I've attended in last 10 days had good numbers, beautiful solos, unforgettable passages, but as an overall act, as a gig -like a film played in a cinema from beginning to end - they lacked that inner line of storytelling, that basic concept that puts the whole thing together and gives the performance a sense of unity. Swallow and his amazingly melodic electric bass guitar did this. He created a cheerful drama

For instance, he played three originals which drove from his passion for detective novels. "I don't read a book in which nobody gets killed in the first chapter," Swallow said. The light noir mood of these tunes were something that one has to add to the growing influence of noir heritage in popular culture and other forms of art.

Carla Bley, Swallow's life-long partner on keyboard, was as stylish as ever. Providing dark and somehow humorous plates of warm colors with her Hammond B3, she reminded me of Ida Lupino, a film noir femme fatale, playing piano in Roadhouse (1948) and putting her cigarettes on the instrument, an iconic image of noir world. Significantly she wrote the piece Ida Lupino and we can hear it in his then-husband Paul Bley's records , as well as her owns.

To see and hear how Swallow can knock out the audience by what he plays on his bass, this could be a good description: sometimes, especially in duos, he was playing the lead melody and Steve Cardenas, the guitar player, was his rhythm section. The best kind of jazz I know is when rhythm section comes to foreground and show the power of beats, rhythms, stops amd whatever make jazz music so vibrant and moving, and then slowly and modestly goes back to the background and allows the front line to take off again.

Let's not forget Chris Cheek who was playing mellow and humming tenor sax in a very laid back mood which reminds us of Stan Getz in one of his after-hour moods.

I'm looking forward to see Mr Haynes this evening, while invite you all to watch this excellent concert of Stan Getz Quartet with Burton, Swallow and Haynes.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Radio Hawkins#13: On the Road with Kerouac

 برنامۀ سيزدهم
جك كرواك و موسيقي جاز
مجموعه قطعاتي از موزيسين هاي محبوب جك، كاري كه به اسم خود او نوشته و اجرا شده. اشعار او با صداي خودش و با صداي آلن گينزبورگ و مروري بر موسيقي بي باپ كه جك شاهد عيني تولد و اوج گرفتن آن بود
همراه با
لستر يانگ، برو مور، كانت بيسي، جرج شيرينگ، ساني استيت، فليپ فليپس، چارلي پاركر، ديزي گيلسپي، تلانيوس مانك

به برنامه سيزدهم در اين جا گوش كنيد

با كيفيت متوسط و متناسب با سرعت اينترنت ايران در اين جا

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Radio Hawkins#12

عكس از رضا حكيمي

برنامۀ دوازدهم راديو هاوكينز - جاز براي ايران
شامل آثاري از
كيد اري، ري چارلز، آليور نلسن، اريك دالفي، رد گارلند، جيمي هميلتن، يوتا هيپ، زوت سيمز، جري موليگان، چت بيكر، اليك باچيك

دانلود با كيفيت بالا، اين جا يا اين جا

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Something Else by André Hodeir (1921-2011)

"For us Europeans, the only reasonable solution is to take jazz as a complement to our culture, not as an antidote to the "poisons of intellectualism." What does this music bring to us? Isn't it precisely the kind of music "that can be listened to without burying one's forehead in one's hands," which is what Jean Cocteau called for after the first war? In jazz, "sensorial interests" greatly outweigh "intellectual passion," the simple charm of existence is exalted without much reflection, a sharpened sensuality takes the place of loftiness and the fusion of individualities takes the place of architecture. Consequently, the attitude required of the listener by jazz is completely different from that generally required by classical masterpieces. But whoever knows how to listen to it with the right kind of ear is always paid for his effort. In our time, when the most advanced European art is becoming more and more abstract, leaving room for feeling but only in a highly sublimated form, jazz brings an element of balance that may be necessary and is almost surely beneficial.
Henri Bernard, a veteran among French jazz fans and a man of culture besides, has written: "The miracle of the century is not power failures or airplane crashes or trips to the moon, but primitive man and Negro folklore." It would be more exact to write that what gives our epoch its value is what we have managed to bring into existence. To be able to take part in the most varied activities of modern man when they tend to build rather than to destroy, to be interested in contemporary philosophy without neglecting sports, to make room for jazz alongside abstract art that is what really enriches us. Is it impossible to hear foreign languages and appreciate their beauty without first disowning and almost forgetting one's mother tongue? On the contrary, I am convinced that we have the ability to adopt differing attitudes of receptivity and comprehension as the need arises. This does not necessarily force us to judge jazz in the perspective of European art; instead, it invites us to broaden our view in order to make room for the only popularly inspired music of our time which is universal and has not become lost in vulgarity. It is not a question of giving up what we have, but of acquiring something else." -- André Hodeir (1956, English translation by David Noakes)

God's Empty Chair

From Jack Kerouac's On The Road:

Dean and I went to see [George] Shearing at Birdland in the midst of the long, mad weekend. The place was deserted, we were the first customers, ten o'clock. Shearing came out, blind, led by the hand to his keyboard. He was distinguished-looking Englishman with a stiff white collar,! slightly beefy, blond, with a delicate English-summer's night air about him that came out in the first rippling sweet number! He played as the bass-player leaned to him reverently and thrummed the beat. The drummer, Denzil Best, sat motionless! except for his wrists snapping the brushes. And Shearing began to rock; a smile broke over his ecstatic face; he began to rock in the piano seat, back and forth, slowly at first, then the beat went up, and he began rocking fast, his left foot jumped up with every beat, his neck began to rock crookedly, he brought his face down to the keys, he pushed his hair back, his combed hair dissolved, he began to sweat. The music I picked up. The bass player hunched over and socked it in, faster and faster, it seemed faster and faster, that's all. Shearing began to play his chords; they rolled out of the piano in great rich showers, you'd think the man wouldn't have time to line them up. They rolled and rolled like the sea. Folks yelled for him to "Go!" Dean was sweating; the swear poured down his collar.

