17-10-06

Miles Davis Quote

I just found this one - shouldn't stop blogging without sharing this beauty with you ... :

 

"Nothing is out of the question the way I think and live my life. I'm always thinking about creating. My future starts when I wake up every morning. That's when it starts--when I wake up and see the first light. Then, I'm grateful, and I can't wait to wake up, because there's something new to do and try every day. Every day I find something creative to do with my life. Music is a blessing and a curse. But I love it, wouldn't have it no other
way.'' -- Miles Davis

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Sonny Rollins Article

San Francisco Chronicle

Sonny Rollins: HERO of jazz
David Rubien
Sunday, October 15, 2006

Sonny Rollins used to rent an apartment in New York on Greenwich and  Duane streets, six blocks from the World Trade Center, and he was in the apartment, up on the 40th floor, when the planes hit. After hearing the first "POW," as he describes it, "I pulled out this old black and white television set that I hadn't used in years. I got it to work and I saw the other plane hit the other tower. I went 'WHOA.' Lemme go downstairs.

"So I went downstairs. I saw the tower on fire. Women were running in the streets. People were crying. People were hysterical. While we were standing there, they said 'The other building is coming down.' So we started to run north because, of course, if that building had fallen over, it would've been curtains for everybody. But it imploded."

Eventually, Rollins realized, "There was nothing else I could do. So I went back upstairs. And like a fool I picked up my horn and started practicing, you know, until my stomach began feeling kinda funny."

What dawned on the tenor saxophonist later, he says, was that "I was gulping down all this toxic poison. I wasn't thinking. I didn't realize the enormity, the toxicity. I mean, it was such a catastrophic event, who would think about these things?"

Toxicity aside, another question springs to mind. Why, during an event as catastrophic as this, would someone decide to practice his horn in the first place? Answering by phone from his home in Germantown, in New York's Hudson Valley, north of Manhattan, Rollins snaps back.

"Well, that's always my impulse, to pick up my horn. That's how I've gotten through this life, by picking up my horn. I mean, seriously. That's my refuge, you know? It was a normal thing for me to do. ... But it was a stupid thing. It wasn't the best time to play a wind
instrument."

Rollins, 76, is considered by many to be the greatest living jazz improviser. Even in his 30s, when the country teemed with brilliant saxophonists -- from Coleman Hawkins to Ben Webster to Charlie Parker to John Coltrane -- Rollins was in a class by himself. Now, when
virtually no contemporary of his stature is still active, he stands alone, towering over a jazz scene in which geniuses are dying off faster than they are being replaced.

And so each new Rollins performance -- including his headlining gig for the San Francisco Jazz Festival at the Masonic Center on Friday -- becomes a truly special event, a chance to experience a musicmaker with a limitless imagination and a sound so cogent and down to earth that every note becomes a cliffhanger.

James Carter, 37, a thrilling tenor player who has his own gig at the jazz festival on Nov. 3, is almost at a loss for words when asked to talk about Rollins. "Sonny represents the epitome of logic, humor, gentleness -- all the things that make up a divine being," he says.
"He is a consistent hero to me."

There is nothing in jazz like the narrative force of a Rollins solo.  The evidence exists on dozens of albums going back to 1949, but there's no better example than his response to the Sept. 11 attacks -- his live album "Without a Song: The 9/11 Concert."

Recorded at Boston's Berklee Performance Center four days after the attacks, the CD seems on the surface no different from many other Rollins albums, a collection of standards. But in Rollins' hands, a standard -- even something as seemingly banal as "I'm an Old Cowhand" -- can become a vehicle for transcendence. In his extended soloing on
two tunes from the 9/11 disc, "Without a Song" and "Why Was I Born" -- both hoary chestnuts from early Broadway musicals -- Rollins applies a breathtaking, transformative energy that takes the audience from trauma to catharsis.

Born to parents who came to the United States from the Virgin Islands, Theodore Walter Rollins grew up in Harlem, where he started playing piano early, then switched to saxophone after hearing Louis Jordan. As a teen he fell into a fast crowd of precocious players that included Jackie McClean and Kenny Drew, and quickly got noticed by the New York elite. Singer Babs Gonzalez hired Rollins in 1949, and from there he graduated to gigs with all the top players, including Miles Davis, Bud Powell, Art Blakey and Thelonious Monk.

"I was like a jazz prodigy in a way," Rollins says. "There was a period when I had a big head and I thought that I was really great. That was sort of my musical adolescent period."

