You may have also seen that Jack Sheldon died a few weeks ago. He was a big personality, a funny guy, a good singer and all of that, but he was also a terrific and probably underrated trumpet player. Here, we know him as a jazz guy, but based on his obituaries, I guess he was best known for Schoolhouse Rock! and his stint on the Merv Griffin show, where he was the epitome of cool in an otherwise-less-than-hip environment.

Here’s a new boxed set that caught my eye: The Savoy 10-Inch LP Collection by Charlie Parker. It looks like the package includes the artwork from the original covers, as well as the familiar Savoy labels with the red logos. Very cool. As always, I am tempted to contact the record label, in this case Craft Records, for a review copy. The problem is, I get the records but I rarely actually sit down and do the reviews. I’m still sitting on a beautiful Coltrane boxed set. The Bird set is scheduled for a release date of February 28. Hmm, just in time for my birthday.

Speaking of Bird, you can now see his King Super 20 Alto sax at the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington DC. This article has been buried in my queue since October and I had forgotten all about it. Too bad, I was in Fairfax, Va., last weekend and had a couple of hours to kill. If I had remembered, I would have made the trip to DC for Bird. Next time.

Back to eBay. The other day I mentioned the seller Keca222 and that $4,049.99 copy of the 12-inch Kenny Dorham Afro-Cuban on Blue Note. The seller also had this one: Hank Mobley, Blue Note 1568. This was a pressing that did not have the New York 23 on one side, which, to some collectors, diminishes its value, although I’ve never seen a clear explanation why that is the case. But, as we know, we collectors can be a bit strange in our predilections, don’t you think? Anyway, this was in VG+ condition for the record and probably EX or Ex+ for the cover. There was the dreaded phrase “feelable scratches,” yet it still sold for $3,650, which is quite a hefty some for this record in that condition, New York 23 or not.

Whilst I’m on the topic, there was also this: Hank Mobley, Soul Station, Blue Note 4031. This was an original West 63rd Street pressing that looked to be in VG++ condition for the record and the cover, based on the seller’s description. The final price was $1,858. As I watch these, my sense is that the prices for the original pressings just keep going up and up. For those of us who have been on eBay since the beginning, we probably missed a lot of opportunities in the early days, not realizing that eBay would create a brand new market dynamic. When I look at the Jazz Collector Price Guide, which I haven’t updated in a few years, there are mint condition copies of this record at well under $1,000. Not anymore. So, it’s an interesting thought: When we look back 10 years from now, will today’s prices look like unimaginable bargains?

Speaking of Lee Morgan, I finally did get to see the documentary “I Called Him Morgan” the other day. Snuck off from work Monday morning, but don’t tell anyone. I liked the film and especially some of the clips: Morgan playing “Dat Dere” and “Moanin'” with Art Blakey, and a few others. The main focus of the film was on Morgan’s relationship with his common-law wife Helen, who shot him at the downtown New York jazz club Slugs back in 1972, when Morgan was only 33. Amazing how much he accomplished in such a short life. I would have liked the film to have focused a little bit more on Morgan — more about his childhood, his background and what it was the made him so special as a musician. Small complaints however: We have to appreciate any documentary that explores the music and musicians we love and treats them with the respect they deserve. Speaking of which, I have tickets to take my whole family to see Chasing Trane this weekend in New York City. Looking forward to exposing them all to more of Coltrane.

The essay found its way to the writer and director of “Chasing Trane,” John Scheinfeld, who sent me a lovely follow-up note telling me that he had shared the piece with many people, including Bill Clinton. He even used the word: “Bravo.” I was quite thrilled. Now “Chasing Trane” is set to make it’s theatrical release: It opens this Friday at the IFC Center in New York and the following week in Los Angeles, followed by a broader release across the country. I can’t wait to see it again and I’m strongly encouraging all of you to see it as soon as you get the chance.

In anticipation of the rollout, the film’s publicists reached out to see if I would be interested in doing an interview with Scheinfeld. Of course. So we did call a couple of weeks ago. It was supposed to be 20 minutes but it lasted 40. Scheinfeld was eloquent and passionate and it was exciting for me to learn about the creative process that went into making this wonderful tribute to one of my heroes. A summary of our conversation follows. All direct quotes are Scheinfeld’s.

Why Coltrane?

Scheinfeld had known about Coltrane, worked on a radio station in college and “like many people” was introduced to Coltrane through “My Favorite Things.” “I knew his music, but I was not an obsessed fan.” Scheinfeld has done documentaries on musicians such as Harry Nilsson and John Lennon and one of his producers approached him with the idea of doing a documentary on Coltrane.

“The more I looked into his story, the more I become intrigued and fascinated. We’ve seen the clichéd stories: an artist comes from nowhere, gets fame and money, abuses substances and dies a tragic death. Amy Winehouse, for example. Coltrane was the antithesis. He had similar challenges, but he did the right thing and overcame them and became John Coltrane. To me it was an uplifting and inspiring story. I said, ‘Yes, let’s do it.’ The first thing we did was put together an arrangement with the three record labels that own Coltrane’s music, so we would have access to all of the recordings. Then we made an arrangement with the Coltrane family. With those two pieces in place, I felt I could tell a story worthy of a remarkable artist.”

Process

One of the things that moved me about the film was the way Scheinfeld put Coltrane at a crossroads in his life in 1957: He had just been fired by Miles Davis and could either quit heroin or go the path of Charlie Parker. Coltrane quit cold turkey and, from that point on embarked on a decade of creativity and exploration that was perhaps unprecedented. I asked Scheinfeld if he went into the process planning to use that as a framing device.

“I did not go into it with the dramatic structure in place. But I knew I didn’t want to do a straight-ahead biography. If you look at many of the films I’ve made I often have a three-act dramatic structure. It is never he was born, he did this, he died. It comes out of my background as a scriptwriter: I come at it in terms of telling the story from a dramatic standpoint. I did know that I wanted this to be a portrait of an artist and not an analysis of his music. Rather than a straight-ahead bio pic, I wanted to focus on the critical events, the passions, the experiences that shaped his life. We have really focused on the man and not the music, but the music is certainly in there, 48 tracks, covering the full array of Coltrane’s revolutionary sound.”

How did the dramatic structure come about?

