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Het aanhoudende verdriet van de gepantserde walrus

February 7, 2015 Leave a comment

IMG_0276Het is een dag als geen andere. 7 februari 2015. Een dag na de elfde verjaardag van mijn jongste dochter. De wegen zijn zo glad als een bobsleebaan, de koude wind blaast ieder weldenkend mens terug de warme huiskamer in. Goddank is het weekend. Waarom besluit ik dan toch om even voor 6:40 op te staan om Misja te begeleiden naar haar werkadres 27 kilometer verderop?

Grand Café Brinkmann/ Teisterbant. Ik baan me een weg door alle rumoer naar de entresol. Ik neem plaats aan mijn vaste tafel en bestel het vaste gerecht. Twee bejaarde heren met bril met een montuur van tijgerprint nemen plaats aan de tafel naast me en bestuderen de kaart. Na lang gedraal bestellen ze. Een welgevormd meisje van een jaar of twintig loopt langs. De heren, vooral de redenaar met zijn schalkse gelaat (u kent het wel: een gezicht in de anekdotestand, zo van: “maar nu komt het”), kijken het wicht langdurig na totdat de kelner ze op een kopstoot trakteert. Aan de tafel naast me zit een jolig viertal. Vier mannen in gebleekte spijkerbroeken en verwassen houthakkershemden, de jongste is 44, de oudste 54. De oudste ziet er naar alle waarschijnlijkheid het jongst uit. De mannen fotograferen elkaar met gedateerde mobiele telefoons. De oudste zet de rechthoekige kaarshouder met waccinelichtje aan zijn mond, alsof hij uit een glas bier drinkt. De jongste pakt een tweetal glazen bier en houdt ze gelijktijdig aan zijn lippen. De man met zijn vetkuif en een gezicht waarin het gebrek aan begrip in staat gegrift maakt zichzelf onmogelijk door tijdens het jas-aan-trekken met zijn linkermouw het borrelglaasje van een van de oude heren van de tafel te stoten. Nu pas zie ik dat de heer van het verloren glaasje een duur rood lamswollen vest draagt. Zijn dunne grijze haar trilt mee op het onregelmatige ritme van zijn in verongelijktheid geslaakte ademstoten. Hij kijkt als een kleuter die net het bovenste, meest smakelijke, bolletje van zijn ijsje heeft laten vallen. De vetkuif verontschuldigt zich veelvuldig. Zodra hij het gezicht van de oude ziet laat hij zijn lamme hand vallen op de trillende schouder van zijn slachtoffer. “Sorry man.” De kelner komt langs met een vol dienblad. “Ik heb net zijn glazie laten vallen, doe hem nog maar zo 1…een…””een Korenwijn jongeman.” zegt de lamsbaard, “een Korenwijn voor meneer”, roept de weldoener, alsof hij de hele zaak een rondje cadeau doet. De kelner raapt de glasresten en de oude gaat weer zitten. Het gezelschap van vier schuifelt langzaam richting trap. “Jullie moeten nog wel afrekenen!” roept de kelner hen na. “Komt goed jongen. We hebben geld op zak!” zegt de vetkuif, terwijl de overige drie hem slaafs en woordeloos, wellicht enigszins beschonken, de trap af volgen.

