I had hoped that a blog on the popular and funky Hammond organist Jimmy Smith might attract more than the average number of commentators, but I wasn't prepared for the gratifying deluge of responses following my inclusion of Smith in this series.
It has to be said it was a passing disappointment to discover that most of the comments were about the advanced age of the England World Cup squad, with fitting eulogies for Rosie Swash running a close second. But us jazzers are always being accused of living in a world of our own, and analogies between football and jazz (check out the Vortex Club's World Cup Jazzball series) always seemed appropriate to me.
It has to be said, of course, that if jazz musicians greeted the unexpected moves of others with the reflexes of the England defence against Germany, the music would have died out a long time ago, but the best spontaneous jazz-making certainly brings Brazil or Argentina's one-touch fluency to mind. In respect of which, commenter oohrogerpalmer's aside about his Hammond-organ playing nan in his otherwise footie-centric comment brings to mind my venerable mother-in-law, and her observations on the England-Germany game: “There seemed to be a lot of people in white shirts playing football, and a lot of people in red shirts watching." Gary Linekar et al could probably have done with her for the post-match analysis.
Anyway, I owe regular readers an apology that almost a month has gone by since the last blog in this series, a combination of the buzz of Wynton Marsalis's June residency in London and the spiritual torpor occasioned by watching the England team, both of which made time stand still in quite different ways. But where better to pick up the series than with the album many consider the best jazz record of all time?
