As we learned in Serendipity Doo-Dah, Book Two, record industry officials are more often wrong than right when it comes to picking a hit single off an album.

Here’s another instance: a Doobie Brothers single, somewhat early on, from their fourth album, What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits. The songs include “Another Park, Another Sunday” and “Black Water.”[1]

Highly qualified and very experienced producer Ted Templeman put “Another Park” on the A-side of the single figuring it would do well—gangbusters, actually—and placed “Black Water” on the B-side just to get Doobie brother Pat Simmons some songwriting royalties off the A-side action, which Templeman believed would be immense.

Brother Tom Johnson, author of “Another Park,” had, after all, been the brothers’ more prolific and successful songwriter.

But not this time. The hoped-for “Another Park” action did not happen.

Sales tanked.

But then—surprise, surprise—something started to happen with flip-side “Black Water.” There was a little radio station in Roanoke, Virginia, and not too far away was an actual river called Black Water River.

The station started playing the B-side over and over, and the local folks loved it. Soon, other stations followed suit and slowly build, build, build. Eventually stations all over the country joined in, and “Black Water” caught fire, as they say.

Did it matter? You bet.

​“Black Water” was the first number one hit the Doobie Brothers ever had!

With all due respect to Mr. Templeman and his company, Warner Brothers, when you have a song title that is a person’s name, a place name, a monument name, or something similar, you’ve got a winner.

One example: Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer changed their “Blue River” to “Moon River,” and we all know how that turned out.

1. ​Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons with Chris Epting, Long Train Runnin’: Our Story of the Doobie Brothers (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2022), 163–66.

​

​Is it possible that singer Ella Fitzgerald’s career was the result of a happy musical accident? You bet. Read on.
           
It was 1934, and 16-year-old Fitzgerald found herself backstage at the Harlem Opera House, nervously shifting from one foot to the other as she waited to take part in an amateur contest as a dancer.

She hoped to dance professionally one day, and this was her first opportunity to strut her stuff. Behind the curtain, Ella peeked at the audience. She noticed with alarm that another dance act  was onstage.

Uh-oh.
           
By then it was too late for Ella to bow out. The emcee was calling her name, telling the seated crowd that she was going to tap dance for them. 

As the band started playing, her limbs felt like rubber, and she was too petrified to move. The emcee whispered, “Do something.”

Ella’s mind raced. What could she do other than dance? She thought about the music she heard on the radio and the records her mother had around the house. The Boswell Sisters just might work. She began to sing one of their tunes: “Judy.” The band knew the song and began to accompany her.

Her voice grew stronger and more confidant.

When the song ended, the theater erupted into cheers.

​Ella offered another Boswell song, and after she finished singing, the audience applauded wildly. The emcee announced she had won a $25 prize.
           
Soon after, Ella decided to become a professional singer. Her six-decade career traversed the big band swing era, the subsequent bebop era, and beyond.[1]
           
But ask yourself, had the act ahead of Fitzgerald been anything other than dance—a comic, a ventriloquist, a gymnast, a singer even—would Ella have become, as Peggy Lee said at the Kennedy Center Honors, “the greatest jazz singer of our time," or as Bing Crosby said, “Man, woman, or child, Ella is the greatest singer of them all.”[2]

​Serendipity Doo-Dah!

1. ​Bud Kliment, Ella Fitzgerald: Singer (New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1969), 16–19.
2. Kliment, Ella Fitzgerald, 12, 14.

In the fall of 2019, I profiled my jazz LP collection (see October / November blogs) and in the summer of 2022, my jazz CD collection (see May / June / July blogs).

​Hence, it is only logical and reasonable that I do the same for my music book collection: 709 books strong, with 441 jazz books and 268 non-jazz books (pop, rock, Broadway, other).

Here I present the jazz books, the first of which I purchased in 1965, and the bulk of them I acquired during the 1970–2000 time frame. My acquisition strategy, I hasten to add, was not based on any predetermined notion that focused on, for example, a specific jazz artist or style. Nope, if it was a jazz book, I bought it, pure and simple.

To convey a sense of my overall jazz collection, I list books below in several categories. For the most part, these books center on the life and music of the titular artist, as opposed to a period in jazz (like the ’30s) or a specific sub genre (like hard bop) or a region in jazz (like Kansas City).

What three artists topped the most-books list?

Duke Ellington     15
Miles Davis           13
Louis Armstrong  11

​Not much of a surprise there. But how about those artists who played the instrument most symbolic of jazz—the saxophone?

