The World According to Keitho

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Louder

Posted by keithosaunders on February 1, 2012

Have you all noticed how loud life is getting?  I’m not talking about the street noise of a bustling city — I like the mayhem of honking horns and people screaming good-naturedly, or angrily at each other.  I’m talking about ancillary noise that did not exist a decade ago.

When you go to a movie, even before the trailers begin, there are commercials playing at an uncomfortable volume.  Forget the feature, which is deafening.

When I lived in New York I used to dread walking by the Peruvian folk bands playing on the street, or in the subway stations.  You know those guys:  They’re  the ones with the amplified pan flute players.  What is it with the pan flute anyway?  First of all, the instrument itself is an abomination.  Second of all, nobody wants to hear it.  And third of all, they are particularly offensive when PLAYED THROUGH MARSHALL STACKS!

Closer to home, I am distressed about how loud jazz music has become.  In the old days bass players didn’t have amps — they were felt more than heard.  Perhaps this explains why they felt so good!  These days you have bass players playing through amplification at uncomfortably loud levels.  The drummer ends up having to play louder, and the horns and piano require micing.  Ultimately, unless you’re playing at a serious listening venue,  the audience talks louder.  It’s a vicious cycle.   Or is it a vicious circle?

Whatever.

It’s vicious.

 

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Cut

Posted by keithosaunders on December 1, 2011

When you’re a musician you’re always balancing your ego with your talent.  You’re thinking about the music — how can I make it sound as good as possible, how best to interact with the rhythm section, and, as a pianist and accompanist, how can I best compliment the soloist. 

Yet you crave validation and acceptance from the audience, as well as your peers.  It’s natural to do so, I suppose, but there are times when this need can play havoc with your head.

The other day I had finished the first set of my Sunday gig when one of the audience members introduced himself as a fellow pianist.  He complimented me, but only tepidly, and years of being in the jazz trenches had me realizing that he was sizing me up — taking my measure. 

He asked who I had played with when I had lived in New York.  I could have dropped some names – notable people who I had come into contact with during my 26 years there — but I preferred to mention those with whom I had played the most steadily — great players in their own right, yet not as widely known to people outside of the New York area.

I could tell he was unimpressed and he proceeded to give me a little of his background.  Somehow this morphed into a didactic lecture on the jazz schools that were Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers and the Betty Carter group.  (not that they were real schools, just that playing with these masters was like being in school) 

He was going on and on, and suddenly I realized that this guy was talking down to me.  and he began to irk me.  Of course I knew about Art Blakey and Betty Carter – any jazz novice, let alone a veteran, would know this.  I began to lose patience with him and rather than have a blowup I decided to remove myself from the situation, excused myself, and went over to talk to another pianist.

I realized that I had walked into a trap.  This guy may have been a west coast musician, but he had the vibing acumen of a seasoned New Yorker.  

The punchline is that he sat in and brought down the house with a great solo on a blues.  I felt it was gimmicky, yet I couldn’t deny that he had talent.  Let’s face it, he cut me.   

I have to give it up to this guy, though.  It’s possible he woke me out of a stupor, because the next set, and the next night, I played with renewed intensity and fire.  I’ll be ready for this guy the next time I see him, if only to avoid talking to him.

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Furniture store!

Posted by keithosaunders on November 8, 2011

 

The great one

The sports world has been so great lately that I have neglected the musical side of this blog.  Here then is a post dedicated to the gigging portion of my life.

Things have been very busy here in the East Bay — in fact, this past month has been one of the busiest periods of my life.  I’ve been working between 4-6 gigs a week and the phone has been ringing off the hook.  I am guardedly optimistic about my future here in the Bay Area.  The word guardedly must be used as a qualifier for all things musical in this fickle economy, but for now I seem to be in demand.

Of course some gigs are more glamorous than others, and when it comes to deciding whether of not to accept a gig, years of a ’feast or famine’ lifestyle have practically eradicated the word no from my vocabulary.  Still, even I have my limits, so when it came to the nude-tap-dancing-while-on-fire engagement, I politely declined.

I do enjoy the variety of work I get, however, and thanks to my ability to see the humor in life, I have a pretty high threshold of zanyness.  Last week I played a gig at a furniture store, of all places.  It was in a tony section of San Francisco, not far from the Presidio.  I was in a trio that played jazz while the swells walked around deciding which high-priced furniture to buy for their townhouses. 

