...as it were. Not much playing round here this week, but a whole lot of listening going on. Here's what's spinning on the decks at Camarillo.
Kenny Burrell, Midnight Blue; Bluesy Burrell; Kenny Burrell and John Coltrane
What is there to say about Kenny Burrell except he's the shit? What I like about his playing is the fact that it seems so attainable. That's not to say that I think I'll ever be able to play like him, but that he's not so hung up on speed, technique or 'exploration' that he ever stops being accessible and human. Actually, Coltrane has a habit of making him look human.
Lee Konitz and Warne Marsh, Lee Konitz with Warne Marsh...
... and Lennie Tristano, Intuition
Both these two albums have the same personnel more or less, were recorded around the same time and are both absolutely killer. Both feature Billy Bauer, a much-overlooked pioneer of bebop guitar. For Konitz, he's satisfied to comp with bounce, taste and precision. On the second half of the Tristano album (which was originally a Warne Marsh release, but here repackaged), he takes a few tasty solos that are a combination of Charlie Christian and Jimmy Raney, with a surprisingly crisp tone. Bauer also played with Charlie Parker in the Metronome All-Stars.
Wayne Shorter, Second Genesis; Speak No Evil
Just getting into this now. Always grudgingly admire the prolific while desperately hoping I'm a late bloomer.
Chet Baker, The Italian Sessions
I like Chet Baker as much as the next dinner-party guest, but the reason this record's far superior to any of those dreary compilations where he goes "I...get...along...withoutyouverywellllll", is the simple fact that here the beautiful idiot doesn't sing a note. Instead, he's content to toot his horn and make way for plenty of scintillating playing from Rene 'Specs' Thomas, one of best bop guitarists ever.
Ted Piltzeker, Standing Alone
Buy this record now, and while being pummeled by its chimes, contemplate how the hell anyone becomes a professional vibraphonist. I'm pretty certain I've only ever seen a real-life vibraphone once (at a Courtney Pine gig in Cardiff in 1990), but aside from that, I've never met nor heard of anyone who has been learning vibraphone or even thinking of taking it up. I suspect it's one of those things you can only get in to by going to a huge mid-Western college like Michigan or Wisconsin where they do weight-lifting for credit. Anyway, this is a solo vibraphone album that sounds like a meeting of the Barchester campanology club, a Balinese gong-jam, and the incidental music to George A. Romero's Day of the Dead, all wrapped into a wonderful warm, narcotic towel not entirely dissimilar to half a bottle of sherry and a couple of valium. Your new favourite break-up album.
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