In the old days, before the spread of radio and television, homes in the West often had a piano. With the advent of the aforementioned home entertainment devices, piano playing fell by the wayside, and to a greater and greater extent, music is left to the professionals. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is moot. We can look wistfully back at a past that probably never was: family and friends gathered around the piano to sing songs ... but some might thank goodness they are not forced to listen to tin-eared teenage girls massacring the classics and pop tunes alike.

Wenceslau de Moraes, writing nearly a hundred years ago: "Now we all know very well the familiar piano which disturbs so violently the solemn silence of the European night ... Well, here in Tokushima and the surrounding places, where idleness, the hard work of rural life, and other reasons as well make people go to sleep early, those passersby who ramble around late at night on the streets, sunk in dream and darkness, will often hear the ... rhythmical tic-tac of the piano of Tokushima coming from the interior of some humble house: the noise of the family loom with which, because of the idleness of the husband whose labor of the day is not sufficient to guarantee the sustenance of his wife and children, the poor wife finds some supplementary work in this night fashion.... A great difference is felt between these two pianos: the European piano irritates, the piano of Tokushima makes us sympathetic."

I once drove to Asheville (55 miles) with a half-full mug of coffee on the roof of the car. When I finally parked, I was surprised to find it, just where I had left it. This tale is true, though my wife (who should know better, since she was there) doubts its veracity.

While time wastes me, I'm getting even, wasting a little of it, browsing the internet.

I see that Oscar Mayer died in Wisconsin, at the age of 95. His wife claims that he died of "old age." I was really happy to read that, because nobody seems to die much of old age these days. It's almost always other things, like cancer. Back in the day, people used to die of old age all the time, but not any more. Although they can sill die of "natural causes." Which begs the question of which causes are unnatural.



•••

Spanish has an expression, "morir de su muerte" ("to die of one's death"). I always liked it and assumed that it meant something akin to what we mean when we say that somebody dies of "natural causes." Probably more accurate, though, would be to say that it is to die the death one is fated to die. I don't know how prevalent the expression is these days. I remember running across it a lot in old (say, 16th century) texts. Googling it, I see that Eduardo Galeano uses it in his book about fútbol.

He's talking about Manuel Francisco dos Santos, a Brazilian who played in the fifties and sixties, nicknamed "Garrincha." Galeano calls him the player who more than anybody else brought "alegría" (happiness) to the pitch, even though one of his legs was longer than the other and both of his feet were crooked. He played alongside a teenage Pele in the '58 World Cup (after almost being cut from the team because of his "mental illness"). Garrincha was MVP in Brazil's 1962 World Cup victory. People loved to watch him play; he was a goof, and he apparently had ridiculously mad dribbling skills.

Galeano: "A winner? A loser with good luck. And good luck doesn't last ... Garrincha died of his death, poor, drunk and alone."



•••

Photographer Akshay Mahajan: "Once upon a time there was a couple called Rajender and Veena. After a lifetime spent working hard and bringing up their children, Rajender got a watch when he retired from the Air Force and they finally realized their Indian middle-class dream or so they thought: a little house in New Dehli, Vasant Enclave. Urbanisation seems to have made life a shade drabber for the aged, left alone while the rest of the family members chase their insatiable need for self aggrandizement. And having to live with uncertainty as to where they would be palmed off next."

1. The Inland Sea, by Donald Richie (1971).

Richie, long based in Tokyo, explored the inland sea between Shikoku and Honshu some time in the sixties. The journals he kept during his travels were transformed into this eloquent travelogue. He describes in detail the islands he visits and the people he meets. He gives you historical background on temples, on myths; he ruminates on what it means to be Japanese …

Despite the breeziness of the writing, it all seems rather esoteric until suddenly he hits you with some straight-up, cold confessions of a highly personal nature. (Wow, wasn’t expecting that!) Always graceful and highly informative - he is a fluent Japanese speaker after all-, Richie’s emotional bluntness gives the book heft. It’s an elegantly written meditation on a unique place, and while it’s cliché to say so, Richie’s journey of discovery is also one of self-discovery.

