My favorite albums of 2019.

Before running down the album list for 2019, kindly allow a bit of belated housekeeping.

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November & December Discs

There were only two purchases. As noted previously, and speaking as a stubborn refusenik when it comes to playlists and non-album-oriented modernity, a great change in my listening procedures occurred during 2018-2019. I've acquiesced to streaming, most often experienced via a nice pair of noise-blocking headphones. What I like, I buy. 

The Who … WHO

Coldplay … Everyday Life

First, Coldplay. At this point musical polarization is highly likely; you enjoy the band, or not. Having conceded this, the new album is fun if not entirely free of pretentiousness.

As for WHO by The Who, it's true: I'm biased, having been a partisan for 45 years. It's far better than I imagined.

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Here's the TOP 10.

I've made comments about some of these at the time of release, but the list is enough for now. Click here and you'll find all the posts in 2019 with the label "Roger's Year in Music 2019."

10. Sleaford Mods … Eton Alive
9. Liam Gallagher … Why Me? Why Not.
8. Bastille ... Doom Days
7. Yak … Pursuit of Momentary Happiness
6. Sammy Hagar & the Circle … Space Between
5. The Who … WHO
4. The Hold Steady … Thrashing Thru the Passion
3. Bob Mould … Sunshine Rock
2. Foals … Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost (Part 2)

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HONORABLE MENTION

These two albums were great favorites of mine in 2019. They weren't released in 2019, so down go the asterisks.

Sunflower Bean … Twentytwo in Blue (2018)
Royal Headache … High (2015)

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NUMBER ONE

Fastball … The Help Machine

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During December I listened at length to these two 2019 releases.

Titus Andronicus ... An Obelisk
White Reaper ... You Deserve Love

I'll be buying them soon, and they can be added to the comprehensive purchase list that starts ... now.

Album releases 2019, November and December
The Who … WHO
Coldplay … Everyday Life

Album releases 2019, September and October
Foals … Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost (Part 2)
Temples … Hot Motion
Down N Outz … This Is How We Roll
The New Pornographers … In the Morse Code of Brake Lights
Fastball … The Help Machine
Elbow … Giants of All Sizes
Keane … Cause and Effect
The Hold Steady … Thrashing Thru the Passion
Ride … This Is Not A Safe Place
Fontaines DC … Dogrel
Liam Gallagher … Why Me? Why Not.

Album releases 2019, July and August
(no albums purchased)

Album releases 2019, May and June
The Amazons … Future Dust
Bruce Springsteen … Western Stars
Sammy Hagar & the Circle … Space Between
Bastille … Doom Days

Album releases 2019, March and April
Foals … Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost (Part 1)
Royal Headache … High (2015)
Catfish and the Bottlemen … The Balance

Album releases 2019, January and February
Sunflower Bean … Twentytwo in Blue (2018)
Bob Mould … Sunshine Rock
Yak … Pursuit of Momentary Happiness
Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats … Wasteland (2018)
Sleaford Mods … Eton Alive
Twilight Sad … It Won’t Be Like This All the Time

2019 was a fine year in music for Roger as it pertains to the sort of music Roger likes. And that's as complicated as it needs to get.

My "Year in Music" scored well in September and October.

As noted previously, and speaking as a stubborn refusenik when it comes to playlists and non-album-oriented modernity, there has been a great change in procedures during 2019. Finally I've acquiesced to streaming, most often experienced via a nice pair of noise-blocking headphones. My CD purchases are perhaps 25% of what they were before, limited to what I enjoy the most.

September and October were excellent new music months. Most of the following were released during this two month period, although a few came from earlier in the year. Among these, new albums by Foals, Fastball and The Hold Steady stand an excellent chance of being ranked in the top five at year's end. They're in no particular order, and as usual I've linked to representative reviews from a variety of sources.

Foals … Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost (Part 2)



Temples … Hot Motion



Down N Outz … This Is How We Roll



The New Pornographers … In the Morse Code of Brake Lights



Fastball … The Help Machine



Elbow … Giants of All Sizes



Keane … Cause and Effect



The Hold Steady … Thrashing Thru the Passion



Ride … This Is Not A Safe Place



Fontaines DC … Dogrel



Liam Gallagher … Why Me? Why Not.



And a few other recent musical links:

Begin your sunny Harvest Homecoming Saturday with Sardinian throat singing.

Know about Robert Johnson: "ReMastered: Devil at the Crossroads."

