CIFF ’22: Rewind & Play

This French television interview with Thelonious Monk recorded in December 1969 is a lot like the Orson Welles snow peas radio commercial. There is a good reason it was never released (except for the musical footage), but it wasn’t Monk’s fault. It was the interviewer who made an idiot of himself. Monk doesn’t take his guff in the unseen footage Alain Gomis fitted together into the short (65 minute) documentary, Rewind & Play, which screens during the 2022 Camden International FilmFestival.

Henri Renaud really should have known better. He was a jazz musician himself, having recorded with Roy Haynes and Zoot Sims, so it was not as if he didn’t respect the music. Renaud wore many hats, including producer, critic, and general gatekeeper, vaguely something like Gunther Schuller, but he was a terrible interviewer, as Gomis (who previously directed the terrific and jazzy DRC-set drama Felicite) shows us in excruciating detail.

At first, he just seems a little uncomfortable, which is fair. Monk would certainly be an intimidating interview subject, but eventually his incompetence gives way to disrespect. In this case, Monk’s taciturn public persona serves him well. In fact, Renaud’s disastrous interview perfectly illustrates why Monk would adopt such a notoriously inscrutable public façade.

At least Renaud also asked him to play. You can hear Monk’s brilliance on his classic standards, like “’Round Midnight” and “Crepuscule with Nellie.” Frankly, viewers will just want Renaud to shut up and let Monk play. It is worth noting the music from this aborted television special was eventually released on its own, as a solo concert, without any of the cringy chit-chat.

Jazz on a Summer’s Day, on BluRay

Louis Armstrong believed he was born on July 4, 1900. Subsequent historical research might suggest otherwise, but why get hung up on mere details? As a true Horatio Alger figure, who revolutionized both instrumental and vocal music, and represented America abroad as the unofficial “Ambassador Satch,” it is a symbolically fitting birthday for Armstrong. He was also a true road warrior, so he did not mind playing on his birthday weekend. Decades later, Armstrong and the other great jazz artists recorded in performance at the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival still sound as refreshing as a cool summer breeze in the BluRay release of Bert Stern’s Jazz on a Summer’s Day, which releases today.

1958 was a busy Fourth of July weekend for Rhode Island. In addition to George Wein’s Newport Jazz Festival, the America’s Cup qualifying heats were running off the coast. Part of Summer’s charm is the way director Bert Stern incorporates not just the races, but all the life and slightly inebriated carousing going on around the festival.

Jimmy Giuffre might not be widely known outside of jazz circles, but his performance of “The Train and the River” was an inspired choice for the opening credits. Breezy and bluesy with a hint of abstractness, it perfectly matches Stern’s images of the ocean and his wavy titles. This was Giuffre’s most accessible combo, a trio of himself on reeds, Bob Brookmeyer on valve trombone and Jim Hall on guitar (visible only when taking a bow at the end of the number). As many times as I have seen this film, this sequence always draws me in again.

In retrospect, it seems weird Thelonious Monk was scheduled so early in the festival. We see him playing to an apparently sparse audience that included an appreciative Gerry Mulligan, who would take the stage later that night. Monk’s unphazed performance of “Blue Monk” and VOA D.J. Willis Conover’s introduction might actually sound familiar, having been sampled years ago in a sneaker commercial.

Festival attendees were indeed fortunate getting a chance to hear future legends in sideman roles, the most unexpected being a young Roswell Rudd, later to become the most important trombonist in the avant-garde, seen in Newport careening around the roads with the Dixieland band Eli’s Chosen Six. We also get a rare opportunity to enjoy working bands that sadly never recorded outside of Stern’s film, like the group co-led by Sonny Stitt and former Kenton guitarist Sal Salvador (stuck with the dreaded “under-appreciated” appellation throughout his career), who blaze through “Loose Walk.”

A young Eric Dolphy also appears in a sideman role with Chico Hamilton’s band. Stern uses the Hamilton group as a touchstone throughout the film, juxtaposing their serious rehearsals with the revelry of the festival. The combination of the exotic sounds of Dolphy’s flute, Nate Gershman’s cello, the arresting dynamics of Hamilton’s drumming, and Stern’s gorgeous color photography is always a knockout punch, for newcomers and longtime fans alike.