The women were all Betty Drapered out, which is to say they were extremely overdressed for walking around a furniture store.  Many of them wore backless gowns, or eye-catching red dresses.  

As for the men, at one point I looked around and spotted a Charles Nelson Reilly lookalike.  He was a dapper middle-aged man with horn rimmed glasses wearing a tweed coat.  At one point I was going to pick him to block but I thought better of it.

‘The store supplied me with an antique, faux-sheepskin chair, which was very uncomfortable.  It was one of those chairs in which you sank deep into the cushion — in other words, a bad chair.  With my bad back it made for a somewhat painful evening.  At one point I leaned back in the chair and the back of it splintered.  You could hear that cracking noise, which next to glass breaking, is the sound I dread hearing the most. 

I was envisioning having to work off this priceless Ming chair, to the point where it bankrupted me.  Years later one of you would happen to spot me on skid row with an unkempt beard and a bottle of ripple in my hand.

Keith!  What happened to you?!          

I would respond in my drunk voice:  “I had a gig in a furniture store.  It ruined me!”  

Me in 15 years

Posted in jazz, music | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Speed

Posted by keithosaunders on October 16, 2011

I played an early morning gig the other day — like 8AM early.  How strange to wake up for a gig to find that it was still pitch black outside, not to mention leaving the gig in broad daylight — it’s the reverse of how it usually works. 

The gig was for a non-profit corporation that had a breakfast affair and wanted music.  As usual the band was talking sports before the gig.  With the playoffs ongoing, baseball was the subject of the day.   The drummer asked if we remembered that the AL had a designated runner for two years.  The sax player and I knew that this wasn’t the case — that it was an innovation that Charlie Finley, the A’s owner, wanted to implement.

A little while later the  drummer emailed this info:

1974. Herb Washington of the Oakland Athletics is known as the only “Designated Runner” in Baseball history. As a world class sprinter who broke various sprinting records while in College at Michigan State University he caught the attention of Oakland’s free spirited owner Charlie Finley. He was able to convince Washington to take the role of Designated Runner even though he had no Baseball prior experience. He spent the entire 1974 season and 1 month of the 1975 season with the A’s where he had zero at-bats or time playing the field in the 105 games he appeared in. With that said, Washington still accomplished to steal 31 bases, score 33 runs, and win a World Series ring in his short career. After being released by the A’s he remained in professional sports for 2 additional years as a competitive sprinter in Track & Field. 

Funny thing, though.  Later that night I was playing a gig with a bass player who is an avid sports fan and who has lived in the Bay Area for over 30 years.  He remembered Washington and he told me that, in fact, he was a terrible base runner.  He got picked off many times, got terrible leads, and made a myriad of mistakes on the bases.

Kind of funny, but it brings out the point that there actually is a skill to running, and that it is not merely speed that steals bases.  It serves to illustrate how great players like Lou Brock, Tim Raines, and of course, Rickey Henderson were.

One of the things I love about living in the Bay Area, after having been in New York for so long, is hearing the inside dope about the players and teams of yesteryear.  Even though a hard-core sports fan like myself is aware of those teams and players, there is nothing like getting the first-hand, inside dope.  I eat that stuff up!

Too bad the Tigers couldn’t pull out the ALCS.  Now we’ll have to suffer through another Series of Bush sitting next to jowly Nolan Ryan.  In the end the Tigers were a little too beat up, didn’t have the arms, and suffered from way too much Nelson Cruz.  

I’m still hopeful that Milwaukee can pull it out at home, but I am steeling myself for another Series of delicate-genuis LaRussa, with his revolving door of pitchers.  How does he get away with it?  I only hope we see a 16 inning game with LaRussa forced to pitch Nick Punto when he runs out of relievers.

Posted in baseball, jazz | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Summer in the city

Posted by keithosaunders on July 17, 2011

Another great week spent in New York.  What a town!  I can’t believe I lived here for so many years. 

I had three gigs this week, and when I wasn’t gigging I was hanging out in the city, mostly at my favorite club, Small’s.  I’ve got long hair and a goatee now and everyone says that I look like a Californian.  Of course this belies the fact that I often had this look during my New York years.  Back then it would have bothered me to have been mistaken for a Californian, as if there was an inherent put-down in such a comment.  These days I don’t care; in fact, I’m amused by it.  Listen, there’s no denying it any longer..I am a Californian.