“It was only later, when I talked to more people who actually knew Coltrane, who knew him as a young man, knew the challenges he faced, including the addiction. That’s when the dramatic structure came to me. I watched far too many movies growing up and one of my favorite filmmakers was Frank Capra. One of the things he did so well was to take a regular guy and confront him with challenges to such a degree that he finds himself in deep trouble. A lot of where Coltrane eventually went was because of the situation he found himself in. Putting your hero at that kind of crisis point is a good way to draw in the audience.”

I mentioned to Scheinfeld that after seeing the film, I spent a lot of time listening to Coltrane – let’s face it, I always spend a lot of time listening to Coltrane – but this time with a deeper awareness of this demarcation period in his life, starting with the Prestige album Coltrane, his first album as a leader. His progression from there is really remarkable and, fortunately, we have the albums to follow his path of exploration, innovation and, often, sheer beauty. Scheinfeld said this was no accident.

“He said it himself. After he stopped all of that, he said he wrote better and he played better. People think they can be more creative by injecting with a substance. It’s a myth. One of the many lessons of Coltrane’s life that we see in ‘Chasing Trane’ is that when he got off the substances he became really great.”

Surprises?

I asked Scheinfeld if there were any major surprises in the making of “Chasing Trane.”

“Having done the research, I had a handle on the overall trajectory of his life and the moments that seemed of importance. Everything I learned was in support of what I had learned. One thing was how much everyone who knew him loved him. Another, that he was a person of quiet strength.”

How about the audience response to the film? Any surprises?

“I have really been warmed by the response of journalists and critics and by the audiences when we’ve shown ‘Chasing Trane’ at the various film festivals. There’s something about this film—and it’s probably best left to others to describe why—that is touching people and hitting people in a strong way. We’re opening in New York on April 14 at the IFC for at least two weeks, and longer if we perform well. Then on April 21 we open in LA. From there we will be on 50-plus screens and the number keeps growing every day. For a documentary, that’s great. The film speaks to people in some important way, and I am really confident it will inspire and uplift them in ways that are essential in today’s world.”

Speaking of Today’s World

Ah, today’s world. It was, after all, my reaction to the election and the uplifting effect of “Chasing Trane” that led me to write that first essay, which led to this interview. There is a terrific passage in the film where Coltrane’s song “Alabama” is played against scenes from the bombing in Birmingham where the four little girls were brutally murdered in their church. And also scenes from the atomic bomb blast in Nagasaki and a haunting image of Coltrane praying at the memorial.

So I asked Scheinfeld how he sees Coltrane’s legacy and the film in relation to what is going on in the world now. “From my point of view, the world changed with the election of the new president. It’s hard not to have this placed in front of you every single day when you turn on the news: The darkness, the dissent, the disagreement, the protests, a wide range of things that were not there before. The world is in a very different place, and I think it can be oppressive.

“People crave something more inspiring and uplifting, something that speaks to the best of human nature and not the worst. The life of Coltrane and our film speak to this. Because of the choices he made, he was able to transcend these difficulties and ascend into a unique place. Bill Clinton talks about this where he talks about the first time he heard ‘A Love Supreme’ and he says, ‘This is something to which everyone should aspire.’

“There is a very universal story about John Coltrane and his music whether you know him and his extraordinary body of work and love and admire him, or if you are just learning about him. There are aspects of his story that will really inspire you to follow your own dreams and not let anyone tell you want you can or can’t do.”

The “Chasing Trane” Legacy

I asked Scheinfeld about his goals for the film, not in terms of Oscars or money or adulation, but its impact

“I would hope that people will come and see the film and feel that they have seen a portrait of a remarkable artist. Not a jazz artist, and not a jazz film. I’m inspired by Coltrane’s words as spoken by Denzel Washington in the film. He said, ‘I don’t recognize the word ‘Jazz.’ I just feel I play John Coltrane.’ To me that says it all, a unique artist with a unique sound that transcends all attempts to pigeonhole him. I would love for people to look at this enormously talented artist who found success on his own terms, not for the money, not for the fame – although those came to him – but as someone who followed his art where it took him. That is to be respected and admired.”

The Music

 At this point I had more than used up my allotted time with Scheinfeld and I was pleased with the ground that we had covered. Then I did what I have always done from my first days as a journalist. I closed with the open-ended question: Is there anything else you would like to talk about that we haven’t discussed. It turned at that there was and, in fact, Scheinfeld was extremely eager to talk about it, specifically for the audience here at Jazz Collector.

“I want to talk about how we used music in the film. There are nearly 50 Coltrane recordings, which is an impressive number for any documentary. We decided to approach the music not as a history lesson in his music, but like this; as if John Coltrane were alive today and I went to him and said, ‘I want you so score this film, taking pieces that you know and putting just the right piece of music in the right place in the film, underscoring the emotion, the feelings, the story point.’ His body of work is so amazing, we found every color, every texture, every mood, every tone that we needed to help tell the story.

“It is virtually wall-to-wall Coltrane music and it fits any moment in the script: The sadness of all the men dying in his life; the humor of Benny Golson and John Coltrane meeting for the first time; the challenges involved in kicking his addiction – we found the perfect piece of music to go there. He’s scoring his own life. My editor, Peter Lynch, has a real talent for putting the right music in the right place. Even those intimately familiar with the music will often hear and appreciate something new and exciting.”

I recalled at least three times in the film where I welled up with tears: The “Alabama” sequence, the first notes of “A Love Supreme” and the use of “After the Rain,” which I had thought was a recurring theme because it was used to such great effect.

“We used ‘After the Rain’ right near the end to underscore his passing. With the music and the visual elements and some good story telling, you have a chance to really move people and impact people. I’m very excited for people across the country to see this film.”

Denzel

 Scheinfeld wanted to make sure he covered one more point, about Denzel Washington and his role in making the film come alive.

“During his lifetime, Coltrane did no TV interviews. He did a few radio interviews, but the sound quality was not good enough to use. I wanted to bring him alive in a much more vital and vibrant way. Happily, he had done numerous print interviews during the height of his career. We wanted to take extracts from that to illuminate what he might have been thinking or feeling at a particular time, to help make him a three-dimensional human being in our film.

“Relentless optimist that I am, I decided to aim high and have these passages read by a movie star. I put a list of five actors and went to a casting director friend of mine named Vickie Thomas and said, ‘Will you help me with this?’ She took the list and said, ‘I don’t know. We’ll try.’ That was a Wednesday. On Saturday I get a text: ‘Denzel is in!’”