My really good excuse for not writing a column this week.

A belated accounting of my year in music for May and June.

It's the song by the Smiths, as performed by Johnny Marr at Glastonbury. New Albanians know it as Team Gahan's response each time I write about them.

It's axiomatic: The music of my life means much more to me than it does to you, a statement of even greater relevance given that I ceased being an arbiter of musical trends at the dawning of the age of rap and hip hop three decades ago.

However, if you're of like mind I may have been listening to something of interest -- and vice versa.

As noted previously, there has been a great change in procedures during 2019. Finally I've acquiesced to streaming, most often experienced via a nice pair of noise-blocking headphones. My CD purchases are perhaps 25% of what they were before, limited to what I enjoy the most.

Unfortunately I'm as susceptible as ever to forgetfulness, and this is why the following brief rundown of albums and music from May and June is so late. First, snippets from the handful of CDs acquired during these months, followed by links to musical musings.

The Amazons … Future Dust

Bruce Springsteen ... Western Stars

Sammy Hagar & the Circle … Space Between

Bastille … Doom Days

Yeah, well, I liked Van Hagar, and I like Sammy's new album with The Circle. Fight me.

ON THE AVENUES: Let's lift our voices for another verse of "Talking Seventh Inning Blues."

Four decades later, Disco Demolition Night has not aged well.

What Steve Resch has in mind for the Jimmy's Music Center building downtown.

I'd rather read Elton John's autobiography than watch the biopic.

Jazz master Sidney Bechet was born on this day in 1897.

I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say ...

I'd rather read Elton John's autobiography than watch the biopic.

To repeat, in my world musical biopics are bunk.

Give me a gifted documentarian, archival footage and original songs and I'm in. Having said this, the reviews I've seen for Rocketman suggest it might be an exception.

Might.

But you see, here's the thing. Elton's autobiography is coming this fall, and if the following is any indication of his skill with the written word, I'd prefer reading the book. They're usually better than the film adaptation, anyway.

My chosen excerpt addresses the chance nature of Elton's acquaintance with Bernie Taupin. For 50 years the pianist has written music to Taupin's words, and the their catalog of songs is astounding. Without that, would we even be having this chat?

Elton John: 'They wanted to tone down the sex and drugs. But I haven’t led a PG-13 life', by Elton John (The Guardian)

In this exclusive article, Elton John writes about his extraordinary life and why he finally decided to give the Rocketman biopic the green light

... Jamie and Taron have even managed to capture my relationship with Bernie, which is frankly a miracle, because I really have no idea how that works. We were thrown together at random. I had failed an audition for Liberty Records in 1967, and a guy from the label gave me an envelope with his lyrics in it as an afterthought, like a consolation prize. I’m not sure he had even opened the envelope and read the lyrics himself before he did it: I think he just felt sorry for me and didn’t want me to go away empty handed.

We were very close right at the start of our career together, but we’re completely different people. He comes from the wilds of Lincolnshire, I come from the suburbs of London. He lives in Santa Barbara and he’s literally won competitions for roping cattle. I collect antique porcelain and the only way you’d get me on the back of a horse is at gunpoint. Neither of us can write if the other is in the room. But there’s a weird bond between us that I felt the minute I opened the envelope – I could just write music to his words straight away, without even thinking about it – and it’s lasted over 50 years.

Yeah, well, I liked Van Hagar, and I like Sammy's new album with The Circle. Fight me.

Leave poor Gary Cherone out of it. Van Halen and Van Hagar were two completely different bands, and I liked each of them for different reasons. Obviously at this juncture our chances of Eddie Van Halen creating new music are slim, and almost no one under the age of 50 gives a damn about any of these people, anyway.

This leaves us with Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony, band mates in Sammy's latest vehicle, The Circle. Jason Bonham plays drums, and former Waborita Vic Johnson is on guitar. I bought Space Between, the new album, just for the hell of it. In spite of never being much of a solo Hagar kind of guy, Van Hagar was very much to my liking.

The lyrics on this release are not heavyweight. The music very much is, in the classic rock manner, and as the late Cub "Smokin' in the Boys Room" Koda is my witness, there's nothing wrong with that. Given the advancing age of the participants -- Sammy will be 72 soon, and the others are in their fifties -- there's a pleasingly hard edge to the proceedings.

If you enjoy old-school rock, check it out.

Abbey Road on the River illustrates the value of purposeful park design.