Mijn inspiratie heeft zich bij het vertrekkende gezelschap gevoegd. Ik kijk op mijn klokje. Misja. Ze zal inmiddels vijf minuten op mij wachten bij de Hema, hier vijf minuten vandaan. Ik stuur haar en sms-je met de boodschap dat ik 10 minuten later ben. Frenetiek ploeg ik door mijn met papier en verpakkingsmateriaal gevulde rugzak op zoek naar mijn portemonnee. Ik stoot de menukaart van de tafel. Enkele bierviltjes belanden op de grond en de krant kreukelt onder mijn wild heen-en-weer-bewogen- rugzak. Ergens onderaan het diepe middenvak ontdek ik mijn beurs, evenals het pakje sigaretten dat Misja gisteravond gestolen waande….we bevonden ons in een cafe in de Jordaan en werden verrast door een vuurspuwer die na (buiten) zijn kunsten vertoond te hebben (binnen) om geld ging bedelen bij de vaste tafels, naast een driftig gesticulerende stamgast en een toiletjuffrouw die erg omzichtig om ons heen begon te drentelen toen haar dienst erop zat…en ik trek de kelner aan zijn mouw. “U wenst?” “de rekening wat mij betreft”. Ik trek mijn jas aan, een zwart met eendendons gevuld nylonjack met een fluorescerend gele ritssluiting, zonder een glas te raken. Ik raap de menukaart op en wankel even als ik gelijktijdig de viltjes probeer te rapen. Ik voel me even ongemakkelijk als Mugabe zich afgelopen week gevoeld moet hebben. De jonge kelner kijkt me meewarig aan. Ik hoor hem nog net geen “Laat maar, ik raap het zo wel voor je op.” zeggen. Ik laat de viltjes liggen en loop peinzend richting trap. Ik groet de mij tegemoettredende, kelner, mijn gastheer, de Kenner. Hij is zich van geen kwaad bewust. Terwijl ik de trap afwandel glijdt de rechter leuning stevig door mijn gekromde rechterhand. Een tweede (bijna-) val kan ik me niet veroorloven. Een fris meisje rekent met me af. Ik groet haar zo oprecht mogelijk en ik loop opgelucht de klapdeuren uit. Ik maak in de hal plaats voor een echtpaar op leeftijd en ik groet hen terwijl ze me met een gemaakte lach en een spottende blik teruggroeten. “Je hebt betere tijden gekend jongen” mompel ik in mezelf terwijl ik de voormalige Brinkmannpassage passeer en de Barteljorisstraat inschiet.IMG_0660

Op de hoek van de HEMA blijf ik in de kou wachten totdat het mevrouw behaagt om naar buiten te treden. Ik denk terug aan donderdagavond. Een avond die ik noodgedwongen in Amsterdam moest doorbrengen. Geen straf. Ik drentelde door de stad, zoals ik dat in mijn studententijd zo veelvuldig heb gedaan. En net als toen hield ik me vooral op bij de boekenwinkels. Net als toen werd ik uitgenodigd door mensen die me kenden van vroeger om met hen in het cafe te gaan zitten (“want we gaan toch zo weg en we hebben je al een tijd niet meer gezien, kom sjaal, drink er nog een met ons”)…en net als toen wimpelde ik deze lethargische barvliegen af met onverifieerbare argumenten. Ik bezocht boekhandel Atheneum en ik hoorde een verdieping boven me een zogenaamde Spui- lezing terwijl ik in de 80%-kortingbakken aan het struinen was. Tussen de kookboeken en de Duitse en Engelse vertalingen van Nederlands werk trof ik een in eigen beheer uitgegeven verhalenboekje van Romijn-Meijer terwijl boven me een mevrouw een verhaal hield over de ellende die haar was overkomen nadat ze een opdracht had aanvaard een bepaalde documentaire te filmen, een bepaald boek te schrijven, waar mensen, haar uitgever incluis, het niet mee eens waren. Haar uitgever stond er nu waarschijnlijk breeduit lachend bij-“wat een mal mens is het eigenlijk toch!”- denkend en -“je volgende boek breng je maar uit bij een ander”- besluitend… Op mijn stille verdieping liep een goed geklede jongen met ongekamd haar neurotisch heen en weer. Ik vermoedde dat het de zoon van de spreekster was die voor deze gelegenheid geen oppas had weten te vinden. Ik aaide het joch over zijn bol en rekende Romijn-Meijer een halve verdieping hoger af bij een afwezige, waarschijnlijk door het requisitoir van de filmmaakster getroffen, boekendealer en liep snel naar de Ramsjzaak even verderop aan de Nieuwezijds. Ik kocht er twee tijdens mijn vorige bezoek achtergelaten werken. Ik nam mijn drie verse aankopen mee in twee plastic tassen en liep steevast naar mijn vaste verblijfplaats aan de Torensteeg om…

Misja loopt me tegemoet de HEMA uit. “Lief, we gaan naar de Pizzatheek vanavond. Ik tracteer!” Ze lacht alle neerslachtigheid uit mijn duistere gemoed. Ik leg mijn door de koude verkleumde arm over haar schouder. We lopen zij-aan-zij de Kruisstraat over. “Meisje, heb je me ooit horen vertellen over de sprinkhanenplaag in Marokko in 1954? Bertus Aafjes heeft daar een mooi essay over geschreven, het begon…” Misja kijkt inmiddels afwezig in de etalages aan weerszijden. Een makelaar. “Even wachten lieverd.” zegt ze. Ik sta stil en doof mijn Aafjesverhaal met een observatie van een echtelijke ruzie aan gene zijde van de straat. Ik rust tegen de kille muur en denk “Mijn jongste dochter viert haar elfde verjaardag in mijn afwezigheid en in aanwezigheid van moeder, zus, stiefvader en- zus aan een koud strand. Wat zal ze over me denken?” Ik schrik op. Misja. “Je staat weer te denken!” zegt ze. Ik kuch verontschuldigend en geef haar gelijk. “Pizzatheekje doen?” “Ja!!” gilt mijn meisje. We lopen wild joelend de brug de gracht over.
Nog een glas wijn en ik ben er wel weer.