2. After Dark, by Haruki Murakama (2004)

My students, who are not fond of ambiguous, open endings, would probably not be fans of this book. The novel tells the intertwined stories of several characters on a single night in central Tokyo. The commuter trains have stopped running, so everybody stays downtown. But why is Mari staying up all night, reading a novel at Denny's? Why must Shirakawa beat up the Chinese prostitute in a love hotel and steal her clothes? Why must Eri Asai, Mari's sister, keep on sleeping? For good-natured jazz musician Takahashi, what's the attraction of Mari? None of these questions are answered.

Nonetheless the book moves along at a brisk pace, like a detective novel, while pondering such metaphysical questions as the nature of time and the place of the individual in the city.

Featuring music from Allen Toussaint and James Moody. Plus, two versions of the gospel standard, "Jesus on the Main Line." Other highlights? Sonny Stitt playing "Ghost of a Chance." Catamount Community Radio on WWCU-FM, Sunday mornings, 10-12 (EST).

1. James Moody - Pink Panther Theme
2. Benny Carter - This Can't Be Love
3. Michael Jackson - Human Nature
4. Elbicho - Tanguillo nuevo
5. Allen Toussaint - Yes We Can
6. Maria Rita - Num corpo só
7. David Murray - Dedication
8. Randy Newman - Jolly Coppers on Parade
9. James Brown - America is my Home
10. Guitar Slim - Guitar Slim
11. Billie Holliday - When You're Smiling
12. Elizabeth Cotten - I'm Going Away
13. Jarabe de Palo - Bonito
14. The Gospelation 3 - Jesus on the Main Line
15. Illinois Jacquet - Flying Home
16. Little Richard - Freedom Blues
17. Sonny Stitt - Ghost of a Chance
18. Michael Jackson & the Beatles (mashup) - Daytrip to Neverland
19. Hydroponic Sound System - Lagos, Michigan ('72)
20. Fats Domino - Helping Hand
21. Willie Rosario - La cuesta de la fama
22. Ken Boothe - Freedom Street
23. James Moody - Body and Soul
24. Lord Creator - Such is Life
25. Allen Toussaint - Tipitina and Me
26. A Tribe Called Quest - Scenario
27. John Lee Hooker - I'm Going Away
28. Keith jarrett - Blackbird, Bye Bye
29. Kenny Dorham - If Ever I Would Leave You
30. Woody Guthrie - This Land is Your Land
31. The Gospel Harmonizers - Jesus on the Mainline


James Moody


Allen Toussaint

"...is notoriously difficult for the uninitiated. One squats over this enameled hole in the floor that- if there is no plumbing ....-leads directly into the noisome pit itself. One hangs there, legs aching, awaiting deliverance. It is strange that a people who have without a murmur relinquished their own architecture in favor of plastics and prefabs, who have cheerfully cut down their forests, leveled their hills, dirtied their seas, who have turned their entire country over to that modern juggernaut, the automobile -that these same people should with such stubborn tenacity cling to such a medieval, even barbaric, device."

- Donald Richie, The Inland Sea (1971).

Richie exaggerates for dramatic effect. The squat pots remain, but they're not so bad. The advantage of the squat pot is that you can do your business without actually touching the thing. That, and the good exercise that it gives you. But if you insist on dropping your load in comfort, you can usually find a Western toilet. It's in the convenience store that's always conveniently nearby. In a park or a monastery, the Western toilet is labeled "handicapped." The Germans, of the "I hate ze bus pilgrims" fame, mentioned sleeping in the handicapped toilets, alongside the big spiders.

As if of an overreaction to Richie's criticism, now in the hotels you can find super-modern toilets. These products of Japanese ingenuity have a remote control and a cushiony heated seat. You can control the temperature and the intensity of your bidet jet, and even flush with more water for "big," or with less for "little." Personally, I was baffled by the remote and wasn't able to try out the device's more esoteric features.

While finding examples of it is not always easy, I believe there is some validity in the idea of a Japanese minimalist aesthetic. I think you can see it in rock gardens, in the paintings you see on screens, and perhaps in the ryokan, the Japanese-style inn.

First, I have to mention the doors, which I adore (pardon the pun). To save space, they don't open by swinging toward you, or swinging away. The slide left or right into the wall. If I ever design a house, I'm going to design it with sliding doors of this type.