As usual, I had a good time volunteering to help populate the SoIn tourism bureau booth at Abbey Road on the River. I was there Thursday and Friday during the day.

A glance at the map reveals Jeffersonville's savvy approach to the design of Big Four Park. Streets on four sides are easily fenced to suit ticket control and alcohol sales; it also makes food trucks and vending easy. There are restrooms and utilities on the middle, and plenty of room elsewhere for port-a-lets.

Unfortunately in New Albany we have two festival sites (Riverfront Amphitheater and Bicentennial Park), neither of which have it all quite the way Big Four Park does.

The finest musical act I heard during my brief time on site was the genuine Liverpudlian Gavin Pring (George Harry's Son) performing as George Harrison, playing deep album cuts from the concert for Bangladesh with the assistance of a crack international band.

I enjoy the feel of this festival. It wasn't always evident to me, but this year the vibe came together. Roughly half the total attendees travel to AROTR from elsewhere each year, and it reminded me of the spirit at beer fests like Great Taste of the Midwest in Madison WI.

Back on the road again? Songs by touring musicians, about being touring musicians.

Rock musicians seem to have disproportionately populated the genre of "songs about being on the road." Perhaps this owes to The Beatles, who helped pioneer the notion that popular musicians can and should write their own material.

Swing era musicians played one-nighters and traveled, too -- quite uncomfortably on lousy roads in buses and private cars, but for the most part they played songs written by professional songwriters who might last months without leaving their big city neighborhoods.

Here are two lists.

Top 10 Songs About Being a Touring Musician

TOP 10 ROAD SONGS

While there may be other notable omissions, two stand out for me, with a caveat: I understand completely that white men wrote these two numbers -- which are quite obviously sexist -- as well as most (and maybe all) of the songs on the linked lists. If you have examples of better diversity in this genre of songwriting, let me know. I'm eager to learn more.

Lynyrd Skynrd's 1977 album Street Survivors was released three days before a plane crash claimed the lives of band leader, singer and primary songwriter Ronnie Van Zant, and Steve Gaines, a singer-guitarist of considerable potential who might have become McCartney to Van Zant's Lennon.

In retrospect, the entire album can be heard as a rumination on the life of a traveling band, but the opening track "What's Your Name" stands out. If you're not aware of what Lynyrd Skynyrd meant in the 1970s, be educated: had that plane not crashed, this album would have been viewed as the advent of international superstars. They were THAT good.

At the top of the page is a video of the ideal "road" song, appropriately titled "Back on the Road Again," as performed by REO Speedwagon. What's more, it's written by bass player Bruce Hall, who also sings it -- and who doesn't love it when the lesser known members of a band get their evening's share of the spotlight?

Hall obviously relishes his solo turn, and I've always been a huge fan of the late Gary Richrath, guitarist extraordinaire, who shreds in this video. 

I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say ...

Tipping it off, did you know there is a New Orleans Jazz National Historical Park in New Orleans?

Experience Jazz Music Where it all Began

Only in New Orleans could there be a National Park for jazz! Drop by our visitor center at 916 North Peters St. to inquire about musical events around town. In the mood for a world class musical experience? Attend a jazz concert or ranger performance at the new state of the art performance venue on the 3rd floor of the New Orleans Jazz Museum.

Buddy Bolden (1877-1931) may or may not have been the first jazz musician. The cornetist made no recordings, and all we have for evidence are the recollections of certain of Bolden's contemporaries, all of whom are long dead. A likelier explanation for the advent of jazz is that numerous musical strands came together during the early years of the 20th century and combusted. 

(I dislike biopics, but for those so inclined a long-awaited film about Bolden has been released: Bolden, by Keith Uhlich.)

Bolden's name was mentioned whenever jazz lovers talked about the oldest times, but he didn't even get a proper headstone until 1996. Here's a good overview of Bolden's story by Gayle Worl in the Washington Post.

"King Bolden had everybody in the city of New Orleans real crazy and standing on their heads," Willie "Bunk" Johnson, a trumpeter and Bolden contemporary, recalled in an interview with the late jazz historian Bill Russell. Louis Armstrong, 23 years Bolden's junior, didn't give his predecessor as much credit. "Buddy Bolden had the biggest reputation, but he just played loud," Armstrong said. "I don't think he really knew how to blow his horn right."

PJ Morton, the keyboardist for the band Maroon 5, is a New Orleans native. He's spearheading an effort to restore Bolden's residence.

