But now comes redeeming news. Two weeks ago, on March 26, the jazz critic Gary Giddins interviewed Rollins in a packed auditorium at the City University of New York’s Graduate Center. In the course of the evening, Giddins revealed that Rollins has been listening to reels and reels of his concert tapes—…
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About a month ago, I lamented that Sonny Rollins, the greatest living tenor saxophone player, had decided not to put out a CD of his Carnegie Hall concert of last year with Roy Haynes and Christian McBride. Rollins was dissatisfied with his playing and so he canceled his release-plans.
Remember that forum thread I mentioned? It's still going on. It reminds me of one of the black and white films I watched in my avant-garde cinema class. Jean-Paul Sartre and Jean-Paul Sartre is staring into a mirror is staring into a mirror, with a with a with a knife in his hand knife in his hand, demanding demanding that the image that the image in the mirror mirror answer his questions his questions. He is outraged because the image in the mirror refuses to answer his questions. Answer his questions. Answer my questions! Demanding. Outrage!
I don't understand it. If…
Managing Editor, Elizabeth Donovan, and I have spent all day in a training session for Adobe InDesign. We are finally switching over from Quark. It's going to be great, I think, but right now isn't the best time to spend an entire day in a training session. Elizabeth is also trying to ship the June issue.
Besides, I have so much to tell you.
So much has suddenly changed. I will try to get to it all, but right now I will just tell you a little. I will tell you this: I cannot make any comments regarding differences in sound quality. It is too soon. Does one format…
A cat playing the Theremin? How on earth could I resist? And the reaction shot of his kitty friend at the end is priceless!
It is spring! Without doubt, it is spring. The skinny trees on Monmouth Street have suddenly bloomed all pink and purple and white, while the birds outside my kitchen window have learned to sing new songs. They make a wonderful racket in the morning. I like it. It makes me feel somehow closer to the world, to nature, to love and god and shit. This music of spring is a nice contrast to the sirens and jack hammers that normally make up a Jersey City morning.
I was late for work today. I'd like to say that it was because I got caught up in some sweet springtime birdsong, but…
I ran into Lauren on the way home last night. Lauren is from Leicester, England. She is twenty-five years old, friendly, bright, and beautiful. It was a little before 9pm, and we were both just coming in from work. She complained about her hours. Lauren would prefer a nine-to-five job. These eleven-to-eight hours are taking up the best bits of her day. But it's a job. She's had it for only two weeks, but she's already looking for another. She doesn't know what she wants to do. By thirty-five, she hopes to be retired.
"So, what have you been up to?" she asked.
"A couple…
Amongst all the hand–ringing and head–scratching and kvetching about the music business and what we're going to do with our CDs and LPs and how iPods sound like shit but are the future whether we like it or not (in my case, the jury's still out), it's a good idea, at least in my overamped case, to step back, close–a–dee mouth and occasionally remember that at the bottom of all this claptrap, there's still music. Which I (we) presumably still love.
I was reminded of this salient fact by an incident that occurred today at Stereophile HQ, located deep in the canyons of Murray Hill, Katie…
Tomorrow is Record Store Day. Celebrate responsibly. Celebrate appropriately. It will make you feel good.
Truth is: I know diddly-squat about Frank Zappa. I've heard this and that, of course, and all I've heard has always been intriguing, but, for no good reason, I've just never taken the time to dive into Zappa's world. Perhaps it's because his world seems so enormous and wild and foreign. His world is full of barking pumpkins and utility muffins and Sprechstimme and other things I can neither imagine nor pronounce. I mean, even his name is strange. Like an exclamation, like a shot of electricity. Zappa! Say it three times, and something bad might happen. Zappa! Zappa! (No, don'…
I'm not quite sure what's going on in the art here, but I can't stop looking at it. I love the colors. If music wasn't meant to be played, I'd hang this up on my wall.
Each sleeve of this gatefold holds a slab of vinyl. All of Daniel Bejar's poetic lyrics are displayed on the right sleeve. You'll also find a friendly coupon for a complete digital download.