​​In 1964 a novice, kinkily-named British rock and roll band called the Kinks, formed by brothers Ray and David Davies, struggled mightily for recognition, a task made all the more difficult when teenage attention was hyper-focused on already established bands like the Dave Clark Five, the Turtles, the Yardbirds, the Rolling Stones, and the Beatles. Tough competition indeed.

The four-man Kinks made some headway when they scored a three-record deal with Pye Records.

Their first record managed to reach number 42 on the charts, enough to get the band a place on a rock-and-roll package tour of England and mention in the music trades.

The second single also flopped.

​Pressure mounted. The third single on the Pye contract just had to be a winner.[1] A rock-and-roll band without a number one hit record was like a skiffle band without a tea chest bass. A miracle of some sort was needed, an intervention by the gods, but what?

As the group’s rhythm guitarist Ray Davies told Geoff Edgers of the Washington Post,

​As expected, a number one record was what the group needed to propel them to the top of the rock-and-roll celebrity mountain. 

Released in August 1964, the band's third single, “You Really Got Me,” went to number one on the UK singles chart and later in the year to number seven in the US charts. 

All it took was a fit of rage, a slashed speaker cone, and a distorted sound from Davies’s little green amp.

Whether the guitarist or his girlfriend should receive the most credit for this happy musical accident is moot. Guitar distortion of this sort was old hat, invented (or discovered, if you will) more than a decade before in 1951.

That time, the speaker cone, rather than being slashed, was busted when someone accidentally dropped the amplifier on the ground.
​
​On their way from Mississippi to Sun Studios in Memphis, Tennessee, to record their first record, Ike Turner’s band crammed themselves and two saxes, a guitar, and a drum set into a car when the inevitable flat tire happened. In their hurry to dig out the spare, they dropped the guitar amp on the pavement. Uh-oh.

Once they were at Sun Studios and meeting owner Sam Phillips—yes, that Sam Phillips, the one who nursed Elvis to worldwide acclaim—the guitarist plugged in his amp, and it sounded terrible, the speaker cone blown.

Sam pricked up his ears. It would sound different, he told the band, like another saxophone, and he went to the restaurant next door to score brown paper and wadded it inside the speaker.

​Problem solved.

The rubbing sound between the saxophone and the distorted guitar in recording “Rocket 88” was instantaneous, the fuzztone taking the bass part, the horns riffing in unison, and Ike’s storming piano cutting through the churning mix.

No wonder “Rocket 88” became one of the most influential early R&B hits ever, as much for its exuberant drive as for its accidental fuzztone guitar that was copied by Chicago bluesmen who tampered with their speaker cones.

Later on, California guitarist Billy Strange used a fuzztone on his guitar. He did so on “I Just Don’t Understand” for Ann Margaret (1961) and on “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” for Phil Spector (1962). And he did it the old-fashioned way by pulling one of the four 6L6GC vacuum tubes out of the back of his Fender Twin Reverb Amp.

Were the Davies brothers and the other Kinks totally unaware of this? The Beatles and the Rolling Stones were certainly aware. Paul McCartney used a fuzzbox—an early manufactured device called the tone bender—on his bass guitar on “Think for Yourself” on Rubber Soul (November 1965). Keith Richards used the early marketed Gibson Maestro Fuzztone on “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” (May 12, 1965). 
​
What to make of all of this?

While the Kinks lagged behind introducing guitar distortion into their rock-and-roll mix, when they did, courtesy of an accident, it led to that coveted number one song followed by five top 10 singles in the US Billboard chart with nine of their albums charting in the top 40.

​Today the Kinks are regarded as one of the most influential rock acts of the ’60s and early ’70s, and are ranked 65th on Rolling Stone's list of the 100 Greatest Artists of All Time.
​
For fans of that breakthrough song, Ray Davies later wrote a poignant origin story that he turned into a song “Little Green Amp” (2013).
 
CODA 
Another lucky break, albeit a small one, came about with a change to the lyrics that helped the initial hit song’s appeal:
​

1. ​Carey Fleiner, The Kinks: A Thoroughly English Phenomenon (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 53–55.
2. Geoff Edgers, “Q&A with Dave Davies,” The Washington Post, January 31, 2021.
3. Fleiner, The Kinks, 54.

​James S. Hirsch opened his Washington Post review of Glenn Frankel’s book Shooting Midnight Cowboy[1] with the following:
​

​After reading the above, you could easily conclude that Midnight Cowboy was a happy movie accident. Indeed, it was. But what about “Everybody’s Talkin’,” the memorable Grammy-winning theme song not mentioned in Hirsch’s review? Did it come about in an improbable fashion like everything else in the movie? Was “Talkin’” a happy musical accident? Read on.