Musicians have been very welcoming to me since my return.  They seem genuinely happy to see me and curious about what my life in the Bay Area is like.  For my part, it feels great to be able to feel at home on both coasts.  Something that never occurred to me in all of my New York years, was that it is possible to actually like both places.  The inclination is to belittle the opposite coast.  I’m guilty of it —  there are jokes to be mined, for crying out loud!  But at this point, from where I stand, it’s a waste of energy.

A highpoint of my stay has been sitting in for one tune at the late night jam session at Small’s in the Village.  I was hanging out at the bar during the regular gig.  After the band finished I was getting ready to head to the subway to go back to the Bronx when I noticed that there was no piano player to start the session.  I figured, what the heck, I’ll play a tune.  A sax player began the first few notes of Oleo by himself, and boom, we were off. 

There is something about the energy of New York musicians that is at a different level than all others.  I lived here for 26 years, and after a while you can’t help taking it for granted.  But being away from it for a year and jumping back into the pool is an amazing experience the momentum is both startling and infectious.  

I didn’t know any of the musicians — they were all young guys – but it felt great to be in there with them, holding my own, and enjoying the energy.  The best part, for me, was the realization that even though I no longer live in new York, I haven’t lost that energy — that fire.

I played one tune, and ceded the piano bench to a young woman sitting in the front row who was patiently waiting her turn.  I went home on the subway, which slogged its way up the 2 train tracks, and arrived in the Bronx an hour and a half later, none the worse for wear.

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Provincialism

Posted by keithosaunders on May 11, 2011

I grew up in Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley in a town called Van Nuys.  When I lived in L.A. I thought it was a the center of the world.  I thought it was a glamorous place full of hip movie stars, and great musicians. 

As I got into my teen years and was exposed to, and began playing jazz, I began to wonder about the wider world, in particular, New York City.  Both of my parents grew up in New York.  My father had great memories of his childhood there, and he vividly described what it was like to grow up in New York during the pre and post World War II era.

I got into my late teens and began hanging out with the great drummer, Dick Berk.  He had lived in New York in the early ’60s, and he would spend hours regaling me with stories of all the great musicians he had hung out with and played with.    

New York was like a mythical place to me, filled with jazz clubs, great sports teams, colorful characters, jazz musicians, and places to hang out until all hours to the night.  What could be better?

There was one problem.  Almost everyone else I talked to hated New York.  I was told, in no uncertain terms, that it was a crime-ridden, rat-infested, over-priced hell-whole, and that I should have my head examined for wanting to live there.  When you recall some of the films of the 1970s — The Out of Towners, Taxi Driver, and Mean Streets — you can see why it had a bad reputation.  Of course, most of the people I knew had never been to New York, but that didn’t stop them from badmouthing it.

Furthermore, they told me, the people were rude, unfriendly, and unwelcoming.  When I responded that I wanted to experience the greatest jazz scene in the world, I was told to grow up — that there was no future in jazz.

To be continued…

Posted in jazz, New York City | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Aja — the Ten Commandments of pop music

Posted by keithosaunders on April 27, 2011

Steely Dan released Aja —  their sixth album —  in 1977.  It was an enormous hit, peaking at #3 in the U.S. charts.  It is a jazz-rock fusion album in the best, and truest sense of the word.  Its rhythms have an R & B, and pop sensibility, but the songs are infused with dense jazz harmony, complete with +9 and -5 chords, ii-V-I progressions, and obscure hipster references.  [...died behind the wheel]

I recently heard a radio show in which a pair of music critics debated the viability of Aja.  The anti-Aja guest asserted that the record is sterile, and that its music is akin to 1970s-style easy listening music.  Although I fall firmly on the pro-Aja side of the debate, I can see where this person is coming from.  Aja is a remarkably clean-sounding record.  Donald Fagan and Walter Becker were notorious for their meticulous attention to detail, and by their own admission they were passionate about their love of the studio and its possibilities. 