The room itself has small entrance area, at a lower level than the floor of the room itself. Here you leave your slippers, before stepping up onto the bamboo mats which cover the floor of the room. The only furniture is a small table upon which sits a kettle of water, some tea, and cups. The futons are folded in the closets (which themselves have sliding doors). I find beauty in the very simplicity of the room. There is always a robe and a sash that you can wear once you've had your bath.

I could only strive for such simplicity in my own spaces. I simply have too much stuff. Books, CDs, posters, crap, crap and crap. Even little nicknacks that have some sentimental value, that are tied to memories. Yes, it would be hard to give up the baroque clutter of my life to live in traditional Japanese simplicity, but maybe one day I'll give it a try.

"Osettai," if I'm not mistaken, means "welcome," but really it is an act of generosity and hospitality toward a pilgrim. We were recipients of osettai on many occasions during the pilgrimage.

Traditionally, common people gave osettai to monks making the pilgrimage because they wanted to be blessed by Buddha for their support. They also believed that osettai, beyond its practical benefits, would be a blessing for the monks. In more recent times, since the onset of the Edo period (c. 1600), it has become popular for common people to make the pilgrimage, and the hospitality toward pilgrims has also become more commonplace.

Osettai, it seems, has become ingrained in the culture of Shikoku. The beauty of it is that it bestows grace on both the giver and the recipient. Osettai should not be refused, even if the person who receives it is well-to-do. If that's the case, he or she can pass it on.

There was apparently a well-to-do businessman in Kochi who built a shelter for pilgrims. When asked why, he said that he didn't do it for the pilgrims, he did it for himself.

When we received osettai, we would take out a slip of paper, then write our name, the date, and where we were from. We would then give the slip of paper to the person who gave us osettai.

One day I was having breakfast outside of a convenience store (canned coffee and a roll), standing by my bike, with my henro (pilgrim) vest on. All of a sudden a guy walks up to me and hands me a cold drink which he had bought inside.

Between temples 87 and 88 there is a o-henro museum. We were chilling there, waiting for the radio people to show up. I was reading outside when a Japanese man, after chatting with me for awhile, took me to the vending machine to buy me a drink.

One day Sensai and I (the two of us being big seafood lovers) went to an izakaya (an eating and drinking establishment) in Tosashimizu (Kochi prefecture). We had our beers, seared bonito, some deep-fried freshwater fish, and some wonderful clams. We paid our bill and were ready to leave, but the owner, finding out that we were pilgrims, decided to hit us with some osettai, meaning that we moved to the bar, and were treated to prime cuts of bonito, several more drinks, misu soup with clams (mmm), and summer noodles (cold, with boiled eggs, ham). We had a great time. I ended up not only giving them an osettai slip, but also the Obama T-shirt that I was wearing (the drunken son-in-law of the proprieter gave me the dress shirt from his back). It was the best restaurant experience of my entire life.

But perhaps the most remarkable example of osettai happened in the city of Imabari in Ishime prefecture. We visited temple 59 in the late afternoon and after going through our rituals, Sensai was talking about places to camp with some locals who were passing their time at the temple. The guy said there were no good spots in the city, and invited us to pass the night at his house. He was separated and lived with his son. The ten of us split, five and five, and slept in the two upstairs rooms. That night I stayed up late, drinking and talking with the guy (or, more appropriately, listening to Sensai and him talk, since my Japanese is non-existent). Still, it was an incredible act of hospitality.

Japanese use (abuse?) of the English language was a never-ending source of laughs. Language on T-shirts, store names, on ads. One kid on the trip rocks a T-shirt that reads "Suck Capitalism." In a mall, I ran across stores with names like "Smork, by language," "Kooky Studio," "Jenny Thong," along with my favorite, "No Leashes and No Border Beaver." A typical T-shirt might read something like, "Pleasure Poison Craziness Excitement All Party Interest Curiosity." In Kobe I saw a beauty salon called "The House of Haircut," and a pet grooming place called "Dog Saloon." Another establishment was called "Cafe & Restaurant White Lover."

I can think of a few explanations for the curious use of English in Japan. One is that the English is a literal translation from Japanese. The Japanese words have connotations that literal translation misses; and likewise the translations have connotations that are inexistent in the original. Two, the language is random, as if there were an Engrish-generating computer program: hit "reset" and out comes another ridiculous phrase. Three, the language reflects a sort of subversive Japanese sense of humor, as in the Spanglish T-shirt that read something like, "Esta puta will give you the shirt off her back for 66.95."