Director Schlesinger liked to edit his film dailies to music. From a pile of new albums, he selected Aerial Ballet by obscure LA singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson. One song, “Everybody’s Talkin’,” caught Schlesinger’s ear. An ideal track, he thought, to guide and pace his edits.
​

“Talkin’” was the only cut on the album that hadn’t been written by Nilsson. The song had been authored by yet another obscure singer-songwriter and recorded for his self-named album Fred Neil, interestingly, the last song recorded for the album.[3] This fact foretold a glorious future for the song, albeit unknown to everyone at the time and quite frankly to many even today.

​Turns out, more often than not, the last-recorded track is usually the album’s biggest hit. Think not? Check out these chart-topping caboose hits:

Coleman Hawkins “Body and Soul”
Frank Sinatra “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”
Deep Purple “Smoke on the Water”
Jerome Kern “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes”
Booker T. and the M. G. “Green Onions”
Rupert Homes “The Pina Colada Song”
John Lee Hooker “Boogie Chillun”
Bill Haley and the Comets “Rock Around the Clock”
Emerson, Lake, and Palmer “Lucky Man”

In the fall of 1969, “Talkin’” came to Nilsson’s attention from his recording producer at RCA, Rick Jarrard, who had heard it on his car radio while driving to the studio. Rick quickly purchased the Fred Neil album and played it for Harry, who gave it a thumbs-down; he wasn’t about to add someone else’s work to his Aerial Ballet album. Jarrard doubled down and argued vigorously for its inclusion. Harry finally capitulated, as a favor to his record producer.[4]

As a matter of interest, “Talkin’” was not the first song heard on the radio by a producer that eventually worked its way into a film and subsequent widespread fame. Say hello to “What a Wonderful World” and “Unchained Melody.”[5]

Moreover, talk about serendipity or synchronicity—this very same record producer, Rick Jarrard, working with Jefferson Airplane on their Surrealistic Pillow album, convinced reluctant guitarist Jorma Kaukonen to include his finger-picking acoustic solo “Embryonic Journey” on Airplane’s psychedelic-rock Surrealistic Pillow album. Jorma’s folky “Journey” would be as much a fan favorite as the group’s well-known surreal hits “Someone to Love” and “White Rabbit.” 

​“Talkin’” was not a shoe-in to be the picture’s theme song, despite Schlesinger’s intentions. Top-flight artists—Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Donavan, Bob Dylan—had submitted songs for consideration. Schlesinger stuck by his daily editing song. United Artist objected. They wanted an original song, one they could own and copyright, release as a single, and on the film soundtrack album. Harry Nilsson wanted UA to use a song of his, not one by Fred Neil! Still, the director tenaciously clung to his choice as the main theme and introduction to the film.

As for United Artists, the matter was finally resolved when producer Hellman and Director Schlesinger showed the nearly finished film to UA executives. Hearing the music as an integral part of the movie did the trick. Ownership rights be damned, what’s perfect is perfect.[6]

As for the question asked at the outset, “Talkin’” is indeed a happy musical accident, despite director Schlesinger’s unwavering devotion to the rightness of his choice, fighting off all attempts to replace it with something else.

The song came to him in an accidental fashion. An aide brought him a stack of new albums for him to use in his film-editing process. He selected Aerial Ballet at random and became enamored with its last track. He loved the sweetness of the melody and the wistful rebellious spirit of the lyrics that perfectly aligned with the Joe Buck character played by Jon Voight.

Imagine if he had selected any other 1967 release, like Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band or the Monkees' Headquarters or the Grateful Dead or the Moody Blues or Procol Harum or the Who?

Hard to imagine anything better than Aerial Ballet’s last track. When contemplating this, keep in mind that in 2004, “Everybody’s Talkin’” was listed number 20 in AFI’s top 100 movie songs of all time!

1. ​​Glenn Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy: Art, Sex, Loneliness, Liberation, and the Making of a Dark Classic (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2021).
2. James S. Hirsch, “‘Midnight Cowboy’ Was a Masterpiece Made of Desperation,” Washington Post, Sunday, April 4, 2021.
3. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 246–48.
4. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 249.
5. Edward Allan Faine, Serendipity Doo-Dah: True Stories of Happy Musical Accidents, Book One (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2017), 107; Ray Padgett, Cover Me: The Stories Behind the Greatest Songs of All Time (New York: Sterling, 2007), 42–43.
6. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 250–51.