Rollins proceeded to record several albums in the 1950s and '60s that have since entered the tenor saxophone pantheon, including "Saxophone Colossus," "Tenor Madness" (with Coltrane), "Way Out West" and a series of "A Night at the Village Vanguard" discs that rivals Coltrane's storied output from that club. Coltrane, in fact, was the only post-bop tenor player in Rollins' class, and Rollins says there were more similarities between the two than differences. Both were musical seekers.

"In those days, John Coltrane and myself, they used to call us, 'oh, those guys from Birdland that play a long time' in a disparaging way. But there was a different reason why we were playing in the first place. We were trying to reach a different level, trying to get to one of those places you could call enlightened."

He's still on that quest. In fact, Rollins is the only jazz musician who is known as much for the breaks he's taken from the music scene as for the actual music he's made. He dropped out three times, each to figure things out.

"The first time was when I was involved with drugs, and I had to get my act cleaned up," Rollins says. That was between 1949 and 1955 and involved a stint in prison. The second hiatus is the really legendary one, the "bridge period" of 1959, when Rollins spent days and nights practicing his horn on the Williamsburg Bridge, which connects the Lower East Side of Manhattan with Brooklyn.

"It's become a folklorish thing, but it's really a very prosaic story," Rollins says. "I was living on the Lower East Side in a little apartment. And I loved to practice. And you know, practicing your horn is kind of hard on your neighbors. So I was out walking one day. And I saw some steps, and my mind was focusing on nothing in particular. And
I walked up these steps and -- boom -- I was in another world. Because I had this huge expanse and no one else up there. So I walked across the bridge. And I said, 'Wow. I can be up here with my horn, and practice.' Every now and then somebody walks by, but there's not that many people. And there's the boats below. It was perfect."

Rollins made a few records after that, including "The Bridge" with guitarist Jim Hall, but became disillusioned. "By the end of the '60s I began to feel that there just was not enough happening business-wise for jazz artists, me included. We weren't getting enough gigs and I felt I was being exploited by the agents, and so on. Meanwhile, I was very much getting into yoga. So I felt, to heck with this scene. It was just a rough scene. And I went to India for a while."

He practiced hatha yoga at an Ashram near Bombay for four months, and contemplated staying there for the rest of his life. "But my yoga teacher told me, 'Well, Sonny, you should be working. Your task is to do your music. It's not about coming over here or going up to a mountaintop and sitting and meditating.' He said that was my karma yoga."

Rollins returned to the States, signed a contract with Milestone, and has released an album every year since 1972. "Without a Song" was his last for that label, and now he's joined the cadre of jazz (and rock) artists who are running their own imprints and trying out new Internet-driven modes of distribution. He has a new CD, "Sonny, Please," on his Doxy label, available on his Web site, www.sonnyrollins.com, and soon to be in stores via Universal Records.

And so Rollins' quest persists. "I still feel like I have a lot music to play," the saxophonist says. "And there's a lot to learn. There's a whole lot of stuff I practice regularly, working on things all the time. There's a lot things I haven't gotten to yet."

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/10/15/PKGT1LKJ6U1.DTL&feed=rss.entertainment

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16-10-06

Sonny Rollins Interview

SAN JOSE MERCURY NEWS

So much to love about Sonny Rollins
LEGENDARY SAXOPHONIST HEADLINES S.F. JAZZ FEST
By Richard Scheinin
Mercury News

There's not much controversy in saying that Sonny Rollins is the greatest living jazz musician, a peerless improviser with a boundless imagination. His music makes you feel on top of the world. Everybody loves Sonny Rollins.

The sound of his tenor saxophone is explosive, incredibly spontaneous, full of invention and good humor and, above all, exuberant. Where did that sound come from?

On his most famous early recording, with Bud Powell in 1949, it was already there, bursting out of the gates. And it's still there. You can hear Rollins, now 76, on Friday at the Masonic Center in San Francisco, where he and his band will kick off the San Francisco Jazz Festival.

Earlier this month, I spoke to him by phone. He was at his home in Germantown, N.Y., about two hours north of Manhattan, where he was getting over a flu and itching to get back on the road.

To mark his birthday last month, nine remarkable videos of Rollins in performance, going back to 1957, were posted on his web site, www.sonnyrollins.com. I asked if he had watched the videos. He had not. I asked if he was curious to see them. Here is his answer, along with a big chunk of our conversation.

