Addendum - Take Me Out To The Ball Game

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

Chicago Serenade

Ruminating on the Chicago Fest yesterday. It's a end of summer tradition and therefore sort of sad. I couldn't remember if I had gone last year until I looked in my journal last night. And sure enough I was there. D and I went in early on Thursday last year and caught Ira Sullivan at the JazzShowcase on Thursday.
     But back to the present. Friday night we saw a birthday tribute to Count Basie ( it would be his 100th) in Petrillo Shell.  They assembled a group of Basie Alumni for a re-creation of his small band the Kansas City 7. They came out on stage in wheel chairs and walkers and did a fine job of bringing back the Count's spirit to Grant Park. The great  Clark Terry, who I remember as a young, flashy dressed trumpeter playing in concert on Guithre Green in Louisville in 1966 with an orchestra made-up of Louisville's finest including drummer John Roy and saxophonist Bobby Jones, looked very old and frail parked in a wheel chair on the far side of the stage.
     Tenor saxophonist, flutist Frank Wess was also in the group plus clarinetist Buddy Defranco, who never seems to change except his black pombadour is now white instead of black.
     Other members of the group included trombonist Benny Powell and bassist Sid Catlett.
And drummer Harold Jones, who I remember seeing with Basie in 1969.
     Then the great saxophonist and arranger Frank Foster, who was sidelined by a stroke a few years ago, limped on-to the stage and announced a few of the numbers.
     D called it geriactic jazz. I call it sad. All my old heros going down the drain.
     Sunday morning I went to the Jazzmart's annual free jazz brunch. Free Chicago jazz saxophonists Fred Anderson (owner of the Velvet Lounge) blew the roof down. Free, frenetic jazz the first thing Sunday morning. Only in Chicago.