Anita O’Day got a lot of attention for her sassy “Tea for Two” and “Sweet Georgia Brown” and Big Maybelle rouses the crowd with “I Ain’t Mad at You.” Of course, Chuck Berry wasn’t a jazz musician, but you would hardly know it from his jamming on “Sweet Little Sixteen,” with old school cats like Jack Teagarden, who would also appear with Armstrong.

DOC NYC ’15: The Jazz Loft According to W. Eugene Smith

It was the jazz loft scene before the “Loft Jazz Scene.” In the mid-1970s, downtown lofts like Sam Rivers’ Studio Rivbea were an important venue for the fiery Free Jazz artists that were not getting commercial club bookings. They were sort of following in the tradition of W. Eugene Smith, who hosted round-the-clock jam sessions in his Flower District living space from 1957 to 1965. As a professional photographer and amateur reel-to-reel tape-recorder, Smith documented a great deal of the music and the comings and goings of the musicians drawn to his scene. Treasures from his chaotic archive are revealed in Sara Fishko’s The Jazz Loft According to W. Eugene Smith, the documentary component of WNYC’s multimedia Jazz Loft project, which screens during this year’s DOC NYC.

In the late 1950s, Smith was widely recognized as one of the nation’s leading photo-essayists, but like a good jazz musician, he badly mismanaged his career. Although not a musician himself, he shared a natural affinity for jazz artists, like his neighbor, Hall Overton. If jazz fans are having trouble placing that name, Overton was an accomplished jazz and classical composer who co-led sessions for Prestige with Jimmy Raney and Teddy Charles. He also arranged Thelonius Monk’s compositions for a ten-piece orchestra performance at Town Hall. Naturally, they rehearsed those demanding charts at the Sixth Avenue loft space, where Smith duly recorded them at work.

Fittingly, one of the musicians Fishko interviews is the great Freddie Redd, featured in both the Off-Broadway production of Jack Gelber’s The Connection and Shirley Clarke’s film adaptation. Indeed, its fictional narrative seems not so very far removed from events that transpired there. Unfortunately, that included heroin use, as drummer Ronnie Free explains in detail.

There is a lot of great music in Jazz Loft, but Fishko also gives Smith his due as a photographer. Thanks to his painstaking printing techniques, the contrast between light and shadow in Smith’s black-and-white images is often resembles Renaissance painting. In some ways, the film also functions as a time capsule, incorporating eccentric details of the late 1950s-early 1960s era, such as radio show hosted Long John Nebel, a sort of forerunner to Art Bell and George Noory, to whom Smith often set rather bizarre but expensive telegrams.

In addition to Redd and Free, Fishko includes the reminiscences of Phil Woods (always a lively interview subject), David Amram (who seems like a nice fellow based on a few email exchanges), Carla Bley, Steve Swallow, Dave Frishberg, Bill Crow, and Overton’s colleague, Steve Reich, as well as some contemporary perspective from Jason Moran. That is quite a diverse but talented ensemble.

Arguably, one point Fishko might have emphasized more was the stylistic openness of the sessions. Apparently Zoot Sims ruled the roost whenever he was in town, but Dixieland trumpeter Wingy Manone was equally welcome as his Hardbop, Bebop, and Swing colleagues. That was cool and very jazz. In fact, the entire film is a nostalgic, finger-snapping celebration of music and photography. At times, Jazz Loft is distinguished by a tone of clear-eyed sadness for the human weaknesses that sabotaged so many remarkable artists, but it is mostly just a swinging good time. Highly recommended hip eyes and ears, The Jazz Loft Scene According to W. Eugene Smith screens this Friday (11/13) at the Chelsea Bowtie and next Monday (11/16) at the IFC Center, as part of DOC NYC.

NYJFF ’10: The Jazz Baroness

Most jazz fans have heard of her, rather they realize it or not. The Baroness Pannonica Rothschild de Koenigswarter was immortalized in musical tributes composed by the likes of Thelonious Monk, Horace Silver, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Drew, and Jon Hendricks. Yet for “Nica” de Koenigswarter, Monk was unquestionably the first among equals. Her deep friendship with the pianist-composer and his family is the major focus of The Jazz Baroness, Hannah Rothschild’s documentary profile of her Great Aunt Nica, which screens as part of this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival, following its 2009 broadcast run on HBO2.

Koenigswarter had already lived an eventful life before she ever heard bebop. She had served as an ambulance driver and communications specialist with the free French during WWII, first in Africa and later in Germany. Yet jazz would be her true calling. Ironically, it was Teddy Wilson, best known as Billie Holiday’s long-time accompanist and a member of the integrated Benny Goodman Quartet, who introduced her to Monk’s music. Though she was powerfully moved by “’Round Midnight,” it would be two years until she actually met Monk, launching a fast but lasting friendship after a concert in Paris.

