Anyway, it was quite a trip: In addition to flying back and forth from New York to Denver, I drove more than 1,400 miles in five days. I am now back and in my house up in The Berkshires, hopefully to remain here for the rest of the summer. The Lovely Mrs. JC is spending weekdays in New York with her psychotherapy practice and commuting here on weekends, which gives me a lot of time alone. Which is not necessarily such a bad thing, particularly since I did a major upgrade of my stereo system here last year, updating my Lynn-Sondek turntable with a new tonearm and cartridge and replacing my small B&W speakers with a mighty pair of Wilson Sophia speakers. The sound is quite fantastic and, best of all, I have the lake at the back of the house, an empty forest at the front, and two empty houses on each side. Which means I can play my music as loud as I want any time of the day. Normally, I don’t like to listen to the music at too high a volume, but with the system I have in place the music at higher volumes sounds almost live. So I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, and enjoying it quite a bit, particularly when supplemented with the aid of an occasional beer or glass of wine and/or other substance that is now legal in several states and wherein I have been able to obtain a quantity of high-quality product that would otherwise be used for medical purposes but, for me, is quite recreational.

Last night was a perfect example. After enjoying a sampling of said product and a bottle of beer I sat down to watch a documentary on Netflix called Beware of Mr. Baker, which is a biography of the drummer Ginger Baker. Fantastic movie – I recommend it highly. He’s a great character and a great drummer and a bit of a nut job and the film captures all of those aspects of him. Anyway, there’s a scene in the movie where Baker is playing with Art Blakey and they are a mighty pair, indeed. After the movie was over, I put on a couple of Cream tracks to listen closely to the drumming. I’m not a drummer nor an aficionado of drumming, but it’s not hard to hear that Baker was/is something special. But the rock music was not so interesting to me, so I decided to move over to jazz and, having just seen Blakey in the movie, I had a yen for some Jazz Messengers. I wanted to put on Buhaina’s Delight but, alas, I only have one copy of that record and it is in Manhattan. I looked through the few Blakeys I have here and opted for A Night at Birdland Volume 2, Blue Note 1522. This was not my original pressing, which is also sitting on a shelf in Manhattan; this was a Japanese Toshiba pressing. Still, it was a record I wanted to hear because, frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I put it on the turntable, even though I’ve always known it to be a great record. I put on Side Two with Now’s the Time and Confirmation. Absolute heaven. The volume was high, the record was recorded live and, in my altered state, it felt like I could feel the musicians in the room with me. All the music is great on the record, but Clifford Brown is outrageous. Listen to both of his solos on this side; I defy you to find any better trumpet solos anywhere – so inventive, swinging and emotional. Confirmation is done at a breakneck pace, the fastest version I can think of offhand.

Anyway, I really enjoyed that side and wanted more, but this time I wanted an original pressing from the era because, as great as the Japanese Toshiba sounded, it also felt like perhaps a little something was missing. So I went to my originals up here, which are all duplicates, and started with the A’s and settled quickly on the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, Them Dirty Blues, Riverside 322. Another record that I’ve always loved but hadn’t listed to in awhile. I started on Side One with Work Song and Dat Dere. Right away, I could tell I liked the sound better on the original pressing than on the Blakey reissue. It was richer and more live sounding, if you know what I mean. And, as with the Blakey record, I was once again in the company of an outstanding and tightly knit group with a singular soloist, in this case Cannonball, who was an absolute master. Again, listen to this record and, outside of Bird, try to find any better alto solos anywhere and anytime.

By the time this side was over it was around midnight and, while I felt like I could stay up all night just listening, I took the practical route and went to bed. I’m still working quite hard these days, and there are always deadlines to face in the mornings. But I gave myself a raincheck for tonight because The Lovely Mrs. JC isn’t coming up until tomorrow and I remain on my own. Who knows what music lies in store for later? In fact, I’m open to recommendations, so please . . .

My very first paying job as a journalist was while I was still in college. I was the jazz writer and critic for The Syracuse New Times in Syracuse, New York. It was 1973. I was 20 years old. The job was a blast. I got to interview Charles Mingus, Chick Corea and Larry Coryell when they came through town. I got to write a fun essay on Charlie Parker. I wrote an article on 25 records to get started on jazz. And, whenever the record labels would send over new jazz records, they would come to me. For a vinyl addict, what could be better?

At some point I was sitting in my dorm room and I was doing a review of a new Dexter Gordon album. It was Ca’Purange (Prestige 10051 for those of us who like to keep track of such things). I didn’t think the album was all that great, particularly in comparison to Dexter’s previous Prestige albums, most notably The Panther!, which was one of my favorites. I’m at my typewriter and writing about Dexter being a disappointment on this record, and commenting negatively on the other musicians, who happened to be Thad Jones, Hank Jones, Stanley Clarke and Louis Hayes.

And I look down at the paper, and the realization hits me: Who the hell am I to be criticizing Dexter Gordon or any of these amazing artists?