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Eliot Zigmund (part 2) -mid 50’s to mid ’70’s

December 1, 2013 Leave a comment

“However it became apparent that jazz was really in my blood, it defined me, refined my taste in music, and my playing goals.”

Part two of  this Eliot Zigmund special covers his years between his teenage years in the fifties and the time he met Bill Evans in the seventies.

Eliot with Art and Gary

Eliot: “Growing up, NYC was swing, bebop (later post bop) from the 50s onward, and they mixed and matched. So one week I could hear Coleman Hawkins play with Rex Stewart and Eddie Locke, by standing in front of the Metropole on 7th Ave and 48th St, and the next week hear him play with Monk downtown somewhere. In a relative sense, to a 16 year old, everyone was alive and playing, their presences were a given, part of life in the city.

My high school “dance band” did the the bassist’s Chubby Jackson’s children’s TV show (a jazz musician with a TV show!) and the guests were the great Gene Krupa and our “dance” band. Going to the drum stores in Manhattan you might run into Papa Joe Jones holding court, Elvin Jones hanging out between students, Jake Hanna giving advice about sticks, etc. The period from the 60s-80s in New York was a very exciting time. Great band leaders and their sidemen, from one incarnation to another, expanded the forms and vocabulary forward. Recordings were rarer, monumental, and would immediately influence players sensibilities, like a benign contagion.

I played along endlessly to my Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Sonny Rollins, Bill Evans, Gil Evans, Count Basie, et. al. recordings until I wore them out. I learned to identify drummers just by the way they played time, Philly Joe, Max, Art Blakey, Roy Haynes, Art Taylor, Jimmy Cobb, and many others, the gladiators. As I became more of a jazz player myself I was influenced by some of the younger up and coming drummers of the day, Pete LaRoca, Joe Chambers, and of course the genius of Tony Williams and Jack Dejohnette. Harmonic concepts broadened, modal playing combined with a sophistication in blues playing, combined with european harmonic and formal influences produced a rich harmonic jazz language.

The next generation players were constantly revolutionizing their styles and approach to their instruments, strong stylistic tributaries arose, moved, merged, influencing and influenced by a decidedly intellectual black/urban musical and political agenda and the urgency of the civil rights movement in the US. There was a feeling of being swept along by a wave. As a young player, I did all kinds of commercial gigs, worked with singers, shows, jazz gigs, some early pop stuff with Neil Sedaka, Dionne Warwick and later on briefly with the Pointer Sisters. However it became apparent that jazz was really in my blood, it defined me, refined my taste in music, and my playing goals.

I started getting serious about my jazz playing. There was always lots of jam sessions going on either on the gigs themselves – after hours if they were location gigs in resort areas, or at peoples houses in the city. A typical summer resort in the Catskills or Poconos, local resort areas driving distance from NYC, might have had 2, 3, 4 bands living on the premises. So guys, weren’t many ladies in the bands back then, got to hang out for 12 or 16 weeks with lots of other musicians. I first met Marty Morrell working opposite him at a Catskill hotel one summer. I remember one summer away where I played endlessly after hours with Eddie Daniels and a bass player named Lanny Fields, we played trio, clarinet, bass, drums, all summer long, late at night or during the day when we weren’t working.

To this day I try to play one or two sessions a week at my place or other people’s houses or studios, I’ve spent literally thousands of hours throughout my career playing with other musicians at jam sessions. New York is one of the few, if not only place, where that kind of extra-curricular playing is always happening and welcome.

I lived on the west coast for a few years in the early 70s, did a lot of  interesting playing vince guaraldithere (Vince Guaraldi, Art Lande, Steve Swallow, Ron McLure, Mike Nock, Art Pepper,) and came back to NYC in ’74 and started working with Bill Evans a year or so after that.  Playing with Art Lande and Vince Guaraldi was a good training ground for my later time with Bill Evans.  Vince loved to swing, was a real bebopper at heart and always had first class work in the bay area.  I did some soundtracks for the Peanuts TV shows with him.   Art Lande’s music was always challenging and on the cusp of what was happening at the moment, swung in a different way. He had a huge book of originals and we worked a bunch in the bay area in the early 70s with Art’s quintet with saxophonist Mel Martin, percussionist Glen Cronkite, Steve Swallow and myself,  and also with Art’s trio with Steve Swallow.”