PJ Morton's party was a kickoff celebration for the Buddy's House Foundation, his recently announced plan to renovate Bolden's house, in consultation with the Preservation Resource Center (PRC) of New Orleans, an organization which advocates for the city's historic architecture. According to Morton, the house will become a community center, museum and recording studio, offering music-business education for young performers and celebrating the jazz originator's legacy.

To close, a recollection by a jazz writer, broadcaster and archivist. Jelly Roll Morton's version of "Buddy Bolden's Blues" is embedded above.

“I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say....” by W. Royal Stokes

I am occasionally asked why my professional card, letterhead, website, and blog are headed by the phrase “I thought I heard Buddy Bolden say. . . .” Sometimes, a person will inquire, “Who is Buddy Bolden?” Well, the phrase comes from, “Buddy Bolden’s Blues,” which was originally titled "Funky Butt" when it was a song in the repertoire of New Orleans cornetist and bandleader Charles “Buddy” Bolden (1877-1931), the legendary father of jazz. You can read about Buddy here. For further reading, I recommend Donald Marquis’s In Search Of Buddy Bolden: First Man Of Jazz and Danny Barker’s Buddy Bolden and the Last Days of Storyville.

Some consider "Funky Butt” the oldest known jazz tune. It was Jelly Roll Morton (1885-1941) who bestowed the title “Buddy Bolden’s Blues” upon it and fashioned his own lyrics ...

Royal Headache, Foals, Catfish and the Bottlemen and the music in my head for March and April.

As winter yielded to spring, two household arrivals notched up my enthusiasm. Of course it hasn't hurt that climatic conditions are genuinely springlike, given our experience in 2018 of winter and summer being separated by a mere week of temperate weather.

First a kitten named Luna came into our household via the good offices of Dr. David Rowland. She's still a couple months shy of one year old, and if her perpetual motion could be tethered to a turbine, we'd have no need for Duke Energy.

Our eccentric elderly cats both died last year, and Mila the recovering feral feline is reclusive and laid back. Consequently to enter a room these days and find Luna hanging from the chandelier has been a delightful change of pace.

Second, a wonderful album called High, which to my chagrin was released all the way back in 2015. Naturally the band Royal Headache already has disbanded (in 2018), but knowing this sad fact has not affected my enjoyment of the album.

I became aware of Royal Headache at Pints&union one morning when an earworm occurred during Calvin daily playlist. He identified the band and noted the particular song as being atypical of the album as a whole.

Calvin was right; the remainder of the album is very different -- and now that I've heard all the tunes, the quasi-ballad can be judged as an inspired bit of contrast.

This is not a didactic or complicated band. A lot of Royal Headache’s songs are about elusive objects of desire (High) or trying to find some form of escape in a world that seems to forbid it (Electric Shock). They aren’t as light on their feet as they were on their 2011 debut – there are times on High when the ensemble slows its pace, as on the ballad Wouldn’t You Know – but these departures from punk orthodoxy allow Shogun’s vocals to insinuate much more than the band’s earlier lovelorn outsider anthems. Royal Headache isn’t a punk band any more, but that’s OK. They’re more.

Some day I'll finally understand why certain types of songs always capture my attention. The key, the tempo, the mood; I can't explain it, but "Wouldn't You Know" has it. I regret the band's untimely passing and look forward to what I hope is the inevitable reunion.

Meanwhile, it came as a complete shock to me when I realized there had been only three CD purchases in March and April.

Catfish and the Bottlemen's third album is called The Balance. The formula has not varied, and this meets with my approval.

Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost (Part 1) is the most recent release from Foals, another British band that probably won't include Louisville when (or if) they tour America.

I'll readily concede that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame selections for 2019 were pleasing to me, including personal favorites like Def Leppard, Roxy Music and Radiohead. In recent years the RRHoF finally is catching up to my standards.

As discussed previously, I'm continuing to loosen the reins and allowing myself to enjoy the archives rather than constantly obsess over finding new music. There isn't as much new music to my tastes as before, and I'm content to wait for the pendulum to swing back -- or not.

I can't point to specific highlights, just a well-rounded listening regimen -- rock and pop, jazz and classical.

Bryce Harper? Please. What instrument does HE play? We've got Teddy Abrams for another five years.

Late notice: Louisville Orchestra at the Ogle on Saturday with "An Evening in Italy."

The music banging around in my head for January and February, 2019.