I can’t play jazz, I have never put the time and effort and dedication into the craft, and these men are all masters, among the greatest musicians of our time. And, because I don’t particularly like this particular album, I’m going to publish an article with my name attached to it and say something negative about them? What gives me the right?

I pulled the piece of paper out of the typewriter and wrote a brand new review with a completely different perspective, with a lot more respect and appreciation for the time and effort and work that went into the album. Whether I liked it or not was almost beside the point. I felt much better about my work and I’m sure my readers got a lot more value out of my more thoughtful and perhaps more thought-provoking review. From that point on, whenever I wrote a review it was with a sense of respect and acknowledgement of the artistic effort that went into the work. But I also knew that, as much as I loved jazz, I was not really qualified to be the type of critic I thought I should be, because I did not understand the fundamentals of actually creating the music. As I moved on in my journalism career, I moved away from criticism and really never went back. Even here at Jazz Collector, you would be hard-pressed in any of my more than 1,500 posts to find any harsh or dismissive comments about any musician attempting to create art of lasting value.

Which brings me back to the new play “At the Table” by Michael Perlman (see, I did it again). I saw the play three times in previews and was truly impressed with every aspect of it. Of course, I’m totally prejudiced—but, to be fair, Michael’s last play, “From White Plains,” won a prestigious GLAAD Media Award and has subsequently been produced all across the country, including theaters in New York, Boston, Chicago, Cincinnati, Ithaca and San Francisco, among others.

Anyway, the play had previews last week and opened on Sunday and the audiences have absolutely loved the play. So the artistic team was anxiously awaiting the reviews, particularly the one from The New York Times. And it came out on Monday. And it was an embarrassment – not to the play and the artistic team, but to The New York Times and the critic who wrote it. She was basically dismissive of the entire play because it was staged in the round and there were times when characters had their backs to certain parts of the audience when they spoke their lines. Which is what happens in theater in the round. She clearly didn’t like the play, which is her right, but give the readers a real reason, give the play some honest thought and criticism. Don’t just casually dismiss the tremendous effort that goes into producing something like this simply because it was staged in the round.

Honestly, this was as poorly done “review” as I have ever seen. Here, read it yourself. (For contrast, here’s another review of the play.) The unfortunate reality is the poor review was in The New York Times, which carries more weight than every other media outlet combined. With the power that The New York Times carries in determining the fate of artistic endeavors, and particularly non-profit theater, they should be much more diligent, responsible and mindful in what they publish. As a long-time editor and journalist, I am embarrassed for my profession because, in my view, The Times abrogated its most basic responsibility to the artistic community and the theater-going public.

On the other hand, I am tremendously proud of my son and the rest of his talented team. What happened was this: The review was so absurd, uninformed and uninformative, that people who had seen the play began spontaneously commenting on The New York Times site. It seems they are not publishing all of the comments, but at this point there are nearly 40 comments that have been posted, and they are very thoughtful and pointed in their discussion and critique of the work – just as the reviewer should have been. Please, take a look at them.

I’m also proud that Michael hasn’t let the laziness and incompetence of a single individual be too discouraging, although it is The New York Times and a weird review like that one is obviously not what you want to appear when you are trying to attract an audience to a new and very thoughtful (and funny!) play. This is what Michael wrote on Facebook yesterday:

Not gonna lie. It’s been a frustrating day. I’ve been frustrated that we as a community feel as though so much stock is put in what one paper says about our work. Frustrated that that one paper can affect whether people choose to come see the work or not. Frustrated that this particular review doesn’t discuss, for better or for worse, the actual work being done and questions being asked. And frustrated that I felt as though I should be ashamed of the review and hide from social media.

But I got an email this morning from a stranger in Hawaii asking if he could read the play. This review piqued his interest, but the comments, he said, made him really want to see what this play was about. So I took a look at the comments and discovered quite a few thoughtful, complex and beautifully written thoughts on the show. And it reminded me that so much of what we’re trying to ask in this play is what happens when we as a culture are no longer interested in one point of view having the loudest voice. And there are currently about 15 people discussing what this play means to them.

So I’m posting the review. If you’ve seen the show, I hope that you will become part of the conversation that’s happening in the comments section – whether you like what we’re doing or not. Be part of the conversation. And if you haven’t seen it, I hope the comments will make you want to see it and participate in the conversation yourselves. And, of course, I hope that if and when the conversation gets large enough, people who want to go to the theater because it is a social event, and perhaps the last art form that MUST be a social event, will see these comments and say “I want to be part of that.” Perhaps we can make the story about the other voices that want to be heard.

I am so tremendously proud of this show and the team that has created it.”

To my friends at Jazz Collector, thank you for indulging a proud father, and please see the play if you’re in New York. For everyone who does a search and finds this article, if you’re in New York between now and July 19, I urge you to see “At the Table” by Michael Perlman. This is a terrific piece of work and I promise you won’t be disappointed.