“I didn’t know if he was a Coltrane fan, but it turns out that he is. Vickie gives me his number but warns me that he never answers his phone. On Monday I call him and he answers the phone right away. I don’t know what to say, but I finally get it out and he says, ‘Oh, yes, I love Coltrane and this is very interesting to me. But one thing: I gotta see the film.’

“So I send him the film. Five days go by. I’m sure he hates it. Then he calls. No ‘hello, no how ya doin.’ The first thing out of his mouth: ‘It’s beautiful brother. When are you coming to Pittsburgh?’”

Washington was in Pittsburgh filming “Fences.” Scheinfeld flew to Pittsburgh to record him on one of his days off. “He couldn’t have been nicer and more professional – in addition to being the fine actor that we know he is. He had the script ready and knew exactly what he wanted to do with it, his interpretation of Coltrane. One of the reasons he was on the top of the list is that so many of the people described Coltrane as being a man of quiet strength. He didn’t talk a lot, but he was very strong. Denzel has played a lot of characters like that in his career. He totally understood and got Coltrane and he delivers an interpretation of Coltrane that truly elevates the overall experience of the film.”

I mentioned that when I was watching the film, I got the impression that Washington was actually talking to someone, thinking about what he was about to say, taking the time to put his words together carefully. Scheinfeld chuckled and told me one more story:

“Normally when there’s a voiceover there’s a stool and a music stand. On the music stand there is a script and a pair of headphones so the actor can hear himself. So Denzel comes into the studio and we start to talk a little bit. ‘I don’t want to do it that way,’ he says. ‘These are words he spoke to a journalist across a table. I’d like to sit at a table and imagine that journalist sitting before me.’ He wanted to be in that moment, imagining he’d been asked the question.”

Coda

We were now at the end. I told Scheinfeld once again how much I was moved by the film and how much I, as an ardent admirer of Coltrane for more than 40 years, appreciated his efforts in bringing Coltrane’s story to life and capturing the essence of the man and his art.

“As filmmakers, we sit in small dark editing rooms and we don’t know what we have until we show it to a room full of strangers. I’m so happy to hear that the film moved you. It’s what you hope to hear. I’m so proud of this film. I just want people to come out and see it.”

By Al Perlman
Editor and Publisher, Jazz Collector

So last night I was in bed with The Lovely Mrs. JC and as is our usual custom we were listening to a random playlist of ballads as we went to sleep. The shuffle landed on Stan Getz playing “Body and Soul.” We were listening and it was just sheer beauty and at the end of the second verse Getz goes into this run that is absolute genius, and I don’t use that term loosely, but, with Getz, I know that it applies. I don’t have the language, either in words or music, to describe what it is that Getz does, but, to me, I think of a figure skater taking off in full flight, doing three turns and three axels with pure grace and beauty and then landing on her feet as if it were all perfectly natural. You can listen to it here and perhaps you will hear what I heard.

I listened to this passage and I started laughing because I hadn’t heard it in a long time and I was flabbergasted and in awe at what just came out of the speaker.

The Lovely Mrs. JC rose from a slumber and asked: “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Why were you laughing?”
“Did you hear that?” I replied.
“Hear what.”
“That,” I said. “That thing Getz just played. It was unbelievable.”

But I knew that even though The Lovely Mrs. JC appreciates jazz after all these years of living with me, and that we were listening to the exact same thing, she did not hear what I heard. I knew that when I heard it, I heard it in a completely different way. Even though I can’t play jazz myself, even though I don’t have great musical ears or chops on any instrument, I know that I can listen to that passage by Getz and understand with deep passion and utter conviction the art and craftsmanship and brilliance that went into it and what it is about that particular passage in that particular moment in that particular song that brings a smile to my face and a chuckle to my soul. A bit later I was still laying there in bed, and by now The Lovely Mrs. JC had fallen asleep, and my mind was racing uncontrollably in a flash of stream of consciousness, sifting through other jazz moments that move me. And I got out of bed at 2 in the morning and I went to my computer and in a haze the following poured out of me onto the screen:

Oscar Peterson playing as if his hands are going to fly off his wrists in I Feel Pretty; Dexter Gordon playing obbligato behind Bobby Hutcherson on Who Can I Turn To; Benny Golson picking up Lee Morgan’s last phrase on Moanin’; anything by Clifford Brown; Vic Feldman’s piano solo on Sack o’ Woe; Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane trading choruses on Tenor Madness; Sonny Rollins playing Paul’s Pal on the same album where you could swear he has a huge smile on his face; Roland Kirk’s entire live performance on Volunteered Slavery; Joe Henderson’s entire sax solo on Song for My Father; Ella and Louis; Eric Dolphy’s bass clarinet vamp intro to On Green Dolphin Street; Mingus’ opening notes on Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting; Bird Lover Man; Bird doing three takes of Embraceable You, each one more beautiful than the one before it; Duke Ellington’s piano vamp on In a Sentimental Mood with Coltrane; Art Tatum; Lester Young’s sadness on almost any ballad in his later years; Lester Young’s joy on the Sound of Jazz with Billie Holiday; Wayne Shorter on Contemplation; Tal Farlow and Eddie Costa playing as if they were of a single mind on Taking a Chance on Love; Bill Evans My Foolish Heart; Monk, anything; Stan Getz on Getz/Gilberto playing Bossa Nova as if he had been playing it all his life; Paul Desmond, anything; Horace Silver Quintet, Filthy McNasty live, five men in perfect unison; Giant Steps, the song, the entire album; Sarah Vaughan, Jim Doesn’t Ever Bring Me Pretty Flowers; Herbie Hancock’s piano on Cristo Redentor.

I was sitting at the computer at 2 in the morning and I realized I could go on and on and on. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of jazz moments for me, writ large and small. I’m sure each of you has his or her own list that is entirely different than mine, and, of course, I would certainly encourage you to share yours on the comments section of this post.

As I was sitting there typing this I felt what I have known since the moment I realized that I loved and understood and appreciated this music we call jazz: That I have been blessed with a rare gift. For those of you, or us, who believe in God, say it comes from God. I don’t know myself where it comes from. I know it is not inherited, yet I also know that if it had not been for my father, playing jazz around the house from the time I was in my mother’s womb, I would not have this blessing. I also know that it has little to do with my musical ability or my capacity to actually play this music, because if it did I would not have this gift. In this aspect, I have always compared myself to my best friend Dan Axelrod, whom I have mentioned here often at Jazz Collector as my lifelong partner in sharing this passion for jazz and, at one point, the passion for collecting jazz records.