Although I fail miserably when it comes to supporting local music, this song by Jacob Resch deserves a solid plug. A little bird tells me that he may begin performing regularly at this downtown joint called Pints&union. You'll be kept informed.

I try to do as much public service writing as possible, much to the chagrin of polite society, and yet it's still my blog and a running diary of sorts. Hence this ongoing effort to document the soundtrack of my life.

For the past decade, I've consciously resisted listening in the past. I've carefully rationed classic rock. However, the seemingly permanent marginalization of fresh rock and pop gradually finally has eroded my vigilance -- at least a little.

Concurrently I've finally shifted much of my home listening to headphones and streaming sources. This enables a broader survey of worthwhile new music, and if it's something I like, I'll still buy the CD just like I always have. It remains my goal to find new music, but maybe I'm learning to relax and enjoy the tried and true a bit more often.

As such I'm pleased to say that while my 2019 album purchases thus far have been few in number, they're uniformly excellent in quality. First, two very different outliers from 2018 that slipped past me last year. I've linked to reviews that strike me as the most accurate.

Sunflower Bean … Twentytwo in Blue (2018)

Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats … Wasteland (2018)

Now for the 2019 releases, beginning with the awesome Bob Mould … Sunshine Rock

Twilight Sad … It Won’t Be Like This All the Time

Yak … Pursuit of Momentary Happiness

Sleaford Mods … Eton Alive

As for the old days, one of my top musical experiences in January was listening to Who's Next with headphones, then listening again, the second time focusing on John Entwistle's incredible bass.

Another January highlight: I was at Pints&union on a Sunday afternoon/evening when it was decided to play Black Sabbath non-stop the remainder of the day. This led to three unexpected outcomes.

First there were memories of how ubiquitous Black Sabbath really was during my youth, starting in the 5th or 6th grade when someone brought his older brother's 45 rpm of "Iron Man" to school.

Then listening again to 13, presumably the band's final studio album, and finding it better than I remembered.

Finally, a perverse desire to listen again to the sole Black Sabbath album with Ian "Deep Purple" Gillan as singer. It's a very strange beast, indeed.

I spent a solid week in early February listening multiple times to This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours by Manic Street Preachers (1998). The second "side" is highly recommended; the hits are at the beginning, and deeper wisdom nearer the conclusion.

Another day or two was devoted to Cheap Trick at Budokan (1978). Talk about a template. Lest we forget, Bun E. Carlos in his heyday was an amazing drumming force.

February brought a lengthy dive into the extensive Duke Ellington catalog. If memory serves, his son Mercer wrote this one.

Of course, having a keg of Dogfish Head Wood-Aged Bitches Brew on tap at Pints&union was all the encouragement necessary for a period of quality immersion in Miles' fusion-period releases.

Most recently came a full-tilt Muggsy Spanier revival, and yes, I realize almost no one remembers him. But I do, and keeping musical culture alive is important. Follow the link, read all about it and I'll pick up the tune in two months.

Jazz break: On Muggsy Spanier's Ragtime Band, "That Eccentric Rag" and the long departed Rod Cless.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Miles Davis, Dogfish Head and Bitches Brew, or everything old is new again.

"Bands are known for drink, drugs and dust-ups. But beyond the debauchery lie four models for how to run a business."

Reminder: The LO performs Tchaikovsky next Saturday (January 19) at the Ogle Center.

Late notice: Louisville Orchestra at the Ogle on Saturday with "An Evening in Italy."

It's been a hectic week, and so a Saturday evening of mostly familiar Italian standards seems fitting, as offered by the Louisville Orchestra at the Ogle Center. We'll be there and encourage you to consider doing the same.

Saturday March 2, 7:30 p.m. 
Paul W. Ogle Cultural and Community Center
Indiana University Southeast
4200 Grant Line Road, New Albany

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AN EVENING IN ITALY

Music that's easy to know and love... performed and conducted by our gracious and talented Concertmaster GABRIEL LEFKOWITZ leading the Louisville Orchestra.

GIOACHINO ROSSINI: Overture to The Barber of Seville

ANTONIO VIVALDI: "Winter" from The Four Seasons -- Gabriel Lefkowitz, violin

NICCOLO PAGANINI: "La Campanella" -- Gabriel Lefkowitz, violin

OTTORINO RESPIGHI: Ancient Airs and Dances, Suite 1

GIUSEPPE VERDI: La Traviata, Prelude to Act 1

AMILCARE PONCHIELLI: "Dance of the Hours" from La Gioconda

TICKETS ONLINE: $20 plus tax and h/c
TICKETS AT THE DOOR: $25

CONCERTS SPONSORED BY:
GLENVIEW TRUST
Dr. and Mrs. Richard Wolfe

SERIES SPONSORED BY REPUBLIC BANK

Jazz break: On Muggsy Spanier's Ragtime Band, "That Eccentric Rag" and the long departed Rod Cless.