(to be continued)

Interview Carla Bley

April 26, 2013 Leave a comment

I am proud to publish the interview I had with Carla Bley.

Bley was born in Oakland, California. Her father, a piano teacher and church choirmaster, encouraged her to sing and to learn to play the piano. After giving up the church to immerse herself in roller skating at the age of fourteen, she moved to New York at seventeen and became a cigarette girl at Birdland, where she met jazz pianist Paul Bley, whom she married in 1957.  He encouraged her to start composing. The couple later divorced.

In 1964 she was involved in organising the Jazz Composers Guild which brought together the most innovative musicians in New York at the time. She then had a personal and professional relationship with Michael Mantler, with whom she had a daughter, Karen, now also a musician in her own right.

Bley has collaborated with a number of other artists, including Jack Bruce, Robert Wyatt and Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason, whose 1981 solo album Nick Mason’s Fictitious Sports was a Carla Bley album in all but name. She arranged and composed music forCharlie Haden’s Liberation Music Orchestra, and wrote A Genuine Tong Funeral for Gary Burton. Her arrangement of the score forFederico Fellini’s 8½ appeared on Hal Willner’s Nino Rota tribute record, Amarcord Nino Rota.

Her current partner, the bassist Steve Swallow, has been her closest and most consistent musical associate in recent years and the two have recorded several duet albums.

In 2005 she arranged the music for and performed on Charlie Haden’s latest Liberation Music Orchestra tour and recording, Not in Our Name. (sorce: Wikipedia.org)

carla 2Mrs. Bley, you’re active in music for more than  5 decades. How has jazz music evolved since you started performing? Is Jazz the right label for your music?

I’m satisfied to call my music (or at least most of it)  jazz, but others might disagree.  My feeling is that jazz is a very big, inclusive world.  It is clear to me that jazz has greatly expanded its vocabulary over the century of its life, but sometimes when I listen to the past masters I question this assumption.

According to the Penguin Guide to Jazz, “Escalator Over The Hill”, “Tropic Appetites”, “Live”, “Fleur Carnivore”, “The Carla Bley Big Band Goes To Church,” “Looking For America” and “4 x 4”  are your best albums.  It seems that the critics cannot choose wich one is your best. Are these records your favorites too?

Albums are like children.  It’s unwise to favor one over any of the others.

Which composition do you like best? Why?  Is this composition your most appreciated?

As is the case with albums, I generally like the song I’m presently working on best.  I’m currently in the final stages of a long piece for “classical” musicians and steve swallow and me.  It’s in my mind almost all day, and often a good part of the night as well.  It’s difficult for me to think for even a moment about any of my earlier pieces.

In 1965 you and Michael Mantler founded the Jazz Composer’s Orchestra. The group’s last performance was in 1975. You composed Escalator Over The Hill, which Joachim Ernst Berendt called the “the largest complete work that has so far emerged from within jazz.”, as well you arranged and composed (parts of) Charlie Haden’s Liberation Music.  From this point on, you was more of a composer than an instrumentalist. How you look back to that time?
From my earliest days I’ve seen myself as a composer who also plays.  But over the years I’ve faced up to the necessity of presenting my music to its audience, which has caused me to focus on playing as well as composing.  I practice almost every day, even when I feel I’m stealing time from composing.  Days aren’t long enough; they should contain at least 25 hours.
Satie and the Beatles. They have been your inspiration, as well as Charlie Parker.
This year it’s fifty-eight years ago he has died (as many great musicians you played with passed last decades). What does this mean to you?

For the last two nights, after dinner, we’ve listened to Charlie Parker.  And the night before those we listened to Satie.  Each of them sounded fresh and contemporary, continually inspiring.  It’s good to know that music can outlive its own time.

Do you still learn from your youthful colleagues and what should they learn form you? Are you inspired by them as you were by the colleagues you played with in the sixties?

I think most young players are unaware of their effect on their elders, but it is considerable.  I love being surprised by a phrase or a gesture in music, and this most often happens when I listen to young players.  I’m not sure what young players might find useful in what I do; that’s for them to figure out.Carla 1

As you said to John Fordman in ‘72: “I think rock and roll is jazz. And jazz is classical music. And classical music has become rock and roll. They’ve all gone round one turn on the clock” Has the clock turned again since then?