Appropriately, Rothschild’s first introduction to her late great aunt was in a downtown jazz club, with her stately Bentley parked outside. Indeed, the Baroness always embraced the scene despite her privileged background. She became a one-woman forerunner to the Jazz Foundation of America, often paying medical bills and getting horns out of hock for musicians in need. It also brought her into unfortunately close proximity to some of the seedier aspects of nightlife, particularly illicit drugs. She was mercilessly vilified by Walter Winchell after Charlie Parker, exhausted by years of hard living, died in her residence in the Stanhope Hotel and even faced potential incarceration on another occasion.

It is difficult for filmmaker Rothschild to fully classify the nature of the relationship between Monk and the Baroness. The friends and musicians she interviews, including Monk’s son drummer T.S. Monk, all adamantly insist it was a strictly platonic friendship. Indeed, by all accounts, the Baroness and Monk’s wife Nellie were almost equally close. Yet Baroness clearly suggests there was some special connection between the musician and the jazz patroness that still defies easy description, but became a part of the mystique of them both.

Though Hannah Rothschild might not share her great aunt’s passion for jazz, she gleaned considerable insights from a number of jazz legends, including Sonny Rollins and Roy Haynes, who played with Monk at one time, as well as artists like Chico Hamilton, Archie Shepp, and Quincy Jones, who followed the trail he blazed. Rothschild also had the benefit of some measure of cooperation (if not enthusiasm) from her illustrious family. (After all, they are Rothschilds, the family that financed the British war effort against Napoleon.) Of course, it is all accompanied by generous samples of Monk’s haunting music, as well as his distinctive renditions of a few jazz standards.

Admirably, Baroness treats jazz and the musicians who play it with due and proper respect. With Academy Award winning actress Helen Mirren giving voice to the Baroness’s letters and journals, it is all assembled in a very classy, British package. It is a great jazz documentary that will make a nice change of pace from the much of the programming at the 2010 NYJFF. It screens Saturday (1/16), Sunday (1/17), and Monday (1/18) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Broom Plays Monk

Bobby Broom Plays Monk
Origin Records

Like an ambitious ice-skating jump, interpreting the music of Thelonious Monk carries a high degree of difficulty for jazz artists, but those who nail it, are guaranteed to make a lasting impression. Yet, Bobby Broom makes it sound easy as pie on Bobby Broom Plays for Monk, his refreshingly laidback new CD tribute to the legendary composer-pianist.

Though he was only twelve years old when Monk retired from music in 1973, Broom could claim an apostolic link to the jazz legend a mere four years later, beginning his long professional association with tenor giant Sonny Rollins in a Carnegie Hall concert appearance. Rollins in turn had played on a 1953 quintet session led by Monk and featured the distinctive pianist on his 1957 Blue Note album simply titled Sonny Rollins, Volume 2.

Frankly, there is no shortage of Monk homage CDs on the market, but most tend to showcase the leader’s pyrotechnics. Broom wisely takes the opposite approach, largely keeping the mood bluesy and relaxed, like an after-hours session played for the enjoyment of the musicians rather than to impress the square audience.

Opening with Monk’s “Ask Me Now,” Broom establishes the smoky azure vibe right from the start. Though the guitarist does not solely confine himself to ballads, even when he kicks up the tempo, as on the following “Evidence,” his technique is so fluid and smooth, the Monk standard does not sound nearly as jittery as on typical renditions. Broom shows an almost effortless facility for Monk’s slightly off-kilter melodies, like the particularly distinctive “Work.” Still, Broom’s finest moments probably come on Monk’s achingly lovely “Ruby, My Dear.”

Although most of the program consists of Monk tunes, Broom also interprets two standards which Monk also covered. The spritely “Lulu’s Back in Town” is a sly charmer that nicely demonstrates Bloom’s rapport with his trio, while he takes “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” as a heartfelt solo feature to conclude the disk. Throughout the balance of the session, Broom gets effective support from bassist Dennis Carroll and drummer Kobie Watkins, who lock-in behind the leader, propelling the music forward at a nice-and-easy trot.