The Faine jazz CD collection. 

Continuing from part 3, here are five more personal favorites from my collection of jazz CDs.

​

Charles Lloyd | Passin’ Thru | Blue Note

Saxophone/flute player Charles Lloyd burst onto the California jazz scene in the mid-1960s on the strength of (1) albums Dreamweaver (1966) and Forest Flower (1967) featuring his first great quartet Keith Jarrett (piano), Cecil McBee (bass), and Jack DeJohnette (drums), and (2) the group’s appearances at Bill Graham's youth-filled Fillmore clubs.

After several years of pop adulation Lloyd entered into a period of (what should we call it) semi-retirement.


​Lloyd’s real resurgence began in the 1990s when he signed onto the ECM label, recording sixteen albums with them followed by a stint with Blue Note into 2020, recording five albums.

The bulk of these albums feature Lloyd’s second great quartet (also known as the new quartet) Jason Moran (piano), Reuben Rogers (bass), and Eric Harland (drums). The best of which, in my opinion, is the highly entertaining Passin’ Thru (2017).

The album opens with Lloyd’s composition “Dreamweaver,” also recorded by his first quartet. The second quartet’s take is longer (by six minutes) and more complex, as Tom Jurek wrote:

​The following tracks reflect the various genres and styles mentioned above, singularly and collectively.

“Nu Blues” is a be-boppin’ swinger by the Jason Moran Bop Trio. Moran is rollin’ the keys like Bud Powell, Rogers is Ray Brown or Oscar Pettiford walkin’ the bass, and Harland is bebop originator Kenny Clarke keepin’ time on his ride cymbal, kickin’ the bass drum, and adding his own polyrhythmic textures. Tenorman Lloyd joins the Trio and its throwback time to a 1950s Norman Granz Jazz at the Philharmonic concert battlin’ it out with Flip Phillips and Illinois Jacquet.

Well, that’s the way I heard it.

“How Can I Tell You” is about as close the new quartet could get to a late-night slow dance dreamy ballad. Moran’s (almost) cocktail piano and the drummer’s use of brushes sets the mood for the leader’s lyrical saxophone offering to the song’s inspiration, singer Billie Holiday.

On “Tagor” Lloyd stirs the bluesy stew prepared by his rhythm mates with his Eastern sounding flute. At the start Moran strums the piano strings like a guitar, Rogers adds a Motown melodic bass line, and the drummer drives “Tagor” forward with a snare and hi-hat attack.

At the mid-point, with no loss of drive, Moran moves to the keyboard to pound out a funky chording interval over a rock-and-roll backbeat. Start to finish this is a hand-clapper.

The title track opens with unaccompanied bass and then, boom!, the band takes off with a high energy up-tempo dance-like excursion into bop. Moran’s piano and Lloyd’s tenor solo engage Roger’s and Harland’s rhythms with startling athletic lyricism.

Bordering on playful and/or novelty, “Passin’ Thru” is a crowd pleasin’ groove.

The album closes on a respectful note with “Shiva’s Prayer.” A beautiful unaccompanied piano piece by Moran, with lovely arco bass playing by Rogers, and soft drums by Harland.

Then quiet.

Sonny Sharrock | Ask the Ages | Axiom

Scott Yanow in his ultimate guide to the great jazz guitarists opined, "Sonny Sharrock was the first truly avant-garde guitarist in jazz. . . When Sharrock burst on the scene in the mid-1960s, he was not only free in his choice of notes but in . . . his use of feedback and distorted sounds. He preceded Derek Bailey and Jimi Hendrix. During an era when few jazz guitarists even acknowledged rock, Sharrock was playing explosive solos that made him the Pharoah Sanders of the guitar.”

Interesting, then, that he would pair up with saxophonist Sanders, along with bass player Charrette Moffet and drummer Elvin Jones in 1991 to record Ask the Ages, the consensus definitive and most essential album of Sharrock’s career.

This is unquestionably a free jazz album, how could it not be with Sonny Sharrock, Pharoah Sanders, and Elvin Jones ripping it up as if it was 1965.

Yet it is something else again, appealing and accessible to a wide range of music fans. Proof of this can be found on google: type in “rateyourmusic.com Ask the Ages,” select the top entry, and read the 45 reviews, and you’ll see what I mean.

Ask the Ages has six original Sharrock compositions: two scorchers “Promises Kept” and “Many Mansions,” two mellow and melodic “Who Does She Hope to Be” and “Once Upon a Time,” and two in-betweeners, “Little Rock” and “As We Used to Sing.” It is the mellow tunes (and secondarily the in-betweeners) that make this album so appealing with “Who Does She Hope to Be” generally favored over “Once Upon a Time.”