I’d say the clock is always turning.  That’s what clocks do.

Later on in 1991 you said to Fordham “Since I’ve been teaching more, I’ve realised again that the music I loved back in Birdland in the Fifties is the music I love now. I know now that this music has stood the test of time, and it will turn out to be the great music of the age.”

I still listen to recordings of the Basie Band of that time, a band I heard night after night when I worked as a cigarette girl in Birdland.  tTat band, and the writers who supplied it with music, continue to amaze and delight me.  I hope to become Ernie Wilkins some day.

You went to Holland january 1966 to record “Jazz Realities” and do radio and TV work. Why Holland?

Holland asked.  I went, as is still the case, wherever I was called.  That’s the way life is, in the world of music.

Is there jazz in the future? Jazz is the most recorded musicstyle by now, but do you think jazz will reach our youth? According to saxophonist and flautist Dave Liebman the future of jazz lies with how it will be absorbed and transformed by parts of the world where it is new to the people. Do you agree with him?

There appears to be some truth to what dave says, as an increasing percentage of my work seems to happen in places I haven’t been before.  I’m happy about this; these places are as new to me as I am to them.  I’m always looking for food I’ve never tasted, buildings I’ve never seen, languages I haven’t heard before.

Sheila Jordan, I interviewed yesterday, had one question for you: “if you compose a new opera, can you put me on the list?”

ABSOLUTELY!

Next week I will interview pianist Ran Blake. Do you have a question for him?

How do you manage to continue to expand, when so many of your contemporaries are contracting?

Your musical activities span a wide range of styles and combinations. Which projects do you have in store for us?

I mentioned my current piece, involving “classical” musicians.  I’ve also recently finished a long set of pieces for big band and boys choir, which i’m hoping to record soon.  And there will also be an album out soon of trio music wit Andy Sheppard and Steve Swallow; we’ll be touring in Europe in the fall.

Interview with Sheila Jordan

April 17, 2013 Leave a comment

23Sheila Jordan, born Sheila Jeanette Dawson, Nov. 18 1928, Detroit, Michigan, USA raised in poverty in Pennsylvania’s coal-mining country. She began singing as a child and by the time she was in her early teens she was working semi-professionally in Detroit clubs. Her first great influence was Charlie Parker and, indeed, most of her influences have been instrumentalists rather than singers. Working chiefly with black musicians, she met with disapproval from the white community but persisted with her career. She was a member of a vocal trio, Skeeter, Mitch And Jean (she was Jean), who sang versions of Parker’s solos in a manner akin to that of the later Lambert, Hendricks And Ross.
After moving to New York in the early 50s, she married Parker’s pianist, Duke Jordan, and studied with Lennie Tristano, but it was not until the early 60s that she made her first recordings. One of these (Portrait of Sheila, Bluenote) was under her own name, the other was “The Outer View” with George Russell, which featured a famous 10-minute version of “You Are My Sunshine”.
In the mid-60s her work encompassed jazz liturgies sung in churches and extensive club work, but her appeal was narrow even within the confines of jazz. By the late 70s jazz audiences had begun to understand her uncompromising style a little more and her popularity increased – as did her appearances on record, which included albums with pianist Steve Kuhn, whose quartet she joined, and an album, Home, comprising a selection of Robert Creeley’s poems set to music and arranged by Steve Swallow.
A 1983 duo set with bassist Harvie Swartz, “Old Time Feeling”, comprises several of the standards Jordan regularly features in her live repertoire, while 1990’s “Lost And Found” pays tribute to her bebop roots. Both sets display her unique musical trademarks, such as the frequent and unexpected sweeping changes of pitch, which still tend to confound an uninitiated audience. Her preference to the bass and voice set led to another remarkable collaboration with bassist Cameron Brown, whom she has been performing with all over the world for more than ten years so far and they have released the live albums “I’ve Grown Accustomed to the Bass” and “Celebration”. Entirely non-derivative, Jordan is one of only a tiny handful of jazz singers who fully deserve the appellation and for whom no other term will do (Copyright 1989-2000 Muze UK Ltd).

Mrs. Jordan, you started singing when you were just three years old.

Yes, I appeared at the Michigan Theatre in Detroit, Mich. My mother and her sister took me down there. It was amateur nite. I was about 3 years old.

