Case Files: 2026-01

Editor's Note: Long before this Jazz Detective, there was another. His name was Vic. "Cool" Vic, to be exact. Back in 1998—1999, Vic was a music dick—chasing down lost artifacts, missing recordings, and cold cases from the shadowy alleys of jazz history. Then he disappeared. Retired. Vamoosed. Now he's back. For how long? That's anyone's guess. But Cool Vic is once again ready to field your questions, crack a few cases (bottled and investigative), and maybe a few heads along the way.

Case File: The Phantom from Fairfield

Question

Victor,

I've been searching for a reissue of Kenny Dorham's Whistle Stop from the '60s. I heard there was a rare Japanese pressing—any leads?

Earl "Red" Haskins
Dodge City, Kansas

Answer

Red—I remember you. As I recall, you were a big Gunsmoke fan—season one through eleven, the black and whites.

Tracking down Whistle Stop is like tailing a cat through a midnight alley—slippery, sleek, and liable to hiss if you move too fast. That Japanese pressing you're dreaming about? Yeah, it exists, probably in a crate somewhere behind a pachinko parlor in Shinjuku.

Your best bet: Check out Toshiba EMI reissues from the early '80s—they tended to remaster Blue Note gems with that extra crunch on the high end. I've sniffed a copy once at a dusty little shop in Nakano; the guy behind the counter looked like he'd been born with a magnifying glass in one hand and vinyl in his veins.

If you're stateside, Gemini Records and Blue Note's Mosaic box sets are your next stops. They're pricey, but clean, legal, and worth every yen you didn't know you had. Meanwhile, keep your ears open—sometimes the ghosts of original pressings float onto eBay for a night and vanish before dawn.

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Case File: Catchy... with a cherry on top

Question

Vic,

I remember a live 1975 concert where Dexter Gordon played a blistering version of "Cheese Cake." I've searched the usual live albums, but can't find it. Any clues?

Calvin Pruitt
Hammond, Indiana

Answer

Calvin Pruitt—that name carries the dust of a thousand late sets and the patience of a man who waits for the right chorus.

Ah, Cheesecake '75—now that's a scent only a true music bloodhound can follow. I remember the night like it was yesterday... well, not exactly like it was, but enough to know the trail.

Dex was playing at Jazzhus Montmartre in Copenhagen, and you're right—the official releases skip that gem. But kid, there's hope: a private collector named "Ol' Knucklehead" has a reel-to-reel from that month tucked away behind a stack of Ella Fitzgerald bootlegs. Digital versions surface occasionally on Danish jazz archives, sometimes labeled under Dexter Gordon Live 1975 with no track listing.

My advice: scour archive.org and the European Jazz Network. And remember—sometimes the thrill isn't just in the finding, it's in the chase. Make sure your whiskey's neat and your notes are ready; Dexter moves fast when no one's looking.

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Case File: Another Forgotten Green

Question

Coolest Vic,

I read about a 1940s big band led by a woman named Lilah Green. Are there any recordings left?

Marjorie "Midge" Lowell
Brattleboro, Vermont

Answer

Marjorie Lowell—they don't hand out a name like Midge unless a woman's got sparkle in her step and trouble in her wake.

Lilah Green? Now there's a name that could vanish in a puff of cigarette smoke with a slice of kiwi. She was out there in the '40s, leading her swing band through smoky ballrooms where the rafters practically hummed with trombone slides and saxophone sighs.

The recordings? Sparse, but they exist—mostly on 78 rpm shellac discs that collectors call "hard-to-touch treasures." Look for the Columbia 70000 series; a few tracks like "Midnight Jive" and "Swingin' Shadows" survived in private hands and were transferred for a small run on vinyl in the '90s. Some even made it to digital archives, mislabeled under "L. Green Orchestra."

Pro tip: check University of North Texas Jazz Archives—they hoard everything that swings, and Lilah's faint, swinging fingerprints are there. Don't be surprised if a librarian looks at you like you're chasing smoke. Just nod, kid, and keep digging.

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That's a Wrap

Three cases, three angles, same old tune—a record that swears it was here and skipped town, a pressing that disappeared faster than a clean copy at a record show, and a sax solo that blew the roof off once and never looked back. Same story, different coats. Jazz isn't big on paperwork. It happens when it happens, and if you weren't there, you're already behind. You can dig through the bins, shake down the usual suspects, and wear out a few turntables along the way, but some things only turn up if you know how to listen. Until next time, keep the spirit.

Got a case that won't stay buried? Send it me.

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