Dined with a group of visiting MBAs last night. They were all from New Jersey. My wife’s old classmate is their professor. I explained that I was born in New Jersey and
was raised in New York. They were a
lovely group of adults, smart, inquisitive and only two hours into their time
in China. Forever rejuvenating to tap
into that open, blank slate receptivity on China. It wasn’t that long ago that my questions and
my assumptions where the same as theirs, trying to piece together the vast
unknown question mark of this continental canvas.
I can remember
sitting in the bathroom at Pitt St. in the Lower East Side, that spring when I knew I was going to head
to China for the first time, with a copy of the Lonely Planet, looking at the
provincial map, trying to piece together the many different provinces, which all
seemed so mysterious and indecipherable.
I sat there staring at Shanxi and Shaanxi and assumed that they we’re both
pronounced with hard “X” sounds. I had
no idea what either place was like though I was sure I would make my way there. There no Google Images to turn to
for instant gratification. Slowly though I was putting together a mental journey laying down the first stones of awareness.
Typing here, reflecting and one live bop set on
Youtube of Horace Silver playing in the late sixties just led to another. Writing away, not watching
anything on the screen but I noticed the shift in tone and tempo. It was
still Horace Silver on keys and I assumed that was Joe Henderson shedding away
on tenor. In fact, he was shedding so
fine that I stopped what I was typing and went up to the top and moved the view
over to the tab from whence the music was pouring out just to confirm. Glad I checked. It wasn’t Joe Henderson at all. This was a live set from 1976 at the Umbria
Jazz Festival in Italy and I had no idea who was playing eloquently there in front of the old medieval wall, in
the flat Harry Truman hat. I had to do
some searching but the gents accompanying Horace were Tom Harrell on trumpet,
Steve Beskrone on bass, Eddie Gladden on drums and the man who drew my
attention over in the first place was Bob Berg on tenor.
Come to find that
Mr. Berg was born in Brooklyn in 1951, played with Horace Silver as well as
Cedar Walton and later Miles, as well.
He has at least a dozen titles under his name which sadly come to an end
around 2002. He was killed in an auto accident
on the Hamptons that year when a cement truck skidded on the ice and ploughed
into his car. Always poignant when someone' progression is cut short just before they reach your own current age.
The jazz medium is truly
inexhaustible. I will spend some time
today digging deeper into Mr. Berg and Mr. Ferrell for starts. And then you can look at all the people they
played with. And find more earthly delights.
Monday 10/08/18
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