But for my money, the latter is the exceptional track. 
           
While each instrument is heard in “Once Upon a Time,” it is the collective daresay “symphonic” — like sound that matters.

Sonny’s guitar, chording Hendrix-like and soloing at the same time (dubbing may have been involved); Pharoah’s tenor sax, offering a repetitive hummable figure; and Elvin’s non-stop striking of his drums with mallets, yes, with mallets not sticks or hands, creating a rhythmically throbbing pattern. Occasionally, Sonny spices the group’s malleting stew with a memorable Santana-like guitar line.

​Overall, a never-to-be forgotten, compelling track.

Frank Sinatra | Live in Australia 1959 | Blue Note

While Sinatra’s time capsule albums are Wee Small Hours in the Morning, Songs for Swinging Lovers, Only the Lonely, and a few others, the “Jazziest” is Frank Sinatra with the Red Norvo Quintet Live In Australia 1959.

A rare album where Frank sings his well-known fan favorites, not as originally recorded with a large studio orchestra, mind you, but backed by a small jazz combo live.


​From Will Friedwall’s liner notes:

Some might argue that Sinatra’s performance with Count Basie’s band captured live in Las Vegas tops that in Australia 1959.

​For me, Ol’ Blue Eyes' best live album is Australia 1959.

Frank Sinatra | The Concert Sinatra | Reprise

In the entire recording oeuvre of Frank Sinatra there is nothing like The Concert Sinatra, an album of extended performances by Frank and a 73-piece symphony orchestra arranged and conducted by Nelson Riddle.

The recording features eight tunes (lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein on all but one.) These are not the vocal offerings of familiar Sinatra poses, the finger-snappin’ swingin’ bachelor or the down-and-out sad sack propped against the lamppost.

No, this is the full-voiced light classicist in the manner of contemporaries Todd Duncan, Howard Keel, Gordan McRae, or (almost) Paul Robeson.
​
In other words, Frank gets as close as an American pop singer can to the bel canto style.

On no other album does Sinatra reveal such strength in his lower register and overall dynamic range. This album is in a class by itself. Discussions of what category it belongs to: jazz, pop jazz, pop, or Broadway — are irrelevant.

​It’s simply incandescent.

No male interpretive singer of the 20th century other than Frank Sinatra could have pulled this off.

Wilson and Adderley | Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley | Capitol

I bought this CD for two reasons: one, my fondness for the classic Adderley Quintet (Cannonball (Alto), brother Nat (Cornet), Sam Jones (Bass), and Louis Hayes (Drums) with Joe Zawinal (Piano); and two, my piqued curiosity after I read an article in Downbeat magazine in 2004, listing the best jazz vocalist albums chosen by 73 jazz singers (21 male, 52 female).[1] At the top, number one, was the album Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley originally recorded in 1961.

After multiple listenings, I came around to understanding the record’s appeal to the Downbeat singers, helped along by Nancy Wilson’s statement in the album’s liner notes that she considered her vocals on the album “as a sort of easy-going third horn.”[2]

Jazz singers (all singers?) in particular desperately want to be a thoroughly integrated member of the band — not off to the side or out front, but in the mix. And that, in fact, was what Nancy was in this instance and what the DownBeat singers heard and no doubt wished for themselves.

The album is doubly interesting because it is not entirely a vocal album, five of the 12 tracks are instrumentals by the quintet (every one outstanding) especially Cannon’s alto solo on the trumpet warhorse “I Can’t Get Started” and the brothers cookin’ on “Teaneck,” but it is the seven Wilson tracks that caught the ears of the DownBeaters.

Highlights for me are the gentle cornet playing by Nat behind Wilson on “Save Your Love for Me” and Nat’s tune “The Old Country;” and Cannon’s bopish swinging sax duet with Nancy (and Nat) on “Never Will I Marry” and “Happy Talk.”

Sam Jones bass is superb, especially on “A Sleeping Bee.”

1. “Singers” All-Time Favorite Vocal Jazz Albums, DownBeat, June 2004, 48.
2. Ron Grevatt, original liner notes, Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley, Capitol Records, 2004, Compact Disc, CDP 077778120421.

Continuing from part 2, here are more personal favorites from my collection of 440 jazz CDs. 