Dan grew up a block away from me in Bayside Queens and, while I had no obvious musical gifts, Dan was just the opposite. He was born with perfect pitch and from the time he was 3 or 4 years old, his parents would have him do these weird tricks. The phone would ring and they would ask him what key it was in. Stuff like that. I know he never felt like this gift was anything special, it was completely natural to him, and he often resented being treated like a trained monkey, as he called it.

Dan and I always shared a passion for music, starting with the Beatles. It was one of the things that bonded us together early. Dan could hear a Beatles song the first time it was on the radio and play it perfectly. He started studying guitar and it was obvious to his teachers that he was a prodigy. Eventually his teachers guided him to jazz and once he discovered that he had the gift to appreciate and play jazz there was no turning back. I remember in high school, we were all listening to Alvin Lee of Ten Years After, who was terrific, BTW, and Dan was also listening to Charlie Parker playing “Scrapple from the Apple.”

My house, with my Dad’s collection of great jazz records, became something of a haven for Dan and, of course, my Dad was thrilled to have one of his son’s friends share his passion for the music. For myself, I was into Cream and Ten Years After and other bands and, while I understood that jazz was a different and probably superior form of music, I didn’t get it. Until, one night, I did. I have told this story before in the memoir Song for My Father, but I will retell it here briefly. I was home alone with no music other than my father’s jazz collection. I smoked a joint and put on a record my father had always loved, The Cannonball Adderley Quintet Live at the Lighthouse. The first song “Sack o’ Woe.” Something stirred inside me. I got it. I don’t know how; I don’t know why. I just know I actually heard the music for the first time. I spent the rest of the night poring through my father’s records, putting one record after another on the turntable. I never looked back. I knew from that night on that jazz would be the only music that would ever touch my soul in that manner.

Dan and I explored our passion together. He did so musically, becoming a protégé of Tal Farlow, and he also did so with records, much more than me. He was already playing professionally at 16 so he had more money. But he also had a more obsessive personality, no offense, and he began amassing an amazing collection of records. I did the same, but on a smaller scale. We would drive out to Sam Goody’s in Valley Stream together and sift through the dollar bins, looking for that rare Lester Young or Stan Getz record that would occasionally be sitting there. We would go to Red Carraro’s house together. We would spend hours upon hours listening to jazz, talking about jazz, playing jazz, going to record stores, going to concerts.

When Sonny Rollins would play a week at the Half Note, we would go every single night. Dan doesn’t remember this story, but I do. One week at the Half Note the guitarist Attila Zoller was on the bill as an opening act. Dan brought his guitar one night. I don’t recall if he knew Attila or if he just talked his way into the backstage area. I just know that on this night, early in the gig, Dan and I were backstage and Attila had his axe and Dan had his. And Dan starting playing chords and Attila took a solo. Then Attila started playing chords and Dan took a solo. Dan was maybe one or two choruses into his solo when Attila abruptly stopped playing, looked directly into Dan’s eyes and shouted these two words: “TAL FARLOW!”

The very next set Dan was on stage with Attila. When the night was over, or the next night, and we said hello to Sonny, as we always tried to do because by now he knew we were regulars in the audience, Sonny turned to Dan and said in his typically modest and understated way. “I saw you up there. Very good.” I stood next to Dan beaming like a proud father. What could possibly be better than this, having your idol give you his blessing.

Through the years, this bond between Dan and myself has been one of the constants in both of our lives. I remember sitting in my little room in Bayside when we were still teenagers and we went into my father’s closet and pulled out the record Sarah Vaughan at the London House for the first time and when she started singing “Like Someone in Love” we both started cracking up, just the way I cracked up last night listening to Stan Getz playing “Body and Soul.” When Dan decided to sell his record collection, I bought it to keep it in the family, borrowing the money from my very generous father-in-law. When there would be a new discovery of missing tapes by Clifford Brown or Charlie Parker or John Coltrane, we would often sit together and listen for the first time, smiling at the same passages, chuckling at the same riffs. When I would have a record score, such as in Baltimore, I would call him on the way home. I still do.

It seems incongruous to me on some level that Dan, who can play this music in any setting with musicians of any caliber, who has studied this music his entire life and has a deep understanding of what the musicians are doing on a technical level, and me, who can’t follow chord changes and can’t even hear if I am playing in the right key, can listen to this music and hear it the same way, can laugh at the same passages, smile at the same flashes of brilliance, can hear it is if we are listening with a single set of ears. I don’t understand it, but I know it is true, because I’ve experienced it over the course of thousands of hours of listening to music with Dan.

And that is why I think of it as a blessing, this gift I have been given to understand and appreciate jazz. I truly don’t understand it, I truly do not know where it comes from, but I do know it that it is in etched somewhere in my DNA and has been such an integral part of my life. Among many other things, it has led me on this wonderful journey here at Jazz Collector, where I have been able to share my passion for jazz with all of you other lucky men and women who have been blessed with the same gift.

I was reminded of all this several times over the past few weeks, as I attempted to share my personal essay triggered by the documentary Chasing Trane with people outside the jazz world, people who don’t share this same appreciation for jazz and who don’t hear the music as we do, who aren’t among the .0000001 percent of the population who can really understand the nuance and brilliance of Stan Getz playing a particular passage in “Body and Soul.”

First there was my 25-year-niece Ariel, whom I love and adore in part because she is always so genuine and enthusiastic. She read the Coltrane article and one of the first things she said was. “I can’t wait to listen to Coltrane now!” Then there was my 50-something-year-old cousin Caroline in England, who decided to listen to A Love Supreme before reading my article. She loved the article and said the next time she sees me I will have to explain why A Love Supreme is considered great. She listened to it, but didn’t get it, not in the same way we get it. And there were many other friends and family members who said they needed to go listen to Coltrane after reading my article.

I don’t know what to tell these friends and family. Can you really listen to Giant Steps and understand what it’s about without understanding the context? If you don’t hear the music the way we hear it, those of us who have been given the gift, can you relate in any to Coltrane’s pain and anguish in “Alabama,” or the beauty of “I Wish I Knew,” or the passion and fury of “Afro Blue?” In my experience, it is very hard, nearly impossible, for people who don’t have the gift, who don’t know the history, who haven’t followed Coltrane’s path, to really, really get what is different about him versus any other jazz musician. The same could be said for Charlie Parker or Sonny Rollins or Monk or any of the musicians we all know to be geniuses of this music. With Trane it is particularly difficult because, on tenor, before Trane nobody played like him; after Trane everyone played like him. Before Trane there was no such thing as a soprano sax in modern jazz; after Trane a guy like Kenny G is known all around the world.

