I came home today exhausted from my battle with labyrinthitis (an inner ear inflammation that causes me to feel as if I have just stepped off the Zambezi Zinger from the minute I wake until the minute I doze). I needed a serious nap (I am not nappy in any way, shape, or form), and needed a delicate, pianistic touch to put me out fast. Put in The Charles Mingus Trio, which just happens to feature Hampton Hawes on the ivories. Hawes was a less intense, less jaw-dropping, but exceedingly surprising and delightful West Coast version of Bud Powell. Despite doing time for horse (was that a prerequisite for West Coast boppers?), he had productive careers on both sides of the bust, and though he died in '77 at 49, left some exquisite recordings behind. Oddly, many of them are touched with gospelly flourishes.
For the readers out there, Hawes' memoir Raise Up Off Me is one of the best musician-written books on jazz (out of many). Very hard to find, though.
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Monday, September 17, 2007
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1 comment:
Man, I hope that things start picking up for you. It sounds like you're having a tough stretch. Keep in mind that, while I have never been a praying man, you are in my thoughts often, and that I am sending you positive energy.
Take care, Comrade.
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