Broom’s take on Monk has resulted in some rich but accessible music. Even though many of the selected Monk standards will be very familiar to most jazz listeners, his bluesy approach makes them sound fresh. It is a great disk for late night hangs and one of the strongest Monk tributes in recent years.

Vinyl Love for Tenor Classics

The music business is hurting. Hard copy sales are down across the board, with one exception: new vinyl. According to the RIAA, new vinyl sales were up 36% last year, while CDs were down 17%. Of course, CDs still had about 500 times the sales of new vinyl the industry group quickly pointed out, for some reason eager to pour cold water on vinyl’s good press. Ordinarily I do not tell people their business, but it seems to me, the RIAA should be embracing a potential vinyl renaissance. Certainly, LPs are not going to muscle out CDs or downloads, but if a significant number of people starting choosing the LP as their preferred media vehicle, it would be a godsend to the industry. After all, CDs can be burned, files can be copies, and tapes can be dubbed, but there are not a lot of people out there who can press records.

Some labels have re-embraced vinyl, including Concord Records, the current custodians of the classic Prestige and Riverside catalogs, who has been heavily promoting their Collectors Corner as a place to buy new vinyl pressings of their classic jazz releases (the availability on other major online retailers appears spotty). Listening to some of the new some of their classic records repressed in the format they were intended for is a treat.

Recorded in 1961, Eastern Sounds was Yusef Lateef’s fullest exploration of Eastern musical forms up to that point, yet he still kept it firmly grounded in the jazz idiom. LP’s in general sound better than their CDs counterparts, and Eastern is a good example. The sparkling notes of the opening “The Plum Blossom” really jumps out at the listener. Here Lateef plays the Chinese globular flute and bassist Ernie Farrow plays the rebat (or rabaab), sounding like a cross between the bass and the mbira. With vinyl’s richer sound, you can actually hear Farrow’s bass on tracks like “Blues for the Orient” and you get the full auditory sensation of Lateef’s warm tenor goodness on “Don’t Blame Me.” (While Farrow is largely remembered for his work with Lateef, he was active on the Detroit scene as a sometimes leader, and according to his half-sister, Alice Coltrane, he certainly had an impact on jazz history by introducing her to the music.)

There are not many extant recordings of Monk’s group while Coltrane was a member, which is why the 2005 discovery of the 1957 Carnegie Hall concert was such a find. The logically titled Thelonius Monk with John Coltrane was one of their few recording sessions we have always known. Actually cobbled together from two sessions, but it is no less rewarding for it, Monk with consists entirely of the leader’s originals, including the concluding piano solo, “Functional,” a starkly beautiful blues, which makes one wonder why this tune is so under-recorded. While Coltrane was at this point still getting used to playing with Monk, he sounds born to play the achingly tender “Ruby, My Dear.” On the large ensemble tracks, Coleman Hawkin’s full-bodied swinging tenor is totally in-synch with his supposedly more modern colleagues.

Coltrane really hit his stride during his late Atlantic and early Impulse years, but there are plenty of great moments on his Prestige sides. Soultrane is certainly a solid outing, backed up by two thirds of the Miles David rhythm section of Red Garland and Paul Chambers, with Arthur Taylor filling the drum chair. On vinyl, you can really hear and feel Chambers’ bass on a track like the opening “Good Bait,” which I’m sure my neighbors agree is very cool. Soultrane effectively showcases Coltrane’s expressive range, particularly striking on “Theme for Ernie,” a tribute to the late Ernie Henry, an alto player best remembered for his sideman work with Monk and Dizzy Gillespie.

And what possibly needs be said about Sonny Rollins’ Saxophone Colossus, probably the most analyzed single “non-concept” record ever? With the introduction of “St. Thomas,” what would become his signature tune, and “Blue 7,” arguably the most acclaimed solo in jazz history, the significance of Colossus is beyond debate. As an LP, its iconic blue-washed cover image of Rollins actually looks as dramatic as intended. Rollins has a reputation for preferring live performance to the studio setting, but his playing on Colossus is exceptional throughout, like the gorgeously lyrical “You Don’t Know What Love Is.” Again, you get the full auditory effect of Doug Watkins’ bass and Max Roach’s bass drum.

It is nice to see a label promoting its classic catalog on vinyl. The sound is richer and the overall experience is more tactile. One can savor the full cover art as it was meant to be seen, rather than as a cocktail napkin-sized insert. Frankly, in my experience CDs are just as apt to scratch and skip as records, so the clear advantage goes to vinyl.