The anti-Aja guest is a rocker through and through — that is to say someone who does not appreciate jazz.  For me, the idea of pop music that contains sophisticated chords, great grooves, and sardonic lyrics, played by bad-ass jazz and studio musicians, is right in my wheelhouse.  I can easily see how someone could mistake Aja for easy-listening, especially on first listen.

That theory only holds so much water, however.  There are some all-time performances on this date.  Steve Gadd’s drum fills and samba groove on the title track is a jaw-dropping revelation.  Likewise, drummer Bernard Purdie’s ”Purdie shuffle” groove on Peg is hall of fame stuff.  Wayne Shorter lays down an interesting solo on Aja, but it is the L.A. tenor man Pete Christlieb, who, to my ears, steals the show.  His solo on Deacon Blues may be the greatest ever sax solo on a pop tune.  

 The list of sidemen on this date reads like the pop music version of a Cecil B. Demille film: 

Tom Scott, Chuck Findley, Lee Ritenour, Larry Carlton, Joe Sample, Don Grolnick, Michael Omartian,Jim Keltner, Rick Marotta, and Michael McDonald, to name a few. 

Becker and Fagan happen to be good musicians themselves.  While Fagan may lack the chops of the aforementioned session men, he has a great time feeling, and he knows how to utilize space.  I watched a clip of a documentary on the making of Aja, in which Fagan discussed the harmony of Josie with fellow pianist, Warren Bernhardt.  You can hear, both in his discourse, as well as his playing, that he is someone who knows what he is doing — he is not simply playing at being a jazz muscian. 

It would be nearly impossible to make a comparable record in today’s era.  Even if there was an artist as innovative as Steely Dan, there isn’t a studio left that would splurge on this array of talent.  And if the record somehow got made, radio, as it exists today, wouldn’t play it. 

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Wives and lovers

Posted by keithosaunders on April 8, 2011

A few years ago I went into the studio with Bim Strasberg — one of my favorite bassists — to record a few tracks to be used largely for promotion.  We did them in an afternoon, and I was very happy with how they turned out.  It shows you how easy it is to connect with a musician that you are comfortable with, with whom you have played extensively.

Wives and Lovers is a song from the ’60s composed by Burt Bacharach and Hal David.  It contains some of the most politically incorrect lyrics that you are likely to come across.  This song would be ideal for source music in the AMC series, Mad Men.  

Here is a sample:

Hey! Little Girl
Comb your hair, fix your makeup
Soon he will open the door
Don’t think because there’s a ring on your finger
You needn’t try anymore

For wives should always be lovers too
Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you
I’m warning you…

Day after day
There are girls at the office
And men will always be men
Don’t send him off with your hair still in curlers
You may not see him again

And so it goes…lucky for us that we didn’t have a singer on the date, and that our wives don’t know this song.

Posted in jazz | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

And the Grammy goes to…

Posted by keithosaunders on February 25, 2011

Two weeks ago the bassist and vocalist, Esperanza Spalding won the Grammy award for Best New Artist, beating out, among others, the teen heart-throb, Justin Bieber.  This was a huge upset, since Spalding is not a corporately-backed pop star, but a jazz musician. 

I found myself wondering if any other jazz musicians had won that award.  The answer is no.  I did, however, find some interesting tidbits while perusing the list of past winners and nominees.  Here are a few of the highlights.  (and lowlights)

Bobby Darin won the inaugural award in 1959, beating out Mavis Rivers.  That name probably doesn’t mean that much to you, but it does to me.  Back when I was in junior high school I was friends with a very talented saxophonist named Matt Catingub, whose mother is Mavis Rivers.  I remember him telling me that his Mom was a well-known jazz singer.  This was still a few years before I began studying and listening to jazz, so at that time it didn’t make as big an impression on me as it would have a few years later.  I do remember meeting her, as well as her husband, who was the famous vibraphonist, Red Norvo. 

For some reason the award wasn’t given in 1960 — I guess there were only old artists that year.  In 1961 Bob Newhart won and as far as I can tell he is the only comedian to take home this award.  

Bob Goulet won in 1963.  OK…

In 1965 the Beatles took the award.  They beat out a pair of incredibly talented Brazilians, Astrud Gilberto and Antonio Carlos Jobim, as well as Morgana King.  Not too shabby.

1970 saw Crosby, Stills, and Nash winning the award over Led Zeppelin and Chicago, and in 1971 The Carpenters beat out Elton John, Melba Moore, Anne Murray and, are you ready for this…The Partridge Family.