I could go on and on about the entire rich history of jazz in America during the early 1900s, but I won't. My aim is limited tonight: for you to meet Muggsy Spanier, be aware of his "Great 16" sides of music, and know that "ragtime" is among the components of what we'd now refer to for the sake of convenience as Dixieland.

Britannica has a solid overview.

Dixieland, in music, a style of jazz, often ascribed to jazz pioneers in New Orleans, La., but also descriptive of styles honed by slightly later Chicago-area musicians. The term also refers to the traditional jazz that underwent a popular revival during the 1940s and that continued to be played into the 21st century. See also Chicago style, New Orleans style.

New Orleans was not the only city where early jazz took root at the turn of the 20th century, but it was the centre of that musical activity, and most of the seminal figures of early jazz, black and white, were active there. It is likely that both blacks and whites played the music that came to be known as Dixieland jazz.

New Orleans during the late 19th century was, in effect, two cities: Downtown was home to most whites and Creoles, and Uptown was home to freed black slaves. The strictness of the city’s segregation was evidenced in 1897 with the establishment of Storyville (known as “the district” to locals), a 38-square-block area, designed to isolate such activities as prostitution and gambling, that was split by Canal Street into black and white areas. Virtually every brothel, tavern, and gambling hall in Storyville employed musicians. The unique urban culture of New Orleans provided a receptive environment for a distinctive new style of music.

The scant available evidence (mostly anecdotal) suggests that the black and white musicians of New Orleans shared many common influences, although it would appear that white bands tended to draw on ragtime and European music, whereas black bands also built on their 19th-century ethnic heritage ...

J. Russell Robinson was born in Indianapolis and began writing songs while in his teens. "That Eccentric Rag" dates from 1912.

Jazz didn't really come to be identified as such until just after the Great War, which in turn couldn't be called the First World War until there had been a Second. Robinson's tune became a standard, with the first known jazz band recording by the Friar's Society Orchestra coming in 1922.

Francis Joseph "Muggsy" Spanier, who borrowed his nickname from baseball legend John McGraw, was born in 1901 in Chicago. Like the songwriter Robinson, Spanier's professional music career began early. He patterned his playing style on Louis Armstrong and King Oliver, the top African-American jazz trumpeters of the day.

Spanier spent the late 1920s and most of the 1930s as a sought-after sideman in name orchestras. While passing through New Orleans in 1938 with the Ben Pollack band, Spanier was diagnosed with a perforated ulcer that required treatment and a prolonged stay in the Touro Infirmary. Back on his feet again, Spanier determined to go out on his own and form a band to play the music he preferred, hence the formation of his popular but short-lived Ragtime Band in 1939.

From an excellent biographical sketch of Spanier:

Before the band broke up they made 16 exceptional hot jazz records: 4 in Chicago and 12 in New York for the RCA Victor Bluebird label. When the first long-play collection of all the sessions was issued, it was entitled The Great 16, and this immediately became the generic name by which they are recognizable to all jazz buffs.

Among the titles was "Eccentric," shorthand for Robinson's ragtime composition.

There's much to be explored about Spanier's contributions to jazz, but his band mates are far more obscure these days. Trombonist George Brunies began performing at eight years of age, and also played on the aforementioned Friar's Society recording of "Eccentric." The clarinetist is Rod Cless, a truly forgotten jazz virtuoso of the period who died at 37 in 1944.

This piece about Cless is well worth the time. Jazzmen of the period, whether black or white, had a fraternal bond that had much to do with relative privation. Then as now, no one want to pay the musicians.

But they believed.

Remembering Rod Cless (Shiraz Socialist)

I recently came upon a stash of old jazz magazines, including some copies of ‘The Jazz Record’, edited by pianist-bandleader Art Hodes and his sidekick Dale Curran between 1943 and 1947. It’s fascinating stuff, full of contemporary reports of what was going on at Nick’s in Greenwich Village and what the likes of Pee Wee Russell, Sidney Bechet, Eddie Condon and James P. Johnson were up to. The piece reproduced below is from the January 1945 edition of the magazine, and I found it particularly moving. Clarinetist Rod Cless is now all but forgotten, but in the early 1940’s was a well-known and popular figure on the New York jazz scene. He died in December 1944 as a result of a fall over a balcony after heavy drinking, and then drinking some more from a bottle or flask smuggled in to him in hospital. This obituary – by someone who is obviously a close friend – strikes me as worth republishing as an example of how jazz people mourn.