In Japan, even official documents, like the forms you fill out going through customs, are full of odd locutions. One thing is certain, though: The Japanese speak English better than we speak Japanese. American students with three and four years of Japanese study under their belts have a hard time even engaging in simple chit-chat.

Twice we stayed at a certain hotel in Tokushima; the first time was the third night of the pilgrimage (after camping for two nights), and the second, once the pilgrimage was over, before heading to Osaka. During the first stay, the hotel staff asked Sensei for help with a text to be pasted on the mini-refrigerators in the rooms. Sensei passed the task on to me. My wording: "If the green light is on, there is no power supply to the refrigerator. Please push the button to turn on the refrigerator." Or something like that. I was pleased to see my language on the refrigerator during our second visit.

At temple 87, there was an elementary school class visiting that was amused by us, the gaijin (foreigners), especially by Jarod's tattoos and my height. But there was also a Japanese woman there, an English teacher. She told us that her listening skills were pretty good, but that she had a hard time speaking, because her "tongue is made of rice, not meat."

My first radio show since returning from Japan. Despite the media saturation surrounding the demise of Michael Jackson, I couldn't resist doing my small tribute. My Jackson memories? Roller skating to "Rockin' Robin" in the early '70s. The Jackson 5 cartoon (Even at ten I was discerning enough to favor the Jacksons over the Osmonds). When "Off the Wall" came out I bought a copy. But of the big three (omitting Jim Dandy) who turned fifty last year - Madonna, Michael and Prince - the Purple One was always my favorite. Many do not remember a world without Michael Jackson. Unfortunately, I'm old enough to remember such a world! Beyond that, I played tunes by Cornelius, Jeff Beck, Wolfmoon, etc. The usual Sunday eclectica. Until I'm bored of doing radio, Catamount Community Radio airs on WWCU-FM Sunday mornings, 10-12 (EST).

1. Duke Ellington – The Feeling of Jazz
2. Michael Jackson - Farewell, My Summer Love
3. Sketch Show – Attention, Tokyo
4. Cornelius – Tone Twilight Zone
5. Tom Waits – Big in Japan
6. Eubie Blake – Charleston Rag
7. Sly & the Family Stone – Brave and Strong
8. Jimmy Beck & His Orchestra – Blue Night
9. Sahib Shihab – Bohemia After Dark
10. Art Pepper – Body and Soul
11. Brandy & Heavy D – Rock With You
12. Jimmy McGriff – Dig On It
13. Jackson 5 – I Want You Back (Z-Trip Remix)
14. Greenwood Rhythm Coaltion – Salsa Verde
15. Caetano Veloso – Medlley w/ "Billie Jean"
16. Snooks Eaglin – Helpin' Hand
17. Spanish Harlem Orchestra – Maestro de rumberos
18. Guitar Slim – Guitar Slim
19. Towa Tei – Free
20. Omer Avital – Arrival
21. Wilco – When You Wake Feeling Old
22. Coleman Hawkins – I Only Have Eyes for You
23. Jeff Beck – Seasons
24. Michael Jackson – Don't Let It Get You Down
25. Grupo Samoa – La Chinchilla
26. Joyce Bond – Help Me Make It Trought the Night
27. Burning Spear – The Ghost
28. Moondog – All is Lonliness
29. Wolfmoon – God Bless
30. James P. Johnson – Carolina Shout
31. Charlie Parker – Body and Soul
32. Roy Hargrove Quintet – Strasbourg/ St. Denis
33. Joe Henderson – Lazy Afternoon

Sixteenth-century Spanish poet Fray Luis de León picked up on the trope and wrote these famous verses:

¡Qué descansada vida
la del que huye del mundanal ruïdo,
y sigue la escondida
senda, por donde han ido
los pocos sabios que en el mundo han sido ...

(What a rested life
that of he who has fled from the worldly noise,
and who follows the the hidden path
Down which have gone
The few wise men who have lived in the wold ...)

As I recall, even though he could write about it gracefully and with a good style, Fray Luis never did manage to escape the worldly noise.

