Rudy Van Gelder Dies at 91

The sad passing of one of the most important non-musicians in the world of modern Jazz.
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/26/arts/music/rudy-van-gelder-audio-engineer-who-helped-define-sound-of-jazz-on-record-dies-at-91.html?_r=0

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Time Change – Maxwell Chandler

I always found the fatigue in the maid’s face oddly attractive. I tried not to leave too big a mess as the typical tourist and business traveler was wont to do.alley late at night

I did not require service every day which I think was secretly appreciated.

One day my timing was off, I got back from lunch before my room was ready. So patiently and unobtrusively did I stand in the corner that the maid soon forgot my presence.

As she was making up the bed she paused and looked out the window. I was the voyeur receiving knowledge for my discretion.

How long would she look? Despite being younger than I, for her there was no longer any dreams of escape but now merely that of brief distractions.

Once again aware of my presence, she blushed, backing out of the room, pulling her cart after her.

Without having sought to, she influenced me. Out of curiosity I let my gaze drift out the window, not necessarily interested in what I would see but rather what I would think in thoughts drifting.

Not meant in the same way as used to describe a maudlin holiday special, talking to you on the phone with the curtains drawn is timeless. There seems to be, as the conversation ambles, all different aspects of me and not just me as I am, but also as I had been and will be that take turns rising to the foreground.

I want.

I did.

I have.

I lost.

What times is it there?

 

-finis-

 

Not for use without permission. maxwellachandler@aol.com

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Jazz Pianist Claude Williamson Has Passed

http://www.jazzwax.com/2016/07/claude-williamson-1926-2016.html

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Smoke in the Lobby – Maxwell Chandler

We were in her hotel room because my tiny place had been made even smaller by the still drying paintings. Even though she was going home at the end of the week and there were parts of Vienna that she still wished to see, I stubbornly remained too sick to go out for more than a quick meal nearby.

While using her full bathroom mirror which allowed for a better shave than that of my small circle, as I smoothed my left cheek I once again told myself that I really was sick but that I could make far more of an effort, this debating continuing onto my right cheek.

A beautiful day, the windows stretched out their wings wide, reaching towards the Stadt park. We drank vermouth and sodas lying atop the covers while listening to bop.

We fell asleep. I awoke before her, the sun still shining. The perfect moment and I knew that she was truly going home soon.  20160706_090958

I put on my most unwrinkled shirt. We ran all over the city and when her legs became tired we barnstormed with a crazy Serbian taxi driver. I loaded her up with chocolates and kirsch for her journey home. Sneaking into the opera house to see the Rodin bust of Mahler, my wet shoes squeaked but still didn’t give us away.

Now she is gone. I must find a new framer since Marc ran away with a student from Algiers, at least temporarily.
I find myself going back to all the places we had been; as if there were a chance of glimpsing at least her shadow and then by stepping on it she would be unable to leave. I play our records over and over but I would have anyways.

I am sitting in the Stadt park sketching. A few benches down from me a girl stands, thighs holding her bicycle as she throws something in the trash. Her figure is made to seem plump by her sky blue capris and white ankle socks. I notice her brown mole above the corner of her right lip which slowly twitches in concentration.

As I turn to a clean page and settle she is already off. I do some detailed studies of acanthus and some poppies. I want to enjoy the weather but now indirectly so I stop at a café on my way home.

At the counter is the girl from the park whom I now find myself standing beside. She is taller than I, which had earlier been camouflaged by the bicycle.

I think of a passage from Don Quixote. The Don had told his man Sancho to go by himself to see the Don’s raison d’ etre, Dulcimina. In doing so, Sancho would then come to understand the reason for the arduous mission that the Don and he were on.

Sancho went and not being beset by passion or delusions as was his master reported back a far less superior picture including the descriptive phase:

“A horsey scent.”

Of course she had been out in the sun riding a bicycle. Two people together do not always produce roses either but it was made more tolerable by the activity which went into creating the bouquet.

I came out of my musing to sip my coffee. The girl was gone, replaced by a man with a camera around his neck carefully unfolding a map.

Finis

 

 

Not for use without permission. maxwellachandler@aol.com

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Lonnie Mack – A Real Guitar Hero Has Died

A true legend has passed.
http://www.guitarworld.com/artist-news/pioneering-guitarist-lonnie-mack-dead-74/29020

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Terry Plumeri

The music world lost an interesting figure suddenly, violently, strangely. I had interviewed Terry back when I was writing for All About Jazz. After a brief email exchange it seemed he was leaning more towards talking about his work conducting the oeuvre of Tchaikovsky, of which he was a leading authority. He was generous of his time and very much a perfectionist in wanting to get across the points he was making.

For all the pages of typed up transcriptions there was plenty left out as it was variations on what he was trying to say. Over the week that I was typing he would call several times a day leaving messages on my answering machine about other things which had since the interview come to him.   Admittedly, at the time I did start to become a little annoyed. Terry made up for this though by sending me on his own initiative stacks of CDs, his music and him conducting Tchaikovsky.

I credit Terry for igniting my initial interest in the composer with whom now I am well versed and greatly enjoy.

Terry also composed his own music, which has a sort of Aaron Copeland /Walton Piston type feel to it.; American pastoral impressionism.

He leaves behind a body of work of which anyone would be proud to call their own.

Maxwell Chandler
Midtown

The Interview:

http://www.allaboutjazz.com/terry-plumeri-singing-strings-terry-plumeri-by-maxwell-chandler.php

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Father of Nascent Rock & Roll Saxophone Passes

http://www.presstelegram.com/obituaries/20151229/joe-houston-legendary-saxophonist-dies-in-long-beach-at-89

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