My answer to these friends and family is to listen to John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman or Ballads. With these records, they may not get the nuance, but they will clearly hear the beauty. And, perhaps one day up in The Berkshires, when we are all sitting around a fire, I will put on a Coltrane record and someone will hear something that will set off a spark and he or she will be set off on a path of discovery and exploration that will turn into a blessing like the one shared by each of us here in the Jazz Collector community.

And I thought I was done with that line of thinking and had kind of figured things out and wrote this essay as yet another stream of consciousness as soon as I got out of bed this morning. And then I recalled this beautiful comment by Brian Anderson on my previous post Chasing Trane 2: A Love Supreme Trumps Hate, which I will repeat in part here:

“It is so wonderful to be able to feel connected to a network of Jazz lovers. I have lost every dear friend I had who could share Jazz with me, and most of my listening these days is done in solitary. But with great people like you, Al, and all the wonderful folks who are part of this super network you have brought to us all, I do not feel alone.”

Thank you Brian for saying so eloquently in a few simple words what it has taken me more than 2,500 words to say here. And thank you all, once again, for being part of this very fortunate community of the blessed people who are able to love and appreciate this music that is so special to us all.

Amen.

Download the PDF of this article:

chasing-trane-3-for-the-love-of-jazz

By Al Perlman

To my regular Jazz Collector readers, I promise I will be back with a normal post on Tuesday. In the meantime, I ask for one final indulgence for this one final post so I can close the book on this Chasing Trane diversion.

First of all, I would like to let you all know that I am doing well. Since the election I have not turned on the television news or read any news or opinions in any periodical — print or online. It has been a blessing. My head is not clogged with useless information, my guts are not wrenched with fear, my vision is not clouded with images of people who spew hatred, vitriol and divisiveness.

Even better, I have begun to channel the spiritual awareness that the Coltrane documentary helped to inspire. I am walking down the street with a new energy that seems to be apparent because people are smiling at me and talking to me as never before. I am chatting with people in the elevator. I’ve reached out to friends that I have been estranged from for years. Plus, with my head cleared, I’ve had a burst of creative energy. The previous post on Chasing Trane is just one example. I am also doing great work for my clients and I am doing more writing on the side.

In fact, my attitude and energy have made me so much more engaged that some of the people closest to me are a little worried that I may be a bit manic. They are concerned I may be headed for a fall. But I asked my wife, who is a shrink, and I asked my shrink, who is a shrink, and I asked my son, who could be a shrink, and none of them is worried, so neither am I.

I find it is helpful to spend time doing things I love to do, such as going to the theater or being with friends and family. One of the other things I love to do is write. Most of you probably don’t know what I do for a living and why it keeps me from writing posts more frequently for Jazz Collector. In my work, I write, for hire, about how organizations are leveraging technology to change their businesses and change the world. It’s an interesting topic and it is rewarding because it gives me an understanding of the vast possibilities of what technology can do for all of us. The fact that I am a true technophobe myself, has, surprisingly, never negatively affected my ability to do this work, which I have been doing in various forms since 1977.

My current business is called New Reality Media, which is just a two-man shop that I started nearly nine years ago with a wonderful and talented friend named Mike Perkowski, who commented on the previous post. I spend most of my days writing. But I don’t normally get a chance to do creative writing, which is one of the reasons why the Coltrane article was so meaningful. It gave me the chance to really write, and it also gave me the chance to dig deep and explore and express my innermost feelings.

It has been, quite frankly, one of the most rewarding creative experiences of my life, and I’ve had quite a few. In addition to the wonderful comments on the Jazz Collector site, I’ve gotten at least an equal number of extremely warm, generous and caring emails from friends and family. I was also extremely gratified to see that the filmmaker John Scheinfeld not only saw this article, but also posted this lovely comment on Facebook:

One never quite knows how the world will embrace their artistic endeavors or what response it will generate. So, we were delighted to read this passionate and emotional essay from Al Perlman at Jazz Collector about seeing CHASING TRANE at DOC NYC.

I feel the same way as Scheinfeld. I put this essay out into the world not knowing what response it would generate and, here I am more than a week later, still basking in the afterglow. But I do realize it is time to move forward and see where the creative energy will take me to next. Before I completely move on, however, I want to take care of some housekeeping. First, let me reply to some of the specific comments on the Jazz Collector site:

To AbrasiveBeautiful and Daryl, I will fix your typos.

To my personal friends Steve, Myrna, Mike, Chris and Barbara, thanks for being there and supporting me in all my various endeavors.

To my son Michael’s friend Charlie Thurston, thanks for all of your creative work that has inspired and uplifted me through the years.

To some of the regulars here, Abrasivebeautiful, Gregorythefish, banksofthecliff, RichDGMono, Adamski, Daryl, BillW, Fredrik and others, thanks for your comments and for your active participation in the Jazz Collector community.

To Clifford, thanks for commenting and for your regular contributions to Jazz Collector. I appreciate them tremendously, and I know many readers do because I monitor the site’s traffic.

To Willem H, thanks for joining the commenters, and please feel free to continue participating.

To Keith Semerod, do I remember you! Are you kidding. When you sent me that original comment about seeing my articles 40-plus years ago in the Syracuse New Times, it was one of my favorite all-time moments in all the years of doing doing Jazz Collector. Thank you!

To Craig Holiday Haynes: Is your Dad Roy?

To Tessa Souter, thanks for reposting and tweeting.

To Brian Anderson, Steve Heckman and RL1856. Thanks for your thoughtful comments and the deep feelings behind them.

To Giovanni and Bill W, thanks for reminding me to get back to business.

To Danny, thanks for always being there and for being my partner and teacher in sharing this lifelong passion for jazz

And thanks to all the family and friends who reached out by email. I won’t remember everyone, but thanks to Jim, Mitch, Joe, Amy, Mark, Yael, Ari, Jessie, Yocheved, Ludi, Tyler, Rachelle, Charise, Susan, Jules, Heidi, Hy, Elliot, Rony and everyone else who responded.