"There he is! That's him! Old God! Old God Shearing! Yes! Yes! Yes!" And Shearing was conscious of the madman behind him, he could hear every one of Dean's gasps and imprecations, he could sense it though he couldn't see. "That's right!" Dean said. "Yes!" Shearing smiled; he rocked. Shearing rose from the piano, dripping with sweat; these were his great 1949 days before he became cool and commercial. When he was gone Dean pointed to the empty piano seat. "God's empty chair," he said. On the piano a horn sat; its golden shadow made a strange reflection along the desert caravan painted on the wall behind the drums. God was gone; it was the silence of his departure. It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night. Dean was popeyed with awe.

a piano solo from 1943

من و دين [موريارتي] رفتيم [جرج] شيرينگ را تو كافۀ بردلند، وسط يكي از آن هفته‌هاي طولاني و ديوانه‌وار ببينيم. ساعتِ ده شب. سالن خالي بود و ما اولينِ مشتري‌ها بوديم. شيرينگ روي صحنه پيدايش شد. يكي دست اين پيانيست كور را گرفته بود كه ببرد و بنشاندش پشت ساز. او جنتلمنِ متشخص انگليسي بود با يقۀ سفيد سفت و سخت و صورتي كمي گوشتالو و موهاي طلايي كوتاه شانه كرده به عقب. وقتي روي صحنه آمد انگار نسيم شب‌هاي تابستاني انگلستان را با خودش آورد، به خصوص وقتي اولين قطعه را اجرا كرد كه آهنگي شيرين بود كه در آن نت‌ها مثل سنگي كه در آب آرام درياچه مي‌‌اندازيم آرام از مركز گسترده مي‌شدند و صدا را بازتر و بازتر مي‌كردند.
همان‌طور كه شيرينگ پيانو مي‌زد نوازندۀ كنتراباس از سر ذوق و شيفتگي به جنتلمنِ انگليسيِ نابينا ضرب‌هايش را گذاشت روي ضرب بي‌نقص شيرينگ. دِنزل بِستِ طبال جُم نمي‌خورد، مگر مچش‌هايش كه براش‌ها را با دقت به حركت درمي‌آورد و روي طبل وسط مي‌كشيد. شيرينگ شروع كرد به تكان خوردن. لبخندي روي صورتِ در خلسه‌ فرورفته‌اش شكفت. روي صندلي پيانو خودش را به عقب و جلو تكان مي‌داد. اول آرام اين كار را مي‌كرد و هرچه ريتم موسيقي تندتر شد رقص او روي صندلي شدت بيش‌تر گرفت. پاي چپش سر هر ضرب مي‌رفت بالا. گردنش خلاف جهت رقص بدنش به حركت درآمد. سر و تن مي‌خواستند هر كدام به سمت ديگري بروند. سرش را كشيد پايين دم كليدهاي ساز. موهايش را به سرعت زد عقب و موهاي شانه كرده‌اش به هم ريخت. شروع كرده بود به عرق كردن، چه عرق‌كردني.
موسيقي همين‌طور مي‌رفت جلو. نوازندۀ باس خم شده بود روي ساز و با پشت قوز كرده مي‌كوبيد روي سيم‌ها و سرعت هي بالاتر مي‌رفت. به نظر مي‌آمد همين‌طور سريع‌تر و سريع‌تر مي‌شود. همه چيز شتاب مي‌گرفت. شيرينگ شروع كردن به زدن آكوردهايش. آن‌ها مثل باران سيل‌آسا همين‌طور از پيانو بيرون مي‌زدند و به نظر مي‌آمد شيرينگ فرصت نظم دادن به آن‌ها را ندارد و ديگر از كنترل خارج شده‌اند. همان‌طور بيرون مي‌زدند مثل دريا. تمام نمي‌شد. مشتري‌ها فريادشان درآمد. «برو! برو!» دين عرق مي‌كرد و عرق‌هايش از يقيۀ لباسش سرازير مي‌شد پايين.
«خودِ خودشه. خود خداست! شيرينگِ خدا! برو! برو! برو!» و شيرينگ خبر داشت از اين مجنوني كه پشت سرش نشسته و اين‌ها را فرياد مي‌زد. مي‌توانست تك تك نفس‌ نفس زدن‌ها و نفرين‌ها و شِكوِه‌هاي دين را بشنود. مي‌توانست احساسشان كند با آن كه نمي‌توانست ببينيد. دين گفت «همينه! همينه» لبخند نشست روي لب شيرينگ. به رقص درآمد. از روي صندلي پيانو نيم خيز شد. از تمام هيكلش عرق مي‌ريخت. آن روزها روزهاي بزرگ سال 1949 بود قبل از اين كه موسيقي شيرينگ شيك و خون‌سرد و تجاري شود. قبل از اين كه ديوانگي و عرق از آن برود.
وقتي كه شيرينگ كارش تمام شد و رفت دين اشاره كرد به صندلي‌ خالي‌اش و گفت: «صندليِ خاليِ خدا». كسي يك ترومپت گذاشت روي صندلي خالي خدا و سايۀ طلايي‌اش انعكاس عجيبي درست كرد روي نقاشي يك رديف كاروان وسط كوير كه روي ديوار پشت طبل نقاشي شده بود. خدا رفته بود. آن‌چه مانده بود سكوتِ پس از غيبت او بود. شب باراني بود. او اسطورۀ شب باراني بود. چشم‌هاي دين از فرط حيرت از حدقه درآمده بود.
از كتاب On The Road نوشتۀ Jack Kerouac