Carly Simon took the prize in ’72 over ELP and Bill Withers.  I’m sorry, Academy, but Bill has to win that award.

Oh my god, in 1975 Marvin Hamlisch won, beating out Bad Company, David Essex, Graham Central Station, and Phoebe Snow.  Pass the Alka Seltzer!

Natalie Cole restored respectability to the award in ’76, but in ’77 The Starland Vocal Band won it.  This was when you knew that the music business was mired in a bleak period.  To back up this point I give you the next two year’s winners:  Debby Boone and A Taste of Honey.

Rickey Lee Jones was the first winner of the 80s and she beat out a very respectable field:  Dire Straits, The Blues Brothers, and Robin Williams.

 1984 was a good example of New Wave artists dominating.  Culture Club won against Big Country, The Eurythmics, and Men Without Hats.

In 1986, 21 years after the Beatles won, Julian Lennon was nominated, but he lost to Sade.

Milli Vanilli won in 1990 but they were subsequently stripped of the award after it was discovered that they lip synched their songs!  I bet Neneh Cherry, Indigo Girls, Soul II Soul, and Tone Loc were mad.

Miley Cyrus’s Dad, Billy Ray Cyrus was nominated in 1993 but he lost to Arrested Development.

Norah Jones won in 2003 but don’t tell me she’s a jazz singer.

Finally, I give you the year with the most one-name nominees:  2008.  That year saw a field of Feist, Ledisi, and Paramore, none of which won.  The winner?  Why Amy Winehouse, of course.

Esperanza Spalding

Posted in jazz, music | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

NFL, are you ready for greatness?

Posted by keithosaunders on February 10, 2011

Another Super Bowl is history and we now stagger into the dark period of the sports year when there is nothing to watch but meaningless regular season NBA and NHL games until the opening day of the baseball season comes to the rescue.  This year the doldrums will be a few days shorter owing to MLB having moved their opening day three days earlier than usual to March 31st. 

But I digress.  It was a good, not a great game.  The Packers dominated the first half until Pittsburgh obliged us by putting up a good fight in the second half only to fall short.  Boo hoo — they have enough championships.

What I really want to talk about is the halftime show, which was an abomination.  If the Black Eyed Peas is the best that the NFL can offer then maybe they ought to throw in the towel and go back to using Up With People.  I appreciate that the NFL is making an effort to appeal to a younger demographic, but for gods sake, don’t do it with mediocrity!  Better to trot out old leviathans such as The Who or The Stones.  At least they could rock at one point. (albeit a point that is now decades in the rear view mirror) 

Sending the Black Eyed Peas out to do a halftime show is like asking Pee Wee Herman to play Hamlet.  It’s not in their skill-set.  Fergie?!  Give me a break.  She sounds like my grandma on acid.  What’s more, the one song they do that I would have cared to hear  — My Humps – wasn’t suitable for Middle America.  That’s the song with these catchy lyrics:

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps 

Cole Porter couldn’t have said it better.

Fortunately for the NFL, I am here to solve their halftime problem.  Commishioner Goodell, if you want to hire an A-one class act that is professional, supremely talented, and under-the-radar, do yourself a favor and run, do not walk, to hire Cedar Walton.  There isn’t a better jazz pianist out there.  He’ll sound great, he’ll look marvellous, and best of all he will not embarrass you!  

Not only does Cedar bring excellence to the table, but he will imbue the halftime show with the dignity deserving of such event.  Us middle-aged jazzers will be thrilled to finally see our hero get his due, and the oldtimers will be happy not to have to fiddle with their hearing aids.  The youngsters will also be happy as long as you play up the fact that jazz is the most hated music of all time.  To them, seeing Cedar on the stage will be an enormous ‘fuck you’ to the yuppies that are pining to see the milquetoast bands of their youth. Not seeing Foreigner, Aerosmith, or Madonna on the stage will be worth putting up with ten minutes of hellaciously swinging hardbop.

Furthermore, I guarantee you that Cedar’s price tag will be hundreds of thousands less than The Police would have been.  It’s a win-win situation.  And just think how good those special effects will look to the sounds of Bolivia!   
    

Cedar Walton

Posted in football, jazz | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments »

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