From seconds after the Big Bang Ray Comiskey has written on jazz of all kinds for The Irish Times, for which he was also movie critic in a previous existence, leaving the jury open on whether his reincarnation as a jazz writer is punishment or reward.
I've been writing on jazz (and formerly, movies) for the Irish Times for so many years that when I hear the standard, That OLD Feeling, I check the obits just to make sure I'm still here. (Memo to self; book a space in the cemetery while there's still time.) I'm married to a harpist/composer (folk and classical) and the house is gradually subsiding under the weight of five harps, a piano, our daughter's cello and son's acoustic guitar, and our CD collection. And, as I write, the attic is groaning piteously because of the LPs sentenced to life up there. My own alto, by the way, vanished many years ago and a missing alto APB has yielded no results, to the relief of music lovers everywhere. Also threatening the foundations are hundreds of books; we think they breed during the night when we're asleep. As for jazz, I have no stylistic preferences, having embraced everyone (metaphorically speaking) from Louis, Billie, Duke, Prez, Bird, Miles, Rollins, Trane, Dolphy, Jarrett, Bill Evans, Shorter, to Garbarek, Stanko, Jon Balke and the rest of the great US and European players - let's use the ECM catalogue as a shorthand for this last bit; if it's good, style doesn't matter. Do I hear a harrumph out there?