​

Ella Fitzgerald | Ella in Berlin/Mack The Knife | Verve
​
​William F. Lee’s Jazz Singers Biographical Dictionary claims Fitzgerald was considered by many to be the finest female jazz singer of all time.

Taken at face value (ignoring those who considered her a pop singer) evidence for “the finest female jazz singer ever” can be found in her famous “Song Book” albums where she recorded definitive studio orchestra versions of the American Songbook composers Berlin, Gershwin, Arlen, Ellington, Kern, Mercer, Porter, and Rodgers and Hart. But even more important are the many concert/nightclub stage recordings where her highness is backed by a small jazz combo.

In this regard, one only has to look no further than the best of the lot, Grammy-winning Ella in Berlin backed by the Paul Smith Quartet. Ella’s assured sense of rhythm and close rapport with the musicians is evident throughout, on the slow ballads as well as the virtuoso scat numbers. The program is superbly varied.

Thirteen songs equally divided between slow, medium, and up-tempo numbers.

​Gershwin’s “Summertime” is sung straight with minimum vibrato, while his “Lorelie” is a slow tempo swinger.

On “Our Love Is Here to Stay” (Gershwin again) and personal favorite “Gone with the Wind” her instrumental phrasing comes to the fore, leaving little doubt that she is an ambrosial class singer; at times stuttering a word into three or four syllables, speeding up or slowing down a line, creating new interesting melodies while still paying homage to the source.

But it is “Mack the Knife” and “How High the Moon” that elevate this album to precious metal status, and likely entry into the Library of Congress National Recording Registry someday. Ella’s “Mack” surpasses both the Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darin versions. Hard to believe because she forgets the lyrics at the outset but continues by making up her own whimsical lyrics as she goes along, picking them out of the air — wonderin’ what’s the next chorus to this song now, somethin’ ‘bout cash, trash, you won’t recognize it, it’s a surprise it — even mentioning the prior Darin and Armstrong recordings, scatting a delightful imitation of Satch.

This four-minute lighthearted musical improvisation, believe it or not, won best song by a female at the 1960 Grammy Award.

And to think, the next song, the last one in the concert, topped Ella’s rendition of “Mack.” Her take on “High the Moon” is a masterclass in scatting. Few jazz singers, male or female, have come this close to perfection, considering that the racehorse tempo of “Moon” is sustained over seven minutes.

The Paul Smith Quartet deserves high praise for the stellar support throughout, especially pianist Smith and drummer Gus Johnson.

Keith Jarrett Trio | Somewhere | ECM
​
Keith Jarrett is one of the most widely admired jazz pianists on the planet — primarily known for his Koln Concert album, the best-selling solo album in jazz history.

The Koln did the trick for most, but for me, it was his Standards Trio albums with bassist Gary Peacock and drummer Jack DeJohnette.

Beyond reproach are the trio’s renditions of songs from the Great American Songbook (like “Blame It On My Youth,” “Body and Soul,” and “I Thought About You”) and the jazz repertory (“Woody ‘n You,” “Things Ain’t What They Used to Be,” and “Oleo”).

Especially beyond reproach are the occasional compositions of their own, typically mesmerizing trance-inducing vamps that for me were always an album highlight (like “The Cure,” on the The Cure, “Sunprayer” on Tribute One, and “U Dance” on Tribute Two). Perhaps the best of these  appears on the 2013 album Somewhere.

​Jarrett’s reading of the Leonard Bernstein–Stephen Sondheim “Somewhere/Everywhere” theme appropriately begins gentle and sublime, then at the five-minute mark of the 19-minute extravaganza, it gets “reconstructed and reshaped . . . into the driving, hypnotic improvisational ostinato coda Jarrett calls ‘Everywhere,’ with breathtaking chord voicings, forceful middle-register bass flourishes, and awe-inspiring tom-tom and cymbal work by DeJohnette; the track’s conclusion is drenched in royal gospel and regal blues” that fades into the distance, a chance for the audience to catch its breath before erupting into a rush of explosive shouts and applause.

The stage mic captures a round of laughter from the trio, as if to say, “How the hell did we pull this one off!”

Chico Freeman | Spirit Sensitive |
​India Navigation

On Spirit Sensitive saxophonist Chico Freeman lends his pure sound and articulate relatable improvisations to 10 memorable songs composed by the following:

Great American Song Book composers Vernon Duke “Autumn In New York,” and Rodgers and Hart “It Never Entered My Mind,” as well as seven jazz musician composers: Thad Jones “A Child Is Born,” pianists Duke Ellington “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” and Horace Silver “Peace,” bassist Cecil McBee “Closer to You Alone,” guitarist Luis Bonfa “Carnival,” singer Patti Austin “You Don’t Have to Say You’re Sorry,” and tenor saxophonist John Coltrane “Lonnie’s Lament” and “Wise One.”