Curious? I mean, not really. When I listen to myself play on old records, I occasionally find something informative on there, and that's good. But I'm also a person that's very very critical of my own work, so it's very painful, listening to myself. So weighing those two things up against each other, I usually come down on the side of not
listening.

Sonny, you have a state-of-the-art Web site. You've got your own record company. It seems like you're always in some state of change.


Well, that's good. Life is change, you know. My music, I like to think, is always in a state of change, improving; at least that's what my intention is. I'm certainly not a person that wants to live in the past. Plus, i'm not that good a musician to be able to live in the
past. I mean, some guys are really superior musicians that can find something (they've played years ago) and be able to do it again. I can't do that. I mean, whatever I play, I'm really barely able to get it out on that occasion. And trying to reproduce it, it doesn't work
for me.

That's why I think my career has been one of change. I consider myself a work in progress. I'm always falling a little short of what I want to do. And it's always a little difficult. You have to deal with the physical elements and all of these things to play music. It's a
difficult thing, playing a horn. Even when you get certain things together, then something else might not work. So it's a big puzzle. You've got to put it all together every time you play.

So you don't consider yourelf a superior musician?

Well, let me strike that. What I mean to say is that I'm not a type of musician that can sort of really get into one style (from the past) and be there. That's not me. I can't recreate, if I ever had a particular period of having a style, it's un-recreatable, anyway.

I'm a guy tht's kind of unsatisfied with my own work. I'm not really satisfied with what I get. That's why I practice every day. I'm still into it. I'm very flattered that people would think that, ``Oh, gee, this guy has really made it.'' But that's far from my own way that I
approach my craft.

So how much do you practice every day?


As much as possible. Nowadays, I would say if i can get two hours in, I would feel content.

What about when you were 16? Were you just playing all the time?

Oh, yeah. I'm a big practicer. I love practicing. When I got my first horn and I used to practice in the house, I'd practice and I'd just be in there playing, playing, playing. I mean, I'd be in there in my revery. And my mother had to call me for dinner. And I'd just be in my
own world and I've always been like that. I just enjoy playing.

So your mom would have to call you more than once to dinner.

Oh, yeah. I'd be in my own world.


Harlem. Ellington living a round the corner, and was W.E.B. Dubois in the neighborhood, too? Would you spend just a minute describing what it was like?

Well, one of the good things about segregation in those days was that there was a community that developed, and so you had the best and the brightest; there was no place else where that ethnic group could really live. So they were confined, as it were, to the Harlem community. So within the community, you had all the great people.

Now, I was born in Harlem proper. But then we were able to move up to the more elite section called Sugar Hill, and then on Sugar HIll is where all these luminaries resided. And W.E.B. DuBois, I remember I was a little kid playing what we would call stoop ball, and it'd  be hitting the ball up against the side of the building.

So here comes W.E.B. Dubois, walking down the avenue there. He'd sort of be looking at us in a disdainful way, like, ``Here are these little ruffians.'' I'll always remember that. He was sort of a strict-looking guy, you know.

There were a lot of people up there. Thurgood Marshall. Whitney Young.

Did they know you as kids in the neighborhood? Did you have a kind of ``Hi, Duke'' thing going on with Ellington?

No, but as I was getting older and we were hanging out, the guys in my group -- Lowell Louis??? and Jackie McLean and Art Taylor and Kenny Drew, all these guys -- we'd know where to sit down in the park and we'd sort of watch these guys, these older guys, like Denzel Best and Sid Catlett and John Kirby and Don Redman and Andy Kirk and Coleman
Hawkins, of course. All of the big names lived up there. We were too young to really approach them in any way. We'd just watch them.


How old were you?

I would say we were 13, 14, 15. Eventually some of the guys began, as we got better, I think Kenny Drew might have been one of the first guys to start playing with the established artists. Then I started playing with some of the guys. So then we just got into the group, into the heavier cats.

So when you were kids, all this seemed normal, right?

Right. We didn't think about it that much.

But when you look back on it, do you have a sense of having lived through an important time of history? When you were little, it was still the Harlem Rennaissance and all this music was just blossoming around you.

I think I was born at a fortuitous time, to be born in Harlem and there was a lot of music and then the bebop fever came just when we were coming of age. I consdier myself very very fortunate to be born right at that time, which I consider the right place at the right
time. So I am eternally grateful. Some way in my karma, it made it possible for me to be born right right at a time in a profession I wanted to get into and right around such a fertile environment. I'm sure it's something I did right in one of my past lives.