You’re active in music for over six decades. You had a close relationship with Charlie Parker.

Bird was like a big brother to me. I met him when I was a teenager in Detroit. Our friendship continued after I moved to NYC in the early 50’s. I’m trying as best I can to keep Bird’s music alive. There are a few of us around who will never forget Charlie Parker or his impact on Jazz. Great musicians like Sonny Rollins, Jimmy Heath, Jimmy Cobb just to name a few of the older musicians. We all know the importance of Bird’s music.

You even married Parker-pianist Duke Jordan. You’ve seen it all! In which way jazzmusic evolved since you started?

Yes, I was married to Duke Jordan and have a beautiful daughter from that marriage. Jazz music has evolved and hopefully will continue to evolve in years to come. There are a lot of jazz schools cropping up all over the world. I think this is wonderful. I started one of the first vocal workshops at City College in NYC back in 1978. I taught there one day a week until a couple of years ago. I also do several summer workshops for a one or two week period. I find these workshops very successful and it’s a joy to hear the young singers dedicate themselves to this incredible music.

How can we label your beautiful music?

I have no label for the music I do except to call it Jazz. I have always been an innovative singer. I come from the school of the great Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughn and Ella Fitzgerald. Don’t get me wrong … I don’t try to sing like them. Who could? More importantly who would want to try to imitate these great singers. I would feel like a thief if I tried to copy them. I have my own sound and a lot of it has to do with listeneing to Bird and Bebop music when I was growing up.sheila jordan

According to the Penguin Guide to Jazz, “Portrait of Sheila” is your best album. Is this your favorite too? Since then you have produced so many terrific abums, like “Last Year’s Waltz” (1981). Which album you produced do you like best? Why? Is this album your best appreciated album?

Firstly, I don’t have a favorite record of myself. I have yet to make one. Secondly, I never listen to my records once there completed. I will never be a jazz diva. I am only a messenger of the music. That’s my purpose in life, keeping this music alive.

The late Jazzcritic Joachim Ernst Berendt called your early version of “You Are My Sunshine” with George Russell “eine Persiflage voll beissendem Zynismus auf die amerikanischen Mittelstandsbürger.”, “a parody full of biting cynicism on the American middle class citizens.” He said the time was not ripe for your music, do you agree with him?

Joachim Ernst Berendt was entitled to his opinion of the arrangement. George Russell made a recording of me singing You Are My Sunshine and dedicated it to the out of work coal miners of South Fork, Pennsylvania. I lived in this area with my grandparents until I was about 14. I moved to Detroit, Michigan at this age to live with my mother.
I interviewed Norma Winstone last week, I offered her the occasion to ask you a question. Her question to you was: “How did you remain so dedicated and determined to carry on through the bleak times?”
Norma is a wonderful singer/musician. She writes incredible lyrics. So to answer her question about my dedication: I have loved music since I can remember. Growing up with no water or heat or bathroom can be very hard on a kid. I got thru all of these disadvantages by singing. It made me feel better when I sang. My life was not easy growing up. There was a lot of alcoholism in my family so times were really tough. I kept this dedication and still do to this day doing whatever I have to do to support the music. I worked in an office most of my adult life until I was 58 years old. I had a daughter to raise so I needed a steady income. That doesn’t mean I stopped singing tho. I always found places to sing. I was determined not to lose the one thing that kept me going all those years. Thank God I haven’t lost it.images

You have worked with Carla Bley and Steve Swallow, who played at your debut-album. Tomorrow I will interview them (also by email). Do you have a question for (one of) them?

Ask Carla to please write another beautiful Jazz Opera. I would like a part in it no matter how small.

Is there jazz in the future? Jazz is the most recorded musicstyle by now, but do you think jazz will reach our youth? According to saxophonist and flautist Dave Liebman the future of jazz lies with how it will be absorbed and transformed by parts of the world where it is new to the people. Do you agree with him?

As long as older musicians, like myself keep teaching and encouraging the young musicians (instrumentalists/singers) coming up to stick with this wonderful music, the music will continue to stay alive. They need to be dedicated and support it until it supports them. Believe me if they don’t get discouraged and give up they will be given one of the most beautiful gifts in life. After all, Jazz is the only music America can call it’s own. Unfortunately, it seems to be the stepchild of American music.

Your musical activities span a wide range of styles and combinations. Which projects do you keep in store for us?


At some point, I would like to re-record my String Quartet project. I also have a bio coming out next year. So we will see where that takes me.

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