De Moraes, on the other hand:

"My prattling on about my house in Tokushima has become long and tiresome. I have the proverbial lack of discretion of those who live in solitude, I am the maniac who converses with himself, and I would now expose myself to the mordant critics who will read these essays, and in fact those readers who do not permit eccentricity and have managed read so far must have cried out already, 'but what is this devil doing in Tokushima?' I must confess my fault, for I have forgotten to hand you, at the beginning, my name card, with my name and a list of honorific titles, which have been reduced to very little - zero. To be zero is something to be enjoyed by a person of most privileged situation; very few people can reach this point, and only after the most complicated disturbances. With respect to myself, departing from modesty for the moment, I first tore my trousers on school benches for nine or ten years, then entered into apprenticeship, and took up the practical life. Practical, practical, practical, forty years without rest; and only after having paid such a cost was it possible for me to reach for my diploma, this social position, which is so transcendent - zero."

Man, I loves me some conveyor belt sushi. You walk into the restaurant. You are greeted. You sit down. In front of you: a cup for tea, a saucer for soy sauce, a box with green tea powder in it, chopsticks, a box of pickled ginger (to cleanse the palette), wasabi paste, soy sauce, and a faucet for hot water. At about eye-level, the sushi goes by on a conveyor belt: small plates, each with a ball or two of sticky rice. Laid across the rice, a bit of yellowfin tuna, or bonito, squid, shrimp, red snapper, scallops, omelette, eel, salmon, octopus, etc. Some of the plates passing by are rolled sushi. Sometimes they are little announcements of things available at the counter.

If something looks appetizing, you take it. Most of the seafood is raw, but all of it is delicious. If you want something that is not on the belt (like a bowl of misu soup, sea urchin, or a beer) there is a button to push, which calls the waiter. As you eat, the small plates pile up. When you are ready to go, you call the waiter, who counts your plates and writes you a bill. I tended to eat between nine and 13 plates, and spend between 1600-3000 yen. I wish there was conveyor belt sushi here!

Wenceslau de Moraes talks about how, a thousand years ago in Japan, "the feminine element burned intensely ... in social and literary life." Outside of the court, neither men nor women cared for letters and kept to their farms, their arms, their homes. In the court, good-for-nothing men "indulged in useless matters of etiquette and intrigue" or, if they were scholarly, "studied the Chinese classics and wrote books in Chinese" (just like medieval Europeans studied the Latin classics and wrote books in Latin). Men thought it was unworthy to write in Japanese, but fortunately they let the women do so. The ladies "utilized ... deliciously this opportunity" and "thanks to the peculiar qualities of the sex: subtle observation ..., emotional delicacy,... affection, pity, pardon..," wrote wonderful light diaries and essays.

Makura no Soshi is a "pillow book" of random thoughts written by Sei Shōnagon during her time in the court of Empress Sadako around 1000 A.D.

She classifies things by their qualities:

A desolate thing: "a person who waits for someone late at night, and who hears a discreet knocking at the door. With an unquiet heart, he sends to know who it is. But it is another, with no connection..."

A detestable thing: "a visitor who chatters for a great while, at the moment when we are in great haste."

Things that touch our hearts: "to go past a spot where someone is amusing children; lying alone in a room where a delicate incense is being burnt; after having washed the hair and put on makeup, to put on a dress which is well-perfumed with incense, even when nobody looks at us."

A thing that gladdens our heart: "when we wake up in the night, to drink a cup of water."

I brought two books with me to Japan. I won`t bore you with descriptions of them, but they were both long, like, 300-400 pp. long. I thought that would be plenty of reading, but with the pilgrimage over, and still a week left in Japan, I had finished both books and had nothing to read. I was in Tokushima, so I decided to check out a bookstore near the hotel where we were staying. I went in, browsed around, and saw nothing but books, manga, and magazines in Japanese. I went to the counter and made myself understood:

-Sumimasen. Books in English. Doku desu-ka? (Excuse me. Books in English. Where to be?)

The cashier locked the till and led me to the English section, which consisted of two books, both by by Wensceslau de Moraes, a Portuguese man who, after a long career as a sailor and a diplomat, lived his last years in Tokushima as a hermit.

Normally, a large selection is a good thing. But in this case, I feel blessed to have found only two books in my native tongue. I chose the one titled Bon-Odori in Tokushima, which turned out to be a delightful collection of reminisences and informal essays, written in journal form in 1914 and 1915. After retiring from his job as consul, the author renounced wordly ambitions and settled in the provincial city of Tokushima to live out his final years. Had there been a large selection of books in English I surely would have overlooked this wonderful book.

