I read chat room messages about free bassist William Parker last month with much amusement. You see, someone was making the argument that William Parker is faking it! The 'it' being his chops. The argument raged. He had fooled so many, including all those sessions with Charles Gayle, Matthew Shipp, Roscoe Mitchell, David Ware, and Cecil Taylor. Scandalous! Cool! After I tossed a flame or two back at the poindexter, I paraphrased what Louis Armstrong said when asked what jazz was, 'If you gotta ask, you'll never know.' I'm here to deem this disc, uh-um'authentic. Joel Futterman dances over the keyboards on the short opening piece. Switching to soprano saxophone, Futterman and Parker wrestle a heavily physical part-one of the nearly hour long title track. Back to piano, Futterman and guitarist, Jimmy Williams trade-off on the quilting of a complex dialogue. Why do I feel that this is a movie trailer? Spills. Chills. The Earth is in danger. See William Parker as the moody Sheriff, Joel Futterman as the outlaw and Jimmy Williams his sidekick. Free jazz might not save this world. But in some galaxy far, far away.
I love jazz because it expresses things so deep that I can't transform in words.
I met John Pizzarelli.
The best show I ever attended was MASP in São Paulo Brazil.
The first jazz record I bought was a Baby Dodds CD.
My heroes on drums: Papa Jo Jones, Sid Catlett, Gene Krupa, Baby Dodds, Zutty Singleton, Ray Bauduc, Vernell Fournier,
Shelly Manne, Jimmy Cobb, Joe Morello, Daniel Humair, Kenny Clarke, Sonny Carr, Buddy Rich, Sam Woodyard, Cozy Cole,
Sonny Greer, Neil Peart, Carl Palmer, Tony Sbarbaro, Vic Berton, Edison Machado, Milton Banana, Rubens Barsotti.
My heroes in jazz: Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Chet Baker, Miles Davis, Ahmad Jamal, Coleman Hawkins, Teddy Wilson,
Barney Kessel, Lester Young, Johnny Hodges, Jelly Roll Morton.