And thanks to the many new readers who came to Jazz Collector because they heard about this specific article. I imagine the non-jazz lovers won’t stay for much longer, but hopefully the jazz lovers will. The site has been around for more than a dozen years, and we’ve posted many articles that may provide enjoyment and give you a deeper insight into jazz. The links below will take you to a few of my personal favorites. Enjoy.

Song for My Father

Memories of Mingus

The Complete Jazz Collector Bruce M. West Collection

An Old Jazz Collector Tribute to Charlie Parker

In Memory of a Jazz Collector

Confessions of a Vinyl Addict, Part 1

Finally, just so you all know I am really okay, here I am as of last night in my natural habitat.

By Al Perlman

It is the day after Thanksgiving here in the States and one of the things I am grateful for is the new John Coltrane documentary Chasing Trane, written and directed by John Scheinfeld. I was fortunate to see this film on the closing night of DOC NYC, the New York documentary film festival. It was a week ago last Thursday and it has had a deep emotional impact on me that is still resonating, which I will discuss in a bit. But first let me tell you about the film.

First off, Scheinfeld is a terrific documentary filmmaker, IMHO. I am a huge fan of two of his earlier movies, The U.S. vs. John Lennon and Who is Harry Nilsson . . .? I knew virtually nothing about Nilsson when I watched that film and I’ve since recommended it to all of my friends and family, and now to all of my readers here at Jazz Collector. Perhaps because of Scheinfeld’s reputation, the Coltrane family welcomed him to do this film and gave him access to Coltrane’s music, archives and even home movies.

In Chasing Trane, Scheinfeld has created a moving and inspirational tribute to one of the great musicians and spiritual influences of our times. He uses film footage and photos of Coltrane, some never before seen, interspersed with comments from a wide range of friends, family, fans, biographers and other admirers. I was personally moved by the comments from Coltrane contemporaries and close friends, Jimmy Heath, Benny Golson and, especially, Sonny Rollins. And I was surprised and impressed by the depth of knowledge and connection to Coltrane’s music and spirit expressed by former President Bill Clinton. But I was not surprised by how often some of these commentators were at a loss for words to describe Coltrane’s music or his influence because, as Sonny says, the only way to truly understand and feel the music is

to experience it.

And, of course, there is Coltrane’s music, ever-present as a soundtrack to the film. Scheinfeld spoke at the viewing I attended, and he said it contains 48 pieces of music from all eras of the Coltrane canon. There’s the first audio clip of Trane doing “Hot House” when he was 20 years old in a U.S. Navy Band, and there’s a really nice video that I had never seen of Trane playing “I Want to Talk About You.” And there are moments when you hear the music and it is almost impossible not to well up in tears, particularly the scenes surrounding “Alabama” and, for me, just hearing the opening notes of “A Love Supreme.”

The movie does not follow a straight chronological path. It starts with a conceit that puts Coltrane at a turning point in his life: It is early 1957 and Coltrane has just been fired from the Miles Davis Quintet because his addiction to heroin has made him too unreliable. He has a wife, Naima, and a step-daughter, whose comments about Trane in the movie are particularly poignant and moving. As the film frames it, Coltrane can follow one of two paths: He can quit heroin and turn his life around or he can follow the path of his hero Charlie Parker and die a young and tragic death.

Coltrane, as we all know, quits cold turkey and emerges as a new man, thankful to God for the gifts of this world and determined to express his appreciation and devotion in the only way he knows how, through his music. And of course, he then goes on a creative, artistic and spiritual quest the likes of which we have perhaps never seen over a 10-year period by any artist in any medium. Clinton eloquently compares Coltrane’s output to Picasso’s, while pointing out the brief period of time Coltrane had to explore and express his genius. Thankfully, we can all chronicle and awe at Coltrane’s incredible growth and musical output through his records, which, of course, are what we normally talk about here.

Most of you, our community at Jazz Collector, know the stories and the music from this period, and I would bet that many of us own every Coltrane recording from that era, as I do. Even with that, however, Scheinfeld takes us on an unexpected ride, particularly towards the end of the movie when the setting shifts to Japan. But I will stop here because I know you will all see this film and this aspect is central to the second part of this story, which I am about to tell. In summary, I know you will all love this film and feel blessed and grateful that Coltrane’s story was put in the care of a fine craftsman and artist in Scheinfeld.

In terms of when you may be able to see Chasing Trane: It sounded as if the producers are still working out distribution arrangements and it probably won’t be available for public release until later next year, perhaps in the autumn. You can all take a look at the Web site for details and be sure to view the trailer.

Chasing Trane: Beyond the Film

And now, for those of you still with me, I would like to talk about my personal connection to this film and why I found it to be so profound and moving, to the point where I cannot even talk about it without getting emotional. I know this is not our normal format at Jazz Collector, and this post is really two posts in one, hence the subtitle above. But as we know so well from Coltrane, it’s perfectly okay and, in fact, vitally important that we break through the normal conventional boundaries whenever it is necessary.

I was in a very bad emotional state when I saw Chasing Trane. I had been following the election coverage obsessively. I don’t want to get into politics here, but in the course of the election I had reached certain conclusions about Donald Trump that made me fearful of what might happen if he became President. None of my fears may be true, nor may they fit in with anyone else’s narrative, but it was what I believed to my absolute core. So, when he was elected president I was truly shaken. I turned the television off at 9:30 on election night and have not turned it on since. I stopped reading the newspapers because I was angry at and distrustful of the media.

Then I went into a real tailspin. I couldn’t sleep. I went deep into the rabbit hole and had visions of Apocalypse. First, that Trump and his cronies were going to take away our democracy and we would never again have a legitimate election. Then I went even bleaker: that Trump would purposefully or inadvertently begin a nuclear war that would end the world. For three nights after the election I didn’t sleep and didn’t share my fears with anyone. Finally, on Saturday morning, I broke down.

Many of you may recall that my wife, whom we affectionately refer to here as The Lovely Mrs. JC, is a psychotherapist, and thank God for that. I was despondent, in deep despair. I had another sleepless night on Saturday. On Sunday we went to a meditation group and I broke down once again in front of everyone, sobbing uncontrollably. I had two more sleepless nights on Sunday and Monday, my mind absolutely convinced that the world was coming to an end and there was no way to stop it. When The Lovely Mrs. JC woke up on Tuesday morning I broke down again and said, please, I need help.