The book was translated from Portuguese into English by a Japanese scholar! I`ll be quoting frequently from this delightful book in the entries which follow.

On the first day of the pilgimage, near Naruto, there are many temples close together. We managed to visit ten of them.　We camped in the parking lot of number ten. We saw something scrambling through the brush, it looked like a monkey. By (curious) george, it was a monkey! And there were also dogs around. By the next morning it was obvious that the dogs and the monkeys ran around together. Now, I`m sure that monkeys are smart enough to know that dogs aren`t monkeys. But are dogs smart enough to know that monkeys aren`t dogs?

I`m writing from Osaka, where we are spending a few days before returning to the States. I`m part of a group of ten (seven students, three professors) that did the Henro Buddhist pilgrimage on the island of Shikoku. One of the other profs on he trip, Sensei ("teacher" in Japanese), heads the Japanese language program at our university.

The Japanese have been making this pilgrimage on foot for maybe a thousand years. Nowadays, many still do it walking, though some do it in groups by bus (a German we met said, "I hate ze bus pilgrims"), while others do it by car or even motorcycle. The notion of a group of foreigners doing it by bicycle caught the attention of the local media, and at different times during our journey we were featured on television, in the newspaper and on the radio.

The pilgrimage consists of working your way clockwise around the island, visiting 88 temples. We pedaled it in 25 or 26 days, staying at inns five nights and camping like hobos the rest. While I shouldn`t exagerate the hardships, it was an arduous experience, given the heat, the miles (we estimate between 860 and 890), the mountains, the long tunnels, the rain and the mosquitos. But every night there was great food, beer, and laughter.　

My motivations to particapte were not religious; I merely wanted to see a part of the world I had never seen before, eat seafood, and ride. I figured I could also lose a few pounds (I did), and if I gained inner peace in the process, well, great.

I didn`t keep a journal, as I always used to do when travelling, but I did jot down ideas for a series of vignettes, which will be forthcoming. I will also post some pictures over at Mondo Marco.

Last show for awhile. I'll be back in a month or so. Be good to each other. Today we heard some Bird, some Sonny, some Django, some Lester, some Duke and maybe some others who would be recognizable using only their nicknames or first names. I'll be live again on June 28.






1. Miles Davis – Orbit
2. Django Reinhart – Sweet Georgia Brown
3, Sonny Rollins – St. Thomas
4. Bebo Valdés – Con poco coco
5. Nat Cole – All for You
6. Charlie Parker – Parker's Mood
7. Peggy Lee – Black Coffee
8. Tito Puente – Piano pachanga
9. Dionne Warwick – Windows of the World
10. Duke Ellington – Jump for Joy
11. Stan Getz – When the World was Young
12. Lester Young – Indiana
13. Tower of Power – On the Serious Side
14. Madeleine Peyroux – You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go
15. Ike Quebec – Nancy with the Laughing Face
16. TJ Kirk – Serenade to a Cuckoo
17. José Feliciano – California Dreamin'
18. Wynton Marsalis – Monk's Mood
19. Jimmie Lunceford – For Dancers Only
20. Duke Ellington – Short Street Cluster
21. Charlie Parker – Just Friends
22. Don Byron - The Quintet Plays Carmen
23. Sonny Rollins – Three Little Words
24. Rufus Wainright – Harvest
25. Prince Lasha & Sonny Simmons – Congo Call
26. Jimmy McGriff – Sugar Sugar
27. The Chavelles – Red Tape
28. Chico Hamilton – Don's Delight
29. Billie Holliday – When You're Smiling
30. Louis Armstrong – Lovely Weather We're Having
31. Wilco – Forget the Flowers
32. Brad Meldau - Alfie


Peggy Lee


Charlie Parker

Happy Mothers Day, all you mothers of invention. The show airs Sunday mornings 10-12 (EST) on WWCU.