Do you have a sense of having made history yourself?

(Pause) I? No! No!. Not at all. I don't like to think of myself in those terms, because as I indicated I'm a work in progress. If I started thinking of myself as some historical person, it would be counterproductive.

Of course, I know I've been around and I've played with a lot of these great musicians. You can look at it that way; I'm involved in jazz history to a certain extent. But no, I don't look at myself like that, no. Because I'm too involved in trying to make history now.

What are your goals?

Every time I play, I do something different that opens up some new vistas for me. So my goal is to reach a point where I can realize some of these indications that I sometimes arrive at. My goal is to just keep trying to attain some of these things I want to attain. I know you never learn everything, you never get everything. With something
like music, creative music, I'm never going to be able to hold it in my hand like that.


But the quest is what's exhilarating and what keeps me going. So that serves as a goal.

What's your spiritual practice, Sonny? I know you've studied Hatha yoga, Zen Buddhism.

I was raised as a Christian, and then as I got older I began learning and getting involved,, finding out in one way or another about different spiritual pursuits, besides the formal Christianity. So I've examined a lot of things. I used to be in the Rosicrucians, and they
were very good for me because they taught a lot of different things about various religions, a little bit about Judaism and Islam and Zoroaster.

And I read about a lot of these things and to one degree or another I sort of got to the point where I felt I had a synthesis of them. I did study Vedanta also, when I was in India, and Buddhism, of course, and yoga.

You've talked about having a blank mind when you improvise, which sounds almost Buddhist.

Right. You can look at it that way. But i didn't approach that as a Buddhist. I just realized one time, when people kept asking what am I thinking about when I'm improvising, ``Well, I don't think about anything.'' I try to get to the point where I don't have to think and
the music plays itself.

Do you meditate?

I could never still my mind to meditate. However, when I was in India, one of my teachers over there told me, ``Well, Sonny, you're meditating when you're playing your horn.'' He said, ``That's meditation.''

You always call yourself an intuitive player, right?

Yeah.

What do you think of changes in the way jazz musicians have been coming up in recent years? Pretty much all the young players now come out of conservatories. Does it make the music less intuitive, too schooled?

Well, that's a tough one.

Before I started playing the saxophone, I had an opportunity to study piano. My older siblings were all trained in music and my mother wanted me to do it too, but I preferred to hang out on the street with my friends, playing ball, etc.

And then when I started playing I was a very intuititive musician. But later on, I wished I could have studied music formally when I was younger, like my parents wanted me to do. Because I could be scoring large orchestral works. It just seems I could've been doing much more than I've been doing. So I've always been loathe to put down musicians
that are trying to get a formal study of music. If you're young, just like learning languages, you should try to learn it all.


So, it's a positive.

A lot of people say that jazz was created sort of in an atmosphere of abandon. In other words, people would be drinking and you'd have that high-life type of activity going on, and jazz became part of that. So to play jazz you've got to recreate that kind of atmosphere. I'm not sure i agree with that.

For instance, they used to say, ``Well, look at Billie Holiday. She was a drug addict and this is part of why she sings like that.'' I don't believe that. I mean, Billie Holiday would saing like she sang, anyway.

As far as intuitive playing... music is endless and if you want to play jazz, yeah, you're going to be involved with a very free style of music and the question then is, ``Will your education help that or hurt that?'' Well, i think it would help that.

That's interesting. You feel there are things you would have done that you haven't done, if you had been more formally schooled?

Oh, yeah, like scoring for large orchestras, a lot of things like that. In fact, there were several times I went to classes for orchestration. Then when everybody found out I was Sonny Rollins, I had to leave the class. They wanted to learn me from me.

So once I was found out I had to leave.

You're a pretty private guy, arent't you?

Well, I live up here, 150 miles from New York City. Small town. One stop light. And my wife and I were very happy and content not to be part of any scene. I guess you can say ``private.''

How do you feel about being famous? Is it sort of a pain in the neck? You want to take an orchestration class, but you can't?

Yeah, well that happened a while ago. Being ``famous,'' in quotes -- for one thing, I'll never accept that, because I don't want to accept it. And mainly, I'm not that famous. Any time you begin thinking you're famous, then you find someone who goes, ``Oh, Sonny Rollins?
Who's that?''

