Regarding the Pee Reese story this morning. I sent it to Mark Reese in an email and he replied:
"That was the last time my father ever went to a movie. I took him.
And he loved it. In fact, we were both teary eyed because we were thinking about our respective fathers and playing toss with them after they had left this earth. Ain't that something."
On another sad note, Gordon Brisker, the great tenor saxophonist and flutist died Sunday night in his sleep in Cincinnati of pancreatic cancer.
I emailed him on Friday a note that said:
Gordon: I thought I'd drop you a line. I'd like you to know I think of you often. I don't know if you remember but I was with you at the Seelbach last spring when you told Dick Sisto about your illness. I'll never forget it. When ever anyone talks about illness, death or dying it's easy to fall into cliches and bullshit. So, I instead would like to give you a moment of deferential silence. Call it a prayer if you wish.
I just got back from the Chicago Jazz Festival. Last friday they had a birthday tribute to Count Basie in Petrillo Shell. He would have been 100. On stage were a number of Basie alumni including Clark Terry in a wheelchair, Frank Wess, Benny Powell, Sid Catlett, Harold Jones and Buddy Defranco recreating the Kansas City 7. Then Frank Foster came out on a walker, he was felled by a stroke a few years ago, and made some announcements. My wife Deborah called it "geriactic" jazz. I called it sad. All my old heros going down the drain.
Gordon, I've always been in awe of musicians and singers like you and Gail. Artists who have the kind of talent they can't teach in schools no matter how many Jamey Aebersold records they listen to. You have a wonderful gift that you've shared with people lucky enough to recognize your talents, although they may be small in number.
I wish you could have been here to accompany Gail for Sunday's concert. Your club date together in Cincinnati at the Blue Wisp was the best I've ever heard her. Much love and thank you for being my friend. Danny
Showing posts with label Gail Wynters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gail Wynters. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Monday, September 13, 2004
Not So Wild Weekend
Jazz singer Gail Wynters gave a wonderful "caberet" concert last night at the Kentucky Center for the Arts. Backed by pianist Harry Pickins, bassist Tyrone Wheeler and drummer Colby Inzer, Gail sang her heart out as usual. It was a family affair. At one point she was joined by two of her sisters and later her son Trip, a percussionist.
Despite absolutely no press coverage, the concert was well attended. Probably due to fact that it was part of a music series at the center that is pre-booked. Outside of that interlude the weekend, although beautiful weather wise, was uneventful. It's always like this after my late summer Chicago trip. While bike riding yesterday I had a flat tire in front of Mayor Jerry Ambramson's house. I don't know if there is any hidden meaning in that or not. As the light wanes the Hog deflates just like his back tire. At the concert last night I shared a table with Maggie Reily, a local actress who was in one of Mark Reese's Inonesco plays 10 or more years ago. Reily is 80 years old and quite a wonder. Youthful and alive.
Despite absolutely no press coverage, the concert was well attended. Probably due to fact that it was part of a music series at the center that is pre-booked. Outside of that interlude the weekend, although beautiful weather wise, was uneventful. It's always like this after my late summer Chicago trip. While bike riding yesterday I had a flat tire in front of Mayor Jerry Ambramson's house. I don't know if there is any hidden meaning in that or not. As the light wanes the Hog deflates just like his back tire. At the concert last night I shared a table with Maggie Reily, a local actress who was in one of Mark Reese's Inonesco plays 10 or more years ago. Reily is 80 years old and quite a wonder. Youthful and alive.
Monday, August 9, 2004
Bird Droppings
Yesterday morning, around 7 a.m. a flock of geese flew over my house. And when I drove over to Winn Dixie for some coffee I saw a crow as big as a turkey pick up a piece of carrion on the street and fly off with it clasped tightly in its greedy beak. People fight wars, seek money, pleasure, fame. The birds continue...
Saturday night I went to ParkSide a little night club tucked in one corner of the new ball park downtown. Gail Wynters was singing with guitarist Greg Walker and three other musicians. Gail was great as always. Unfortunately the p.a. was terrible and distorted her voice.
The acoustic bassist was a lovely, little brunette girl, who couldn't take her dark eyes off the lead sheet in front of her. It was probably the first time I ever enjoyed just looking at at bass player sexist pig that I am.
A few minutes into the set drummer Rob Williams came in and told me she was his girl friend. Rob plays drums in my band Lush Life and is a wild man. I'm glad he's found a woman to calm him down. And on top of that she's a good bass player!
