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.

both the record and the cover. In fact, the pictures with the listing look pretty spectacular. This one is currently at about $430 with about 15 hours to go. I think it will sell for more than $1,000 and, as much as I’d love a copy (as much as I’d love THIS copy), I just can’t pull that particular trigger. So the hunt shall continue.

I’ve also been catching up on my email and found this interesting article from The New York Times. Apparently, they have a feature on “Walking New York” and they got Sonny Rollins to write about how he wound up practicing on the Williamsburg Bridge. Enjoy:

“In the late 1950s, I moved into a loft on Grand Street between Clinton and Suffolk. I used to go to Ratner’s to pick up pastries for my wife, Lucille. On her way home from work, she used to visit a man named Izzy and his wife, who ran a pickle store on Suffolk near Grand. We bought our chickens at a kosher butcher next door. We were welcomed on the Lower East Side, as an interracial couple. The rest of the world isn’t like that. That’s a special place.

The problem was that I had no place to practice. My neighbor on Grand Street was the drummer Frankie Dunlop, and his wife was pregnant. The horn I’m playing, it’s loud. I felt really guilty. One day I was on Delancey Street, and I walked up the steps to the Williamsburg Bridge and came to this big expanse. Nobody was there, and it was beautiful. I went to the bridge to practice just about every day for two years. I would walk north from Grand Street, two blocks up to Delancey Street, and then from Delancey Street down to the entrance of the bridge. Playing against the sky really does improve your volume, and your wind capacity. I could have just stayed up there forever. But Lucille was supporting us, and I had to go back to work. You can’t be in heaven and on earth at the same time.”

Why do we amass stuff we don’t need? Not all collecting is art collecting and no real collector would acquire things just as a status enhancement or investment. Real collectors are after something else. The objects in their collection are taken out of use, removed from circulation. The real value of a piece lies not in its auction price, but in the importance it has in the collection.

No true devotee would buy a T-shirt worn by Mick Jagger during a concert, chuck it in the washing machine and wear it. A Mick Jagger T-shirt is no longer a T-shirt, it’s a

connection to the world of Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n Roll, a form of genius, a dream. Collected objects are like holy relics: conduits to another world. They have shed their original function and become totems, fetishes. Collecting by its very nature is animist and transcendental.

The objects and their organization bind us to something larger than ourselves, and as religion was born out of a fear of death and the wish of eternal life, collecting expresses the same fundamental urges. There are two corresponding impulses in collecting. One, epitomized by Casanova and Don Giovanni, show the erotic side of the object as fetish: the fury of conquest exhausting itself in the act (acquired objects are no longer as important as those still to be conquered) and living on only in Casanova’s Memoirs and Don Giovanni’s catalog of women, faded records of past glory.

The second, totemic impulse brings to mind a pharaoh’s tomb. Carefully arranged around the sarcophagus are representatives of the king’s possessions, of the wealth and the resources he needs to live on in the afterworld. Their presence is symbolic, but it assures survival. It is remarkable how many collectors chose to be immortalized through their collections, either by naming and donating them, by a continued presence as founder’s portrait or statue, or even as a wax work.

Like relics, collected objects are keys to another world and guarantors of immortality. That is why our urge to collect is impossible to ignore: it touches the very depths of who we are.

I contacted media relations at eBay on Monday with a bunch of questions. Still no response. I’ll follow up today. Still trying to find out if they are acknowledging a fraud, if they are pressing charges against the perpetrator and if they are consistently reimbursing victims.

There are two new instances of negative feedback on Nautiluso if you check out his profile here. These are from a classical buyer from the same auction. He was ripped off to the tune of about $3,400 and says on his feedback that eBay refunded his money. So far, everyone we’ve heard from directly has

received a refund either from eBay or PayPal. We’re anxious to hear if someone out there hasn’t been reimbursed.

I contacted a friend at The New York Times to see if they’d be interested in following up on this story. They expressed some interest but, in the end, decided to pass on it. I had hoped the threat of a national media spotlight might make eBay and PayPal more forthcoming with information. So it looks like we’re on our own here to try to decipher things and figure out what happened. Eventually, I would expect some other media outlets to get wise to this story, but we’ll keep plugging away regardless.

serve as introductions to some of the songs. The readings were performed by Gilbert Millstein, who was a writer for The New York Times and who also contributed liner notes to this record.  In addition to Millstein’s notes and commentary, there is also an essay by Nat Hentoff. Here’s an excerpt: “The audience was hers from before she sang, greeting her and saying good-bye with heavy, loving applause. And at one time, the musicians too applauded. It was a night when Billie was on top, undeniably the best and most honest jazz singer alive.”

As a great recording, as well as a piece of jazz history, this is quite a nice package. It also features Roy Eldridge and Buck Clayton on trumpets; Coleman Hawkins, Al Cohn and Tony Scott on reeds; Carl Drinkard on piano; Carson Smith on bass; Chico Hamilton on drums; Kenny Burrell on guitar. The tracks are: Lady Sings the Blues; Tain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do; Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone; I’ll Be Seeing You; I Love My Man; Body and Soul; Don’t Explain; Yesterdays; My Man; I Cried For You; Fine and Mellow; I Cover the Waterfront; What A Little Moonlight Can Do.

As always, we have one copy of this record to give away to one fortunate reader of Jazz Collector. To be eligible to win the record, all you have to do is comment on the Jazz Collector site — anywhere on the site — between now and Monday Oct. 12, when the contest ends. At that point all of the eligible names will be placed into a hat, or something like a hat, and the lovely Mrs. Jazz Collector will choose, at random, the winning name. As always, we even pay for the shipping, so it is truly a free collectible, as our previous winners will all attest. So please, begin commenting on the site and we hope to have our greatest contest yet.