I don't look at myself as being famous. I don't get hassled by anybody or anything. and actually it works in my favor when people do know who I am, because in this society sometimes it helps for people to know you're accomplished in something.

Do you consider your music political? You've attached titles to your music, going back to ``Freedom Suite'' and, more recently, ``Global Warming.''

Political? Well, I used to be much more. I grew up in a political family. And my grandmother was very political and I used to go with her to a lot of rallies when I was a little boy.

What sort of rallies?

Rallies, let's say, for Paul Robeson and rallies against discrimination. My grandmother was involved with the Marcus Garvey movement. Social justice marches and things like that that would be going on in Harlem. So I grew up in that very activist milieu.

A nd at one time did you consider yourself an activist?

Well, I sort of always consider myself an activist. It's just a matter of becoming aware... I just believe in certain things which would be controversial, I'm sure, to other people. It sort of makes you an activist. Being black in America, you're sort of automatically a
political person, even though you might not want to be, because often you're viewed as the other. And you have to get mature enough to know how to deal with that.

Sonny, do you ever miss playing in clubs?

Yeah, I do.

But you can't do it anymore, because too many people would show up?

Well, I never want to say that, to utter those words, because the next time I play, nobody will show up! But in a club, you have to play two or three sets in a night, because of the size of the club, right? And that's problematical for me at this point. I don't think I can handle that. And I play too hard, and I'm used to playing hard for one concert. So I could never sort of fix a way to play two or three sets in a club.

I bet you could find someone who would let you play only one set, Sonny.

Maybe, but then it would be a matter of a club owner wanting to get enough people in there, you know? Like they do with concerts. They would probably feel it wouldn't be cost-effective.

What do you miss about it?

I miss the intimacy. It's great to be close to people and play and let them react. It's really wonderful. And the band really plays close together. They really get a good sound together, when you're playing in an intimate setting. All of those things I miss.

What's coming up with your record label? Are you going to reissue stuff out of your archives, old live recordings?

I've got some things that have been amassed by a friend of mine. But I also would like to do some more live playing before I release any of that, so I probably will try to do something live.

A new live recording?

Yes. New live. Or new studio. But new. Rather than going back.

Was it your idea to start your own label? That's quite an endeavor.

Well, it seemed to me that the music business was heading in that direction. A lot of the big record companies were merging, as things do in our corporate society. And jazz is a subculture; I mean, there's only so much of the pie to distribute. And it seeemed like it was the time for musicians to have their own companies and realize a little more of the profits, if possible, from their work.

So it was the right time to make that move.

I'd just gotten out of my contract. I'd just made my last record with Milestone records over at Fantasy, so it was just happening at the right time to make that move.

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01-09-06

Charlie Parker

Brian Priestley is interviewed on his new book on Charlie Parker in JerryJazzMusician.

Enjoy and have a nice weekend!

 

 

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30-08-06

Andy Fraga RIP

Special to The Desert Sun
Pianist Andy Fraga died
Bruce Fessier
The Desert Sun
August 28, 2006