During the last two weeks of February I listened to the Great 16 as a bloc five or six times. Just before that had been an extended period with Duke Ellington and Miles Davis, both very different from Spanier's milieu. I always come back to all of this music at intervals, soak it up again, and try to learn a little bit more than I knew before -- as with this column from 2017.

ON THE AVENUES DOUBLEHEADER (1): Listening to "Dixieland" jazz, and thinking about drinking a beer.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Miles Davis, Dogfish Head and Bitches Brew, or everything old is new again.

In response to my curiosity, there just had to be a list.

THE 7 BEST JAZZ THEMED BEERS

Because of the international appeal of jazz, many breweries have honored the most esteemed musicians of this genre by naming a few of their beers after them. Below are seven of my favorite jazz musicians and the beer named after them.

The first two beers listed are the only ones I've experienced: Brother Thelonious (Monk, pianist and composer) by North Coast, and Bitches Brew (the classic Miles Davis album) by Dogfish Head.

I'd like to see a beer dedicated to Kamasi Washington, but then again I realize few of my readers are jazz fans, and Iron Maiden's beer probably has better sales potential. Maroon 5 Low Calorie Amber, anyone?

Today Pints&union is tapping a sixth barrel of Dogfish Head Wood-Aged Bitches Brew. From opening at 2 p.m. through 5 p.m., there'll be a musical soundtrack of Miles Davis to accompany your sipping pleasure.

Originally brewed in honor of the 40th anniversary of the release of Miles Davis’ 1970 landmark Jazz fusion record Bitches Brew, our ‘remix’ is a gustatory tribute to that analog masterpiece.

Much like Jazz fusion, which blends different musical styles, our Wood-Aged Bitches Brew is a fusion of three threads of Imperial Stout aged on oak and one thread of Tej - a native African honey beer - aged on Palo.

The result is a roasty brew chock full of aromas of vanilla, licorice and chocolate, while you’ll find notes of sweet roast coffee with every sip. It’s slightly dry in the mouthfeel with a mild bitterness that make it the perfect sipper.

As for the groundbreaking album itself, Paul Tingen goes deep at Jazz Times.

Miles Davis and the Making of Bitches Brew: Sorcerer’s Brew

The story behind the seminal jazz-rock album Bitches Brew

August of 1969 marked Miles Davis’ boldest venture yet into undiscovered country. This time there was no more holding back, no more tentative experimentation, no more “walking on eggshells.” The album that emerged, Bitches Brew, was groundbreaking, beginning with its stark title and Abdul Mati Klarwein’s memorable cover painting. Made on Miles’ personal invitation, Klarwein’s expressionistic work captured the zeitgeist of free love and flower power, depicting a naked black couple looking expectantly at an ocean, a huge vibrant, red flower beside them. The background of the title is unknown, but a clue is provided by the absence of an apostrophe at the end of the word “bitches,” making “brew” a verb, not a noun. Carlos Santana speculated that the album was a “tribute” to “the cosmic ladies” who surrounded Miles at the time and introduce him to some of the music, clothes, and attitudes of the ’60s counterculture. Gary Tomlinson, on the other hand, assumed that “bitches” referred to the musicians themselves. Just like “motherfucker,” the term “bitch” can be used as an accolade in African-American vernacular. Whatever the title meant, it sounded provocative. Teo Macero remarked, “The word ‘bitches,’ you know, probably that was the first time a title like that was ever used. The title fit the music, the cover fit the music.”

The music on Bitches Brew is indeed provocative, and extraordinary ...

The trumpeter's reinvention had a little in common with Bob Dylan's "electric" controversy at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, and Bitches Brew received mixed reviews at inception.

Miles's embrace of electricity split the jazz world between excitement and contempt but he remained unrepentant. "I had seen the way to the future and I was going for it like I had always done," he reflected later. "I had to change course to continue to love what I was playing."

There's probably an analogy to be attempted somewhere with New England-style "Hazy" IPA or peanut butter and jelly beers. If so, you can make it. I'm busy listening.

