Still Here

I must admit it has been difficult to get motivated to write about jazz records at a time when the world seems to have flipped upside down and we are all worried about the health and safety of ourselves, families, friends and other loved ones. But, I also realize our love of music and passion for our records can be a comfort and escape at a time like this. Funny, I got a note from my daughter late last night. She had called me earlier in the day, feeling a lot of angst, just generalized and starting to get a little cabin fever because she’s not working and cooped up in her apartment. A few hours later this was the note she sent: “Spent the day in my office, listening to records and organizing them. Felt good.” Is that a chip off the old block, or what? Read more

Sonny Rollins and The New Yorker: YIKES!

I’m back from vacation and what am I greeted with — a real-life and genuine, if fully trumped up, jazz controversy. I am referring to the fervor being generated over a column several days ago in The New Yorker titled: Sonny Rollins: In His Own Words. The article appeared in the “Shouts & Murmurs” section, which is a longtime humor column in The New Yorker. In the article a writer under the pseudonym Django Gold attributes a number of ridiculous statements to Sonny. Samples: “The saxophone sounds horrible. Like a scared pig.” And: “Jazz may be the stupidest thing anyone ever came up with.”

Read more