Andy Fraga was a master bridge builder.
Fraga, a jazz pianist who died Saturday, connected complex solos with engaging vocals on the local nightclub scene for two decades.
As a businessman he translated the language of music to creators of nonprofit events and advertising campaigns.
Right up to his last scheduled performance Saturday, his accompanying singer and close friend credited Fraga with building one final bridge - this one spiritual.
Fraga, who would have been 64 in October, died in his sleep just hours before his scheduled set at an Idyllwild Jazz in the Pines festival he helped launch.
Instead of playing with Fraga at the festival, Pat Tuzzolino wound up sharing a vision of the piano man he had en route to the performance.
"I'm really grateful I was there when this happened," Tuzzolino said of the moment, "because Andy and I had a connection. We were like brothers."
It was perhaps the last in a lifetime of connections for Fraga.
Collette Wood, a former Motown Records employee and Hollywood Reporter writer who worked with Fraga on projects, called him "one of the most important musicians in the valley.
"When I first came to this town and knew nothing about the town, someone told me to go to the Ocotillo (Lodge). I went there and found my people. Andy and Pat Rizzo had the place jumping.
"It was like Andy was the musician in town that all the musicians followed. He was like the godfather. He was the musician's musician."
Fraga received a Coachella Valley Music Award last season for best jazz trio. He was nominated for an ACE Award for a public service announcement he produced with Wood about women with AIDS. He also won Addie and Mona awards for music he wrote for commercials.
He received a star on the Palm Springs Walk of Stars in front of Cafe St. James in 2001.
He and Rizzo formed their first band in Astoria, N.Y., when they were 12 and lived a block away from one another.
Rizzo went on to play for Sly & the Family Stone, War and Tito Puente, while Fraga graduated from the New York School of Music and the Arts (noted for the "Fame" film and TV show) and continued playing a variety of music. He opened for Vic Damone in Las Vegas and toured the East Coast with a rock band booked by part-time Rancho Mirage resident Norby Walters.
Rizzo asked him to come to Palm Springs for a month of dates in 1988 and his wife, Paula, said they fell in love with the town. He and Rizzo worked in nightspots in the Ocotillo, the Riviera Resort, Hyatt Regency and Ritz Carlton, which became The Lodge at Rancho Mirage.
Rizzo called Fraga his best friend and a perfect teammate.
"If I got the work or got an idea, Andy followed through," he said. "I learned a lot from him. We stayed together longer than most married couples."
Fraga was due to become music director of the Villa Resort in Cathedral City. Bass player Whitey Mitchell, who often worked with Fraga, was planning to join him.
"Andy had an innate sense of good taste for music, wrote wonderful charts for local singers, backed them beautifully and had an eclectic supply of music, which I enjoyed playing every time we worked together," Mitchell said.
"I will miss him musically and personally and am saddened he didn't get the chance to complete some projects he was working on."
Fraga played in every Jazz in the Pines festival since its inception 13 years ago. He was staying at a cabin in Idyllwild on Friday night and friend Mary Moody Lewis said he looked a little gray when she and her husband, drummer Jay Lewis, had a nightcap with Fraga.
Former Duke Ellington vocalist Herb Jeffries said at a set at the Java Lounge in Idyllwild Fraga was a rare jazz pianist who also was a great accompanist.
He relayed Tuzzolino's story, which sent chills around the Idyllwild event.
Tuzzolino, who was slated to replace Mike Costley on the set with Fraga at 11:45 a.m., got a call from Rizzo by cell phone at 7:30 a.m. that Fraga had died.
He drove to the gig and was on Highway 243 at the last grand vista before Idyllwild, he said, when he heard Fraga's "maniacal laugh" and saw Fraga's grinning face as if he were the head of a comet. Then he said he heard Fraga say, "This is fun, Tuzz."
Fraga is survived by his wife, Paula, his son, Andy Jr., his mother, Maria Fraga, and a sister, Evangeline Kohn.
A memorial fund is being planned in his honor.

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Jazz Show Case Closes

Aug 28, 2006 6:25 pm US/Central

Legendary Chicago Jazz Club To Close

Jazz Showcase To Go Silent After Lease Ends

(CBS)  CHICAGO The sound of music is about to go silent at a legendary
Chicago jazz club.

CBS 2’s Joanie Lum reports on a River North favorite that’s about to
fade away.

Six nights a week, the Jazz Showcase fills with the excitement of live
jazz. Artists perform under a giant photograph of Charlie Parker, the
inspiration of so many musicians and the Jazz Showcase itself.

“He changed the way people though about music and changed fingering
methods for the saxophone,” said proprietor Joe Segal.

Joe Segal has promoted and featured bebop and progressive swing music
at his beloved Jazz Showcase for 60 years, the last 10 years at the
Grand and Clark location.

Dizzie Gillespie often played the club known as “where jazz lives in
Chicago.”

“He has brought in nationally renown artists. That’s the hallmark and
signature of the Jazz Showcase,” said Lauren Deutsch of the Jazz
Institute of Chicago.

It’s also perhaps its legacy. The lease is up on New Year’s Eve.

“I can’t imagine the Jazz Showcase ever going away,” Deutsch said.

Joe Segal befriended many jazz greats since introducing the music to
Chicago audiences in the 1940s.

It seems the community he enriched wants to give back.

“We’ve been getting calls from developers and people who have bright
ideas, so we’ll see what happens,” Segal said.

“I don’t know what else I would do. I’m too young to retire,” Segal
said.

The Jazz Showcase was one of the first establishments to go smoke-free
in Chicago in the 1990s, and it offers a Sunday matinee for parents and
their children.

Joe Segal and his son, Wayne, will check out the offers they’ve
received to decide whether they will move to a new location.

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Sonny Rollins

Found an recent article on Sonny Rollins concerning his new cd and his own label... Read more here...

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