Ready Ornette

I’ve long been curious about the ludicrously cheap European reissues of classic American jazz material.  My recent purchase of Complete Albums Collection: 1958-1962 allowed me to examine the quality of the packaging and sound of one such release.  The four CD set consisting of Ornette Coleman’s first eight albums set me back $11.99.  I didn’t really need it- I already owned physical copies of several of the albums and each is available on streaming services- but the price proved irresistible.  The skimpy liner notes don’t supply song credits, but Coleman’s co-conspirators including Don Cherry and Charlie Haden come through loud and clear on the wholly acceptable sonics that are housed in a surprisingly sturdy jewel case.  As I rang in the new year with five hours of crucial skronk that was recorded before I was born, I was struck by the marginalization of Coleman’s innovations.  Aside from an occasional rendering of “Lonely Woman,” I almost never detect Coleman’s influence emanating from a bandstand in Kansas City.


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I write weekly music previews for The Kansas City Star.

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I named Edison Lights the KCUR Band of the Week.

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I reviewed Danny Embrey’s Dues Blues at Plastic Sax.

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Tim Finn quoted my 2016 review of a Bonnie Raitt concert in a story about her upcoming tour with James Taylor.

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Maurice Peress has died.  From his obituary in The New York Times: He led the Kansas City Philharmonic from 1974 to 1980, which proved to be an unhappy period. “The audience didn’t want to hear much new music,” he told The Christian Science Monitor in 1989. “I would introduce a new piece, and they would start booing and hissing.”

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Ironic listening is one of my pet peeves.  Even so, I can’t stop marveling at this hellish Brazilian knockoff of Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass.

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I had hoped that it would have cleared up by now, but I'm still infected by an unhealthy obsession with Tigran Hamasyan. The odd tone poem “Rays of Light” is from the prolific maverick’s next album.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)

Jock Jams

I dedicated much of a recent vacation in Portland to watching men’s college basketball games at the Moda Center.  Teams representing Duke, Michigan State, North Carolina and Gonzaga were among the elite squads competing in the PK80 tournament.  Attending 12 games in three days became a tedious chore, but the soundtrack in the arena was far from tiresome.  Customary jock jams by the likes of Gary Glitter, Bon Jovi and C+C Music Factory weren’t aired.  Instead, crowds were treated to a vibrant playlist of hip-hop and rap hits that included Kendrick Lamar’s “Humble,” Kanye West’s “Power,” Post Malone’s “Rockstar” and Diddy’s “Watcha Gon’ Do.”  Seeing thousands of seated sports fans and a handful of players warming up on the court chanting “percocet, molly, percocet” in unison to Future’s “Mask Off” was one of the most surreal moments I’ve experienced in 2017.


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I wrote a profile of Edison Lights’ Chris Doolittle for KCUR.

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I write weekly music previews for The Kansas City Star.

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I named Madisen Ward and the Mama Bear the KCUR Band of the Week.

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I reviewed the Matt Cook Collective’s Along Those Lines at Plastic Sax.

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Jon Hendricks has died.

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Tommy Keene has died.

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Wayne Cochran has died.

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Jim Nabors has died.

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I felt as if I was trapped in an episode of Portlandia when I caught a set by The Minders at Turn! Turn! Turn! in Rip City last week. 

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CyHi the Prynce’s No Dope On Sundays is a minor masterpiece.  RIYL: Pusha T, the dirty South, Big K.R.I.T.  Here’s “God Bless Your Heart”.

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Björn Meyer’s Provenance is RIYL Steve Tibbets, meditation, Terje Rypdal.

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I love Lizz Wright.  I loathe her new album.  Grace is RIYL Ruthie Foster, naps, Shawn Colvin.

(Original image by There Stands the Glass.)