1. David Sánchez – The Power of the Word
2. Dizzy Gillespie – Jitterbug Waltz
3. Buning Spear – Mother
4. Jonathan Coulton – Pizza Day
5. Anita O'Day – My Heart Belongs to Daddy
6. Dinah Washington – After You've Gove
7. Coleman Hawkins – Under Paris Skies
8. Lee "Scratch" Perry – Kimble
9. Sonora Santanera – El ladrón
10. Del Reeves – Looking at the World through a Windshield
11. Al Green – Call Me
12. Céu – Malemolêmcia
13. Jesús Vásquez – Todos vuelven
14. Rubén Blades – Todos Vuelven
15. Wynton Marsalis – Sunflowers
16. Spike Jones – I've Got the World on a String
17. The Uniques – Mother & Child Reunion
18. Neville Marcano – Getting Along with the Calypso Music
19. Lord Cristo – Dumb Boy & the Parrot
20. Sonny Rollins – Hold 'Em, Joe
21. Cyrus Chesnut – Suspicious Minds
22. Plena Libre – Tumbao
23. War – Slippin' into Darkness
24. Bob Marley – Stand Alone
25. Bill Frisell – Big Shoes
26. Paquito D'Rivera – Habanera
27. Lonnie Irving – Pinball Machine
28. Bobby Charles – Save Me, Jesus


Del Reeves


Coleman Hawkins

I have to thank Chris at Locust St. for much of the content of today's show. He recently published a masterful entry at the blog on the song, "After You've Gone." I borrowed both text and files. In fact, I even learned the chords to the chorus yesterday! A couple of quotes from the entry:


There's nothing extravagant or novel to "After You've Gone"'s construction: it's a 16-bar verse leading to a 20-bar chorus. The verse often gets dropped, so that many people only know "After You've Gone" as one long repeated chorus with instrumental breaks.

Losing the verse weakens the song, I find: the verse is the preamble, the chorus the constitution. The verses set the stage--the singer tries to make herself heard, uses memories as ransom, begs for another chance, builds up to her declaration. Which is the chorus: an invective, an augury, a wish, a fantasy. Anyone who's heard it once will remember it.

Creamer's lyric has no clever rhyming ("me cryin'/denyin'" is as intricate as it gets), no wordplay. It's how it should be--a more elaborate rhyme structure, a string of metaphors, would ring false. The language is clean and timeless, with the only "period" line being "you'll miss the bestest pal you've ever had."

***

"After You've Gone" inspired reverence and restraint in some (Coleman Hawkins, Fats Waller, while Art Tatum kept coming back to it over decades), raw exuberance in others (in Roy Eldridge's 1937 recording with his octet, over one four-bar break, Eldridge careers from a high F down to a low G in the space of a few seconds). The song is essentially as old as jazz is, and after a time, it came to be seen as one of the music's founding documents, playing it one of a jazzman's unalienable rights.

****

1. Johnny Coles – So Sweet My Little Girl
2. Bill Evans – Close as Pages in a Book
3. Bessie Smith – After You've Gone
4. Jess Stacey – After You've Gone
5. Walter Smith III – Duke Ellingtons Sound of Love
6. The Chocolate Dandies – I Can't Believe You're in Love with Me
7. Ben Webster – After You've Gone
8. Dinah Washington – After You've Gone
9. Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis – Intermission Riff
10. Barbara Acklin – Love Makes a Woman
11. Bill Frisell – Big Shoe
12. Sonny Stitt – After You've Gone
13. Mobukaz Takemura – Fallslake
14.. Sketch Show – Microtalk
15. Thelonious Monk –Jackie-ing
16. Rufus Wainwright – Poses
17. Marisa Monte – Segue o secoo
18. Roy Eldridge – After You've Gone
19. Dan the Automator – Perhaps (Someday the Roof Will Get Fixed)
20. Alen Haven – Image
21. Zacarías Ferreira – Dame un beso
22. Fiona Apple – After You've Gone
23. Ruth Brown – Oh What a Dream
24. Yoko Kanno – Patch Me
25. Kid King's Combo – Gimmick
26. Slam Stewart & Erroll Garner – Laugh, Slam, Laugh
27. Charlie Rouse – Merci Bon Dieu


Bessie Smith


Fiona Apple

There are two switches in the bathroom, one for the light and one for the fan. Every time I mean to turn on the light, I turn on the fan instead. This has been going on ever since we moved into this house. There are two explanations: one, the switches were wired wrong; they should be the other way around. The switch that turns on the fan should really be the one that turns on the light, and vice versa. The other explanation, probably a better one, is that my brain is wired wrong.