Saturday night I went to ParkSide a little night club tucked in one corner of the new ball park downtown. Gail Wynters was singing with guitarist Greg Walker and three other musicians. Gail was great as always. Unfortunately the p.a. was terrible and distorted her voice.
The acoustic bassist was a lovely, little brunette girl, who couldn't take her dark eyes off the lead sheet in front of her. It was probably the first time I ever enjoyed just looking at at bass player sexist pig that I am.
A few minutes into the set drummer Rob Williams came in and told me she was his girl friend. Rob plays drums in my band Lush Life and is a wild man. I'm glad he's found a woman to calm him down. And on top of that she's a good bass player!
Sunday, May 23, 2004
On the Road with Ella Fitzgerald, Gail Wynters and Ed
Great evening last night. Attended Dr. Ken Beilman's 16th Annual Jazz Party in Middletown, Ky. For my guest I took the fabulous jazz diva Gail Wynters. We spent much of the drive to the party listening to a 25 year old tape of my old WUOL FM "Jazz Insights" Radio Show featuring my interview with Ella Fitzgerald.
During one the recordings I played on the show that had Ella scating with a number of jazz legends like saxophonists Stan Getz and Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis plus trumpeters Harry "Sweets" Edison and Roy Eldridge, I realized that everyone on the recording, that was made sometime in the 1960s, was now dead including Ella.
Wynters got to know and perform with many of these greats during the 20 years she lived in New York City. She had a close friendship with trombonist Al Grey who was also on the recording. So, we had fond memories to share.
The party featured this year baritone saxophonist Denis DeBlasio and pianist Harry Pickens, bassist Chris Fitzgerald and drummer Jason Tinamon. Unfortunately DeBlasio, who is a veteran of a number of great bands including Maynard Ferguson's Orchestra, had intonation problems. His technique on the big horn was well executed but his tone was clearly on the flat side, which ruined it for me.
DeBlasio's flute playing on Monk's "Straight No Chaser" and his scat singing later in the night was excellent.
I completed 30 miles on my bike in the last two days. Rode down to Cox's park yesterday and peddled all the way to Portland this morning. Discovered a few things during my trek. Bike riders are more human than those crazed souls behind the wheels of automobiles. You seldom pass anyone on a bike that doesn't wave or wish you good morning. And they never hurl an expletive at you or try to run you off the road. There is something about the power of a car that brings out the killer in everyone. BEWARE!
Since it is Sunday the Yardhog is going to take time out and look back on the past week.
One highlight was dinner in Lexington with the famous Kentucky humorist and author of great books like "The Natural Man" and "Famous People I've Known."
I hadn't seen Ed since a poetry reading at the Rudyard Kipling last Fall and he looks great. At 72 he looks a good ten years younger and his humor is sharp as ever.
At dinner I gave him a book of photographs of well known poets and writers and incribed it "To Ed McClanahan one of my favorite famous people I've known," I also found a couple of cool stickers at a gas station on my way to Lexington, one which I pasted into the book that read " Too Many Freaks, Not Enough Circuses" The other one said "FREAK" so, I just stuck it on the front of Hawaian shirt to give Ed something to talk about. He loves freaks and writes about them often. Of course I've always thought that being a freak is part of the human condition. What other animal walks around wearing clothes, making foolish pronouncments and starting wars. We're all a bunch of freaks. Only those that realize it are better off.
Which brings me to the second part of my story. After dinner I took my "Freak" sticker and stuck it up on the sun visor in my Miata for safe keeping. The next day I went to the gym at the state agency I work for in Frankfort. After working out on my way to the car I had to pass several female soldiers in uniform that were hanging around out front. I immediately got this image of a naked Iraq soldier on a lease but I managed to block it. Then one of them, a cute little brunette, said "Hey you got something on your butt!"
Yeah!, another exclaimed "It says "Freak." I turned to face them and began checking my ass with both hands. "It's on your left cheek, man. Want us to get it?" I'm still groping myself and trying to feel embarassed but I think I'm beyond that considering where I've been. It wasn't exactly as shocking as the time I was stripped naked by five strippers on a burlesque stage, but that's another story.
"Hey it's alright to be a freak," the cute brunette added.
I was trying to keep that idea in mind the next day when I attended a planning meeting given by my supervisor at his new house outside of Lexington.
I'd been given strict orders to bring a notebook, writing materials and wear my "agency shirt." But emboldened by the previous days events I decided to wear a 1960s tye-dyed t-top instead. Full of 1960s protest, although I lived through that era and was a total wimp, I stopped at my neighborhood gas station and walked up to the counter t-top, tatoos and ear rings ablaze.