"Bands are known for drink, drugs and dust-ups. But beyond the debauchery lie four models for how to run a business."

For your approbation, owing primarily to the great opening story about Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts. It's a good read, on the glib side but instructive. I've seen similar models at work during my time in the brewing business. Maybe I'll tell those stories someday when I write my autobiography: "What I Remember."

Thanks for the title, Phil.

A rocker’s guide to management (in 1843, sister magazine to The Economist)

Bands are known for drink, drugs and dust-ups. But beyond the debauchery lie four models for how to run a business

In his languidly titled autobiography, “Life”, Keith Richards tells a story that captures something about the workplace culture of the Rolling Stones and his decades as the band’s guitarist. It’s 1984 and the Stones are in Amsterdam for a meeting (yes, even Keith Richards attends meetings). That night, Richards and Mick Jagger go out for a drink and return to their hotel in the early hours, by which time Jagger is somewhat the worse for wear. “Give Mick a couple of glasses, he’s gone,” Richards writes, scornfully.

Jagger decides that he wants to see Charlie Watts, who has already gone to bed. He picks up the phone, calls Watts’s room and says, “Where’s my drummer?” There is no response from the other end of the line. Jagger and Richards have a few more drinks. Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. It is Watts, dressed in one of his Savile Row suits, freshly shaved and cologned. He seizes Jagger and shouts “Never call me your drummer again,” and delivers a sharp right hook to the singer’s chin.*

Rock stars sometimes seem to exist in a completely different world to our own. It is easy to forget that they, too, are subject to office politics. Watts was the drummer, and Jagger was the leader, or co-leader, of the band. It was Jagger who commanded stages around the world and took responsibility for the band’s major business decisions. But by calling Watts my drummer, Jagger had upset the delicate balance of deference and respect that sustains the relationships between co-workers in any workplace. Of course, there aren’t many offices in which the principals take industrial quantities of artificial stimulants and launch themselves into fistfights. (Imagine being the HR director for the Stones – the paperwork!) But the dynamics of an incident like this are familiar to anyone who has ever felt compelled to request that their boss get over themselves.

The notion that bands should make music for the love of it was always romantic and now seems positively quaint. Rock groups are mini-corporations (some of them not so mini). Bands such as Coldplay or Kings of Leon operate sophisticated corporate machines that are responsible for multiple revenue streams; at a recent conference, Metallica’s drummer spoke about the importance of using the right customer-engagement software. Yet the music machine ultimately depends on a small group of talented individuals working closely together to create something magical. Once members of a group decide that they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other, the magic stops and the money dries up.

If rock groups are businesses, businesses are getting more like rock bands. Workplaces are far more informal than they used to be, with less emphasis on protocol, rank and authority. Many firms try to cultivate the creativity that can come from close collaboration. Employers attempt to engineer personal chemistry, hiring coaches to fine-tune team dynamics and sending staff on team-building exercises. Employees are encouraged to share lunch, play table tennis and generally hang out. As the founder of Hubble, a London office-space company, put it, “We hope that our team will become friends first, and colleagues second” ...

* Wikipedia relays the tale a tad differently:

One anecdote relates that in the mid-1980s, an intoxicated Jagger phoned Watts' hotel room in the middle of the night asking "Where's my drummer?". Watts reportedly got up, shaved, dressed in a suit, put on a tie and freshly shined shoes, descended the stairs, and punched Jagger in the face, saying: "Don't ever call me your drummer again. You're my fucking singer!"

Reminder: The LO performs Tchaikovsky next Saturday (January 19) at the Ogle Center.

Culture, tunes, affordable entertainment.

SAT 19 JAN 2019: Enjoy the music of Russian composer, Pyotr Tchaikovsky (1840-1893) as the Louisville Orchestra performs three beloved works by this popular composer, with Teddy Abrams conducting.

1812 Overture
Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture
The Tempest

This is my second and final notice, because the classics are cool. Be there, 'cuz we will.

1812 Overture and more; Louisville Orchestra at the Ogle on January 19, performing Tchaikovsky.

Trust me on this one. Even if you're not an aficionado of the "classical" repertoire, the LO's all-Tchaikovsky program for the Music Without Borders Series, with Teddy Abrams conducting, is a no-brainer.

You'll recognize all three selections, including the boisterous 1812 Overture, and for those of us living in Indiana, there's the added bonus of the easy, painless proximity of the Ogle Center on the campus of IU Southeast as hometown venue.