She reached out to a psychiatrist that she knows and I reached out to a psychotherapist I had seen before. The psychiatrist said he would be able to see me on Wednesday evening, the next day. Knowing that I was going to get some help, I was able to focus on work on Tuesday and make it through the day. I had another difficult night on Tuesday, but I found it comforting to have turned off all media, so I was not exposed to the fear and hatred that I believed had been fomenting in the days following the election. I met with the psychiatrist at 5 p.m. Wednesday. For 45 minutes he patiently listened to my stories of sleepless nights and Apocalypse, of my distrust of the media, of my anger and disappointment and, most of all, my fear and sense of impending doom.

He said it was clear that I would need medication to help me deal with the anxiety, to help me begin sleeping again. In thinking aloud about which medication may be best for me, he said he also observed that I may have obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I smiled. I am, after all, the man with 8,000 jazz records, the man who had to quit playing Fantasy Football because I had become too consumed with making every perfect decision, to the point where on my vacation in Italy last fall I set my alarm for 2:30 in the morning on both Monday and Tuesday to listen to football games on my iPad. Yes, I figured, the doctor probably knew what he was talking about.

He prescribed Xanax. I went to the pharmacy immediately after my session and picked up the bottle. I took a pill, .5 MG, when I got home. I slept for 10 hours, straight through. It was my first moment of peace in a week. On Thursday I felt much better when I woke up. I was still avoiding all television, newspapers, social media, everything. Then I went into the elevator in my building to walk Marty the dog at 8 a.m. Sometimes there is no escape. There’s a television in the elevator and I saw a 20-second clip of that vile woman Kellyanne Conway. I could immediately feel the anxiety forming in my guts and in my chest. It was a physical reaction. I went back to my apartment, took half of a Xanax and meditated for 20 minutes. I felt much better, no angst in my gut. I went to work and was fine the rest of the morning.

I saw my son, Michael, later that day and it was a huge help. He has been a great source of help through this ordeal, as has been my daughter Sharon and son-in-law Justin. At a time of trouble, it is wonderful to know that people you love are there for you, and that’s how they made me feel, not just my wife and children but good friends, especially my business partner Mike, and my friends DeeDee and Chris and Danny and Rocco and Carol and Steve and others. Even if I didn’t reach out to all of my friends, knowing that they were there was a source of comfort.

Michael and I had been talking a lot about the election. He was equally concerned, but he was coping with it much better than I was. That day — it is now Thursday, November 17, nine days after the election — we planned to spend together. Michael’s friend had made a movie that was being shown at a documentary film festival in Greenwich Village. So it was lunch and the movies for us. We had a great conversation over lunch that gave me a lot of comfort, even though it was a very dark discussion. I won’t get into the whole thing here, but two points Michael made really resonated. One was that he was not really that afraid of a nuclear Apocalypse. He wasn’t dismissing my fear at all; he was just saying, hey, if we all go, we all go. If there’s nothing left, there won’t be anyone or anything to miss. I don’t know why, but it made me feel better. Then I was saying that I was so afraid of losing our democracy that I was willing to give them Roe V. Wade or healthcare or even gay marriage, just as long as we can still vote and fix these problems sometime in the future. Some would call it the bargaining stage of the five stages of grief. Michael said to be careful with that thinking – that’s how they get us. We get so consumed with fear that we let them take our rights away a little bit at a time. That’s why we have to be vigilant. It’s what terrorism is all about, isn’t it?

This also made me feel better. Not that I was less concerned about what will happen, but somehow it made me less afraid. Then we went to the movies. Michael’s friend Lorenzo Pisoni made a movie called Circus Kid. I’d only met Lorenzo a couple of times, but Michael had told me about his fascinating life. His father owned a circus and Lorenzo started performing from the time he was two. I was really looking forward to the movie. Michael and I were sitting there waiting for it to start, chatting a bit. On the screen they were promoting other movies from the DOC NYC festival.

“Hey Dad,” Michael said. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“It looks like there’s a Coltrane documentary.”
“Really,” I said. I didn’t think much of it.
“I must have seen it already,” I said. “With Jazz Collector, I’m on a lot of distribution lists. If there was a new Coltrane documentary I’m sure I’d know about it.”
Michael pulled out his cell phone. “Let me look it up,” he said. And then he did.
“I think it’s brand new,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes, and tonight is the only performance. Seven PM.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I have plans for tonight,” I said. I was supposed to attend a small event at Lincoln Center at 6:30 PM.
Then I thought for a few seconds. And I turned to Michael.
“You know how I feel about Coltrane,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied.
“He’s been a tremendous influence on my life.”
“I know.”
“You know,” I continued, “Two, three hundred years from now, if the world survives, I think Coltrane will be remembered as one of the three seminal figures of jazz, the way we now remember Mozart or Beethoven or Bach.”
“Who are the others?”
“Again, this is just my opinion, but it will be Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker and John Coltrane.”
“Interesting,” Michael said.
Then we sat there for a couple more minutes, quiet.
Then I finally said: “You know, I should really go to this Coltrane documentary.”
“Of course you should,” Michael replied.

Then Lorenzo’s movie started and it was wonderful. Very moving, a fascinating story, extremely well told. And it wasn’t really about growing up in a circus. It was about growing up, period. It was about family and fathers and relationships and life. I loved it and was thrilled that Michael had suggested it. We said hello to Lorenzo after the movie, wished him great success and headed towards the subway. I got home, immediately went on line and purchased a single ticket for Chasing Trane. I felt my body surging with excitement. I hadn’t thought about the election in hours.

I got to the theater around 6:30. There was a long line to get in. I was surprised. “Is this all for the Coltrane documentary?” I asked at the box office. “Yes.” It was a huge theater, but it seemed as if it was nearly sold out. When I got in, I took a seat towards the middle of the auditorium. I looked around. “Wait a second,” I could hear me thinking to myself as I looked to my left at a short black man sitting in the next row. “Is that Jimmy Heath? Really? Is that Jimmy Heath?” And then I answered: “Yeah, that’s Jimmy Heath.” I smiled a big smile. I’m seeing a John Coltrane documentary with Jimmy Heath. Wow, how cool is that!

There was a technical glitch and to fill the time the filmmaker John Scheinfeld shared some stories about how he came to do the film and how he was able to find some rare footage that had never been seen before. It just whetted my appetite and heightened my anticipation even more. Then, finally, the film started.

