I AM always grateful to the places music takes me.
Here is a beautiful moment I stumbled upon a few days ago while back in New Orleans. Louis Armstrong paying homage to the great W.C. Handy.
Happy Thanksgiving, all!
Miss It, Live at the Lighthouse, ’66
Rough month for jazz. Here’s a little remembrance from NPR about the founder of the Jazz Crusaders.
Not on disc, but as DJ. He was on the jazz station KBCA, later KKGO, the frequency my family’s car and household console stereo was always tuned to while I was growing up. I loved his voice, the “between platter patter.”
Later I learned more about Wilson and his contributions to jazz in Los Angeles in particular. As well as his work as an arranger and bandleader that spanned eight decades, he also taught classes in jazz history and appreciation at college campuses across the city. But what many Angelenoes might remember him most for — if not by name — but a piece of music that has been part of the backdrop/soundtrack of L.A. for as long as I can remember — Viva Tirado — a piece he dedicated to dedicated to bullfighter Jose Ramon Tirado, part of his own long-time interest in Latin culture and its shades of influence.
He’s another one who I thought would go on forever.
Thank you, Gerald Wilson for sorting out and reflecting the true sound of Los Angeles in all of its influences, nuances and moods.
Thank you so very, very much @LAthistory.
Buddy was such a lovely soul he taught not just music and city history but how to move in the world.
I can’t express how much I appreciated his help, encouragement and ears through the years. And still do.
Buddy was born on this day in 1921.
Sonny Rollins’ response.
More on the New Yorker/Rollins “satire” flap via Nicholas Payton
Charlie Parker died to play this music. Bud Powell died to play this music. After suffering through the worst holocaust in human history, these brilliant Black artists gave the world a gift. This gift was so potent that not only did it help them leverage some modicum of autonomy, but helped other oppressed peoples of the world find themselves. It even freed the souls of those who uprooted them from their homeland of Africa and enslaved them for centuries in a land not theirs. It is through Black music that White America began the process of healing itself.
I didn’t think back in May of 2005 when I was generously quoted in Stanley Crouch’s piece entitled, “The Colossus,” which extolled the virtues of Master Rollins, that I would have to sit up here today and call out the same publication for attempting to besmirch his character. I hesitate to write…
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