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This blogger, Richard Gehr, is not an employee of AARP. The opinions expressed in the blog are not necessarily the opinions of AARP and AARP assumes no liability for the content posted by Mr. Gehr or any other participant

December 20, 2007

DownBeat magazine has assembled into a 350-odd-page book nearly all of its Miles Davis coverage in three sections devoted to news, features, and reviews. No artist was covered so thoroughly in the magazine; Miles's intelligence, talent, charisma, and charming pugnacity always made him a fascinating subject.

And who could blame him for his defensiveness? The earliest news items in "The Miles Davis Reader" recount a 1959 altercation involving Miles and a police officer. The episode escalated into a threatened wrongful arrest suit against the City of New York. Fearing future harassment should the suit be pursuit, Miles let the matter drop when he was cleared of all charges.

Miles was an irrespressible critic in the several "Blindfold Tests" he submitted to over the years. In a particularly spiky 1964 encounter, he brutalizes Les McCann and the Jazz Crusaders ("What's that supposed to be? That ain't nothin'"), Clark Terry ("I've always liked Clark. But this is a sad record"), and a trio consisting of Duke Ellington, Charles Mingus, and Max Roach ("Duke can't play with them, and they can't play with Duke") in the course of a single session.

One writer visited Miles at the Johnny Coulton Physical Training Club, where he boxed, and the interview got physical. Another saw Miles at home and described a bedroom he'd never want to leave. A third wondered what Davis had been listening to lately. "Nobody—I listen to Stockhausen," Miles replied, referring to avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, who died on Dec. 5, 2007. Reviews range from enthusiasm to adulation, except for an early-'70s valley of disdain for Miles's electric experiments. However, this was rectified when the performances were reissued during the '80s via some inciteful reconsiderations.

Davis's evolving sartorial panache can be appreciated in DownBeat's cover designs, which likewise devolved from cool to groovy to gaudy.

November 28, 2007

Almost everything in Oxford American magazine's annual music issue is better than almost anything else you will read about music this year. Better still, most of this particular issue of the self-described "Southern magazine of good writing" consists of some very good writing about the 26 performers whose tracks appear on the wonderful mix CD that accompanies the issue. Which means you not only can not only read entertaining and thoughtful pieces on everyone from Thelonious Monk and Percy Mayfield to Van Dyke Parks and Iris Dement, but you can also listen to them at the same time. You will perhaps have not heard the music of Eldridge Holmes, Sandy Posey, or the Rev. Charles Jackson. But after you read about their lives and hear their music, you will be inclined to further research.

Some samples:

The worst marketing firm in the world put Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks together by committee—that's the only possible explanation for a San Francisco band in 1968 taking their inspiration from Glenn Miller's vocal group, the Modernaires: 'You know what the kids want today? Big-band group harmonies and cowboy songs! No drummer, though, and no electric instruments. We'll sell a million!'—"Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks," by David Smay

Fewer than twelve hours later, everybody was back in the studio to start in on what Dylan called 'Like a Woman.' The lyrics, once again, needed work: on several early takes, Dylan sang disconnected lines and semi-gibberish. He was unsure about what the person described in the song does that is just like a woman, rejecting 'shakes,' 'wakes,' and 'makes mistakes.'—"Mystic Nights: The Making of 'Blonde on Blonde' in Nashville, Tennessee," by Sean Wilentz

I don't get it. Who doesn't love a good yodel? For one thing, there's the spelling challenge.—"American Yawp: Doddley Dew Dee Dowm Woddle-y Dee D'doodle Yo Day Eedel-y Doo Doo," by Roy Blount, Jr.

Fred Neil was prickly. Fred Neil, like a lot of human beings, wanted to be left alone. His career had no ecstatic heights and no hysterical blowouts. Well, one time he broke a guitar string and walked offstage; and sometimes he didn't show up for gigs. That's about it.—"Fred Neil," by Mike Powell