There was the first sound of Coltrane’s music. And some interesting illustrations and then a photograph of Coltrane himself. My eyes filled with tears. It was such an emotional moment for me, it is hard to describe in words. I felt as if I was experiencing something deeply spiritual. I didn’t understand it at first, but then I remembered moments, little snapshots in my life where Coltrane was simply there for me.

I was 17. My high school girlfriend had just broken up with me. Most of my friends had gone away to school. I didn’t get into a single college to which I applied, so I had to go to Queens College. I had only two close friends still at home, Paul and Danny. It was also the time I discovered jazz, thank God, which was like a lifeline and a story I shared previously at Jazz Collector in the memoir Song For My Father, the only other post on this site that in any way resembles this one.

I was depressed and felt all alone. I must have been suffering from some kind of social anxiety as well because I felt that everyone was staring at me all the time, wherever I went, all of them keenly aware that I was this very lonely, very sad teenager. The times between classes, when I had nothing to do and no one to talk to, were the most difficult of all. Then, through my best friend Dan Axelrod, I discovered that Queens College had an extensive music listening library. It was a very weird little place, as I recall, almost underground, where they had about eight turntables in the front of the room and maybe 20 or 30 listening stations where you could put on headphones and listen to any of the records that were playing on the turntables. In front of each turntable was a little stand where they would put the front cover of the record so you could decide which record to hear through your headphones.

Whenever a class would end and I would have a break until the next class, I would walk with great purpose to this music listening library, as if I had an appointment I had to keep and someone very important was waiting for me. And I would get there and every single day, every single time, with no exception, perhaps hundreds of times over the course of two years, I would ask for one record: John Coltrane, My Favorite Things. And the person behind the counter would pull the record from its jacket, put the jacket on the stand facing the room and put the record on the turntable. And I would take a seat, put on the headphones and listen and escape from my sadness, escape from the world. The music somehow transformed me and gave me enormous hope. I can’t tell you why, I can’t tell you how, just as it is impossible to describe the music. I can only tell you that it touched my soul and helped to heal me. It got to the point where I couldn’t wait for a class to end, so I could spend time with my friend and healer, John Coltrane.

There were times when I would listen to both sides of My Favorite Things and there would be more time to kill before my next class. I would ask the person behind the counter to either start it again from side one or get another record for me. The only two other records I ever chose were Giant Steps or A Love Supreme. At that time in my life, probably the lowest I had ever felt, the only music I could turn to, the only person, was John Coltrane, and I was so thankful that he was there for me, that he was the person he was, the musician he was and that the music he made was preserved on record to comfort me in a time of need.

I have felt this feeling about Coltrane many times since, throughout my life, through difficult times and, just as importantly, through joyous times. I can’t tell you how often I sit in front of my record player listening to a Coltrane album just being in awe at the creativity, inspiration and genius before me. Coltrane has also been a major part of my experience here at Jazz Collector over the past 10-plus years, where all of you have been so generous in providing me with the forum and the community to share our love for this music and the great musicians that have created it. And, at the risk of sharing too much information and embarrassing The Lovely Mrs. JC, I know without question that I have made love more often with Coltrane in the background than any other music – Ballads, John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman, Settin’ the Pace, and others. When we got married, the Lovely Mrs. JC and I chose “Every Time We Say Goodbye” as our wedding song, the second song on the first side of My Favorite Things. Coltrane, who died in 1967 when I was just 14 years old, has been there often as a critical companion in some of the most intimate moments of my life.

And all of this came flooding into me as I sat there watching this wonderful tribute to this man who was such a hero of mine. And the film carried me with it on this journey and at some point it comes to A Love Supreme, and, as I said, just hearing the first notes of the album and knowing what it meant to Coltrane, and to me, and to all of us who love and appreciate his music, it brought tears to my eyes once again.

As far as I was concerned Scheinfeld could have stopped the movie right there. I would have been thrilled and I would have felt blessed. But then he took a strange, unexpected and dramatic turn. One of the next images on the screen was the atomic bomb blast in Nagasaki, Japan. He lingered on the image. The full mushroom cloud in all its horrific glory. And then he showed images of the victims, the devastation, the destruction, the indescribable inhumanity that human beings are capable of inflicting on one another. And I felt myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat. For days and days I had been lying awake in bed fearing just this kind of Apocalyptic vision. Just hours before I had been sitting in a French bistro on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village with my son Michael, talking about what we both believe is the very real possibility of nuclear devastation. I was having a hard time seeing these images and worried, seriously, that I would have to leave the theater because it was too much for me to contain.

And then the images and the story went back to Coltrane. When he was booking his tour to Japan he insisted that Nagasaki be included on the schedule. When he arrived in Nagasaki after a long flight, his driver came to pick him up and take him to his hotel. Coltrane said no. He had to go immediately to the Nagasaki Peace Park Memorial. And the movie then lingers on an amazing photo of Coltrane standing in prayer in front of a memorial, perhaps the Peace Statue, perhaps something else. I don’t remember the exact story from the film, I wasn’t taking notes, I was totally absorbed, but this is what I took away from it: Coltrane apparently stood in front of the memorial for a considerable length of time, perhaps as much as two hours. When he was done, the driver asked him why. He replied that he needed to feel the pain, hear the sound, feel the heat, hear the cries, experience, as best he could, what the people of Nagasaki experienced when the blast actually occurred.

Again, something stirred inside me. As I had intuited all of my life, this was not an ordinary man. This was a man who had achieved a level of spirituality that few humans can ever achieve. Sonny Rollins says it so beautifully in the movie. He talks about Coltrane being at a higher level, not just musically but spiritually. As far as Sonny is concerned, Coltrane is still there. We need not mourn his passing from this world, Sonny says, because he is and has always been in another world, a world few of us can ever experience or even know about. And the movie closes with a beautiful video of Coltrane, the man, at home on Long Island, enjoying life, enjoying his family, smiling a smile of sheer contentment.

For me it is now a week later and this film is still affecting me deeply. When I met with my psychotherapist this week I broke down crying just telling him about the effect Chasing Trane had on me. Same thing happened when I told my son Michael about it. The film has helped to move me in a direction that I never thought was possible, towards being a more spiritual and spiritually aware person.

But, of course, it’s not the film. It is John Coltrane. And for that, and for him, and for his music, and for his presence in my life, I say Thank You on this blessed Thanksgiving weekend.

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