Looking for the owner, who normally appreciates my eccentricities, I spied a fellow in the back of the store with a bald head. Then I realized it was the owner.
"Oh, I didn't recognize you," I blurted out. "You trying to make some kind of a statement?"
"No, I just spent a week in the hospital taking chemo. I've got in-operable lung Cancer. But I'm not going to let it stop me from doing what I'm doing."
Yeah, we're all freaks. You me and everybody and we're all headed for the junk pile. luv, yardhog
During one the recordings I played on the show that had Ella scating with a number of jazz legends like saxophonists Stan Getz and Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis plus trumpeters Harry "Sweets" Edison and Roy Eldridge, I realized that everyone on the recording, that was made sometime in the 1960s, was now dead including Ella.
Wynters got to know and perform with many of these greats during the 20 years she lived in New York City. She had a close friendship with trombonist Al Grey who was also on the recording. So, we had fond memories to share.
The party featured this year baritone saxophonist Denis DeBlasio and pianist Harry Pickens, bassist Chris Fitzgerald and drummer Jason Tinamon. Unfortunately DeBlasio, who is a veteran of a number of great bands including Maynard Ferguson's Orchestra, had intonation problems. His technique on the big horn was well executed but his tone was clearly on the flat side, which ruined it for me.
DeBlasio's flute playing on Monk's "Straight No Chaser" and his scat singing later in the night was excellent.
I completed 30 miles on my bike in the last two days. Rode down to Cox's park yesterday and peddled all the way to Portland this morning. Discovered a few things during my trek. Bike riders are more human than those crazed souls behind the wheels of automobiles. You seldom pass anyone on a bike that doesn't wave or wish you good morning. And they never hurl an expletive at you or try to run you off the road. There is something about the power of a car that brings out the killer in everyone. BEWARE!
Since it is Sunday the Yardhog is going to take time out and look back on the past week.
One highlight was dinner in Lexington with the famous Kentucky humorist and author of great books like "The Natural Man" and "Famous People I've Known."
I hadn't seen Ed since a poetry reading at the Rudyard Kipling last Fall and he looks great. At 72 he looks a good ten years younger and his humor is sharp as ever.
At dinner I gave him a book of photographs of well known poets and writers and incribed it "To Ed McClanahan one of my favorite famous people I've known," I also found a couple of cool stickers at a gas station on my way to Lexington, one which I pasted into the book that read " Too Many Freaks, Not Enough Circuses" The other one said "FREAK" so, I just stuck it on the front of Hawaian shirt to give Ed something to talk about. He loves freaks and writes about them often. Of course I've always thought that being a freak is part of the human condition. What other animal walks around wearing clothes, making foolish pronouncments and starting wars. We're all a bunch of freaks. Only those that realize it are better off.
Which brings me to the second part of my story. After dinner I took my "Freak" sticker and stuck it up on the sun visor in my Miata for safe keeping. The next day I went to the gym at the state agency I work for in Frankfort. After working out on my way to the car I had to pass several female soldiers in uniform that were hanging around out front. I immediately got this image of a naked Iraq soldier on a lease but I managed to block it. Then one of them, a cute little brunette, said "Hey you got something on your butt!"
Yeah!, another exclaimed "It says "Freak." I turned to face them and began checking my ass with both hands. "It's on your left cheek, man. Want us to get it?" I'm still groping myself and trying to feel embarassed but I think I'm beyond that considering where I've been. It wasn't exactly as shocking as the time I was stripped naked by five strippers on a burlesque stage, but that's another story.
"Hey it's alright to be a freak," the cute brunette added.
I was trying to keep that idea in mind the next day when I attended a planning meeting given by my supervisor at his new house outside of Lexington.
I'd been given strict orders to bring a notebook, writing materials and wear my "agency shirt." But emboldened by the previous days events I decided to wear a 1960s tye-dyed t-top instead. Full of 1960s protest, although I lived through that era and was a total wimp, I stopped at my neighborhood gas station and walked up to the counter t-top, tatoos and ear rings ablaze.
Looking for the owner, who normally appreciates my eccentricities, I spied a fellow in the back of the store with a bald head. Then I realized it was the owner.
"Oh, I didn't recognize you," I blurted out. "You trying to make some kind of a statement?"
"No, I just spent a week in the hospital taking chemo. I've got in-operable lung Cancer. But I'm not going to let it stop me from doing what I'm doing."
Yeah, we're all freaks. You me and everybody and we're all headed for the junk pile. luv, yardhog
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