All the jazz songs (save for those by Coltrane) have lyrics and are a testimony if you will, to their euphoniousness.

Freeman plays tenor on all of the above, except for “You Don’t Have to Say.” Chico is sensitively supported by bassist Cecil McBee, pianist John Hicks, and drummer Billy Hart, although the drums appear to be improperly recorded, the only flaw on the album.

Drum issue aside, this is one of the most beautifully realized albums. It starts with quality material and proceeds with masterful interpretations.

Perhaps I am overly biased in my opinion here, largely because (truth be told) my absolute favorite song is Patti Austin’s “You Don’t Have to Say You're Sorry,” and my favorite instrumental version is by Chico Freeman.

I first took notice of Austin in 1976 upon the release of her first album, End of the Rainbow, with the self-composed “You don’t have to say you’re sorry / but I sure do wish you would.”

​I have played the song numerous times over the years and bought the album for friends. Chico plays it on soprano saxophone with minimal but perfectly placed jazz flourishes.

​Tearfully gorgeous. Ms. Austin, I’m certain, would agree.                 

Darcy James Argue | Infernal Machines |
​New Amsterdam

Spring 2009 saw the release of Infernal Machines by Darcy James Argue, composer/conductor of an 18-person swing-size big band called Secret Society (five winds, five trumpets/fluegelhorns, four trombones and four rhythm — drums along with acoustic and electric piano, guitar and bass.)

​But Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey it was not, nor was it ’50s Stan Kenton, ’60s Don Ellis, or even ’90s Maria Schneider. But what was it?

No ordinary big band album, that’s for sure. But critics loved it, though some struggled a bit to describe it.

To me, Machines offered a cornucopia of sounds, some familiar, some not, some loud, some soft, floating above shifting rhythms with an overall steady pulse.

Karl Ackerman (All About Jazz) said it more succinctly: “The sound is both complex and nuanced at the same time.” He also said, “Each influence blends seamlessly into the next without disrupting the content of the piece” — in effect, “a blending of new classical, indie rock and jazz.”

Larry Blumenthal (Wall Street Journal) described the band as “elegant in its combination of disparate influences from distorted electric guitar to magisterial wind instrument arrangements to minimalist rhythms.”

I concluded that Argue’s writing reflected the whole of contemporary music, as he sees it, into big band music for today.

Machines is art music created by an exceptionally talented composer/arranger executed by extraordinary competent musicians that remains as fresh and revolutionary today as when it was recorded. Argue’s debut album therefore belongs in every jazz fan's collection.

​It telleth the future.

I profiled my collection of 640 jazz LPs in my blog “Portrait of an LP-Era Jazz Fan: Part 1.”

Below is my collection of 440 CDs (early 2022). 

​As with my LP collection, I fell in love with the music of an eclectic mix of jazz musicians. Similarly, I purchased multiple albums by my jazz favorites as shown below: 

Interestingly, Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, Henry Threadgill, Andrew Hill, Abdullah Ibrahim, and Chico Freeman also ranked highly on the LP album list. Frank Sinatra and Duke Ellington CDs got an additional boost in support of books I authored, namely Duke Ellington at the White House, 1969, and The Best Gig In Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974.
​
Twenty-eight percent of my CD collection consists of multiple buys from the 16 artists above.

The remaining 72 percent consists of four, three, or fewer CDs per artist and include a number of singular, transcendent, one-of-a- kind albums, some of which I’ll examine in detail in my next blog.

​Since June of 2015, I have posted 80 blogs on all manner of musical topics jazz, pop, and R&B. There are book reviews, record reviews,  festival reviews, TV and film reviews, and music industry reviews covering a wide range of artists, including Ethel Ennis, Peggy Lee, Frank Sinatra, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, Charlie Christian, Carmen de Lavallade, Dizzy Gillespie, Tony Bennett, Dave Brubeck, Wayne Shorter, Tom Waits, Ronnie Roulette, and many, many others. 

In the list below, segregated by year, I list the title to facilitate a quick and easy search to discover, for example, whether I ever covered a certain event, or book, or TV show or artist, or what in fact I was blogging about in the first place. A click on the March 2022 blog and a quick scan of the monthly titles will point you in the right direction.
  
