Within all the intensity, they seemed to be having a good time and retained something of the party atmosphere. Flaten started on electric bass guitar but soon switched to stand-up, which he held onto the rest of the set. Along with his plastic alto, McPhee had a tenor and pocket trumpet in town; near the end of the set, Gustafsson borrowed the tenor, demonstrating that the intense scream is his own and not his baritone's. And as he, winded and tongue-tied, attempted to make announcements, McPhee put his arm around in him and said "I don't know what you're saying. You're talking Scandanoovian and I'm Poughkeepsian." It was not a night about the radical politics that inspired a poem, a song and a painting, or at least not a night wearing that time and place on its sleeve. It was more a spiritual reunion, a little fancy and uptown but with such sentiments not forgotten.
I love jazz because next to my kids, it's the love of my life.
I was first exposed to jazz by Joe Rico from a tiny station in Niagara Falls in 1954 when I was 13.
The best show I ever attended was Maynard Ferguson who blew the roof off Massey Hall in the late 50s.
My advice to new listeners is to listen to everything you can and then listen again.