When a person has lived as long as I have and sampled as much music as I have, it becomes less frequent that "something new" causes a Wow! reaction. And yet, the less frequent occasion is still as potent and still as humbling as the more common Wows of one's youth.
Sun Ra, Super Sonic Jazz, 1956—Wow! I have seen Pat Patrick play (in concert with NRBQ in the 80s) and I am familiar with Julian Priester and Charles Davis, but my previous exposure to the Arkestra as an ensemble was from later recordings. My previous exposure was not as compelling as this session, which could be explained by my ears being not as open or experienced.
If you haven't been exposed to Sun Ra and His Arkestra, I recommend this date; it's paired with Fate in a Pleasant Mood, from 1961. Both sessions are very enjoyable.
Bud Powell was still alive and playing
Haven't you noticed how the contemporary scene in any domain is often tough on the old lion? Bud Powell was only 38 years old when he recorded with Dexter Gordon on Our Man in Paris. Powell endured a difficult, short life; he sustained serious head injuries during a police beating when he was only 20. So in a sense Powell got old very young.
Powell's playing could be erratic and he was near the end when he recorded with Gordon in Europe. At this time in the idiom's history, Thelonious Monk and Horace Silver and Bill Evans are probably among the most well-known piano players. McCoy Tyner and Herbie Hancock and Andrew Hill were among other rising stars. In the 60s Powell probably wasn't placing in any readers' or critics' polls, but there is a lot to enjoy about his contributions to the Gordon date. The remastered Rudy Van Gelder Edition released in 2007 includes a piano trio playing "Like Someone in Love."
It's hard to go back
Once you've tried really good coffee, it's hard to go back to everyday coffee. Isn't this true of a person's tastes in art too? Let me use Terry Adams as a case in point.
I've always liked the piano in popular forms of music; its roles include melody, rhythm, and percussion, and its sound or tone can have a great variety of qualities.
I was pretty satisfied with most piano players in rock until I heard Otis Spann playing the blues and Thelonious Monk playing jazz. They prepared me for the rich and rootsy piano playing of Terry Adams, first heard in NRBQ. Since then, I don't have a lot of patience for and interest in everyday rock or blues piano players.
Also, when I discover a piano player new to me, say George Russell from the late 50s and early 60s, I reflect, "Hmmm, I bet Terry Adams listened to this guy."
This doesn't mean Adams is my yardstick by which all others are measured; it simply means I might admire others for some of the same reasons I admire Adams. For example, Nina Simone or Mose Allison.
Here's Paul Weller, and where have I been?
I'm not a young man anymore, in fact, only a couple of years younger than Mr. Weller. So why was I not aware of his talent and body of work until about a year ago? There's no legitimate excuse. The Jam and Style Council—nope, because merely recognizing a band's name doesn't count.
An article in Uncut magazine introduced me to his solo work, and I have since picked up about five discs. All of them are good, and a couple are really good. Weller seems to be able to shake good tunes out of his sleeve, and his production is remarkably interesting—a variety of styles and instrumentations. And I get a lot of pleasure out of his singing.
So what? I can feel really good about new discoveries; I can flatter myself by genuinely liking music of such artistry. But my appreciation is also a kind of dying. I am on the downward slope of a trajectory, and Paul Weller's music won't save me. Instead, it is among the great music that accompanies me along a wandering hike to wherever the path ends. If you agree with me about my choices, fine. I'm not alone while it lasts?