As for me, I'll just keep on blogging.
​

​​June  Book Review: Herbie Hancock Possibilities
July  Top 10 Jazz Albums: Eric Byrd
August  Nixon and Khrushchev Agree on Jazz
September Top 10 Jazz Albums John McLean
September Singer Ethel Ennis in the Inaugural Spotlight
October  Top 10 Jazz Albums: Roy Suter
November Review: HBO Sinatra Special
December  That Anniversary Year 2015: Part 1
December  That Anniversary Year 2015: Part 2

January  Into the Stockpile with Duke Ellington
February  Landing the Greatest Gig: Jazz at the White House
March  Top 10 Jazz Albums: Andrew White
March Ellington on his White House Tribute
April The State of Jazz: The Upside
May  The State of Jazz: The Downside
June Miles and Me at the Modern Jazz Club
July  Book Review: Duke Ellington as Pianist: Part 1
August  Book Review: Duke Ellington as Pianist: Part 2
September Duke Ellington: The Accidental Songwriter: Part 1
October Duke Ellington: The Accidental Songwriter: Part 2
December  Looking Back 50 Years: Notable Jazz Albums
December That Anniversary Year 2016: 50 Years Ago
December That Anniversary Year: Celebrating Charlie Christian

January Duke Ellington’s Far East Suite Revisited
February To Duke from Mathew Shipp
March Nixon White House: The Record Library and Willis Conover
April Nixon White House: A President’s Taste in Music
May  Sinatra’s Two-Song Serenade for JFK and Nixon
June  The Ellington Tribute Jam Session: Military Band
July  Jazz Is Dead Redux
August  Ellington Standards: Most Widely Performed
September  JFK: The Lost Inaugural Gala
October  Kennedy Centers Honoree Carmen de Lavallade
November  Guest Post: Book Review of Serendipity Doo-Dah Book One
December  Looking Back 50 Years: Part 1
December Looking Back 50 Years Part 2
December Looking Back 50 Years Part 3
December Looking Back 50 Years: Notable Jazz albums of 1967
​​​

January  Book Review: Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray and Friends
February  Blue Rose: The Clooney/Ellington Collaboration
March  Duke Ellington: America’s Premier Composer?
April Book Review: Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington
May  Guest Post: Business Advice From Miles Davis
June  Bennett and Brubeck: Still Great After All These Years
July  Nixon and Ellington Medal of Freedom
August  Faine Favorites: Top 10 Alto Sax Albums
September The Story of the Music Industry
October Phillip Glass Tribute: Music In Twelve Parts
November  Native Dancer: Tribute to 2018 Kennedy Center Honoree Wayne Shorter
December  Notable Jazz  Albums of 1968 
December That Anniversary Year: Celebrating Four Jazz Centenarians

January  When Did the Popular Singer-Songwriter Era begin?
February  Book Review: The 50 Greatest Jazz Piano Players of All Time
March  Armstrong and Ellington: Two Masters of Modernism
April  50th Anniversary of the Ellington Birthday Tribute
May Royalty Thieves
June  Book Review: Help (Duke Ellington) by Thomas Brothers
July One from the Heart: An Underappreciated Movie Soundtrack: Part 1
August  One from the Heart: An Underappreciated Movie Soundtrack: Part 2  
September  Foundation Funding for Jazz
October Portrait of an LP-Era Jazz Fan: Part 1
November Portrait of an LP-Era Jazz Fan: Part 2
December That Anniversary Year 2019: Celebrating Four Jazz Centenarians
​

January  Newport All-Stars: Lost and Found
February  Peggy Lee: “Is That All There Is?”
March  President Carter’s White House Jazz Festival
April  Jazz and the Summer of Love
May 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 1
June 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 2
July 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 3
August 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 4
September 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 5
October 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 6
November 1958: The Best Year In Jazz, Part 7

September  Another Happy Musical Accident from John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman
October  The Sinatra-Bowie Connection
November  The Best “Where Songs Come From” Story
December  Jazz Events at the LBJ White House

January Tribute to  Ronnie and her Relatives, aka the Ronettes
February All Jazz Roads Should Lead to the Birchmere
March FaineBooks Blog 2015–2022
April  Portrait of a CD Era Jazz Fan: Part 1
May  Portrait of a CD Era Jazz Fan: Part 2
June  Portrait of a CD Era Jazz Fan: Part 3
July  Portrait of a CD Era Jazz Fan: Part 4
​August ​Midnight Cowboy: “Everybody’s Talkin’ ”
September The Kinks: “You Really Got Me”
October ​Jazz Book Collection
November Ella Fitzgerald: The Accidental Singer