Thursday, July 13, 2017

day 24 -- Hold up, is that a Jimmy Lyons Quintet Record?

Wait, hold that two Jimmy Lyons Quintet records?

Am I really in some guy's apartment with a bunch of Finnish dudes, two of whom are carrying Jimmy Lyon's records?

I won't bore you with how much I love these records.  I'll bore you with other things!

What's crazy is both of these recordings were released on an Italian label--a label which, like many labels, might not excel at paying royalties (not especially avant-garde in that respect).  This is the same label that released many of Bill Dixon's records.  Bill Dixon or "who?" as he was known in the Europe I experienced was not even a peripheral figure in anyone's listening consciousness, which is and isn't a surprise. 

Anyhow, These were two of Bill Dixon's (or who?) favourite records. "Who?" though very highly of Jimmy Lyons.  Of course you have all read L'Opera, and as such, have read the letter "Who?" wrote to Jimmy Lyons after he was Who?'s sabbatical replacement, telling him how great it was to have him up at a certain all girl's drama academy.  But then again, he (who?) was quite close with everyone on both recordings--personally and musically.

The point of this boring narcissist americanino boolshit story is ultimately a question:  why is it an Italian label would waste their time and resources on Americaninos?  "Free Jazz" Americaninos at that?  Free Jazz!  The music that gives malas to listeners near and far!  Furthermore, it's easy to make the argument that the Jimmy Lyons Quintet is THE ESSENCE OF AMERICANINO BOOLSHIT--AND TWO UNWITTING FINNS ARE CARRYING IT AROUND WITH THE INTENT OF LISTENING TO THIS BOOLSHIT AMERICANINO-NO-ONE-CARES SO-CALLED "MUSIC"!

Holy crap...someone do something about something!

And hold up...what's that?  The drummer in the Finnish house of Jimmy Lyons Record carriers has been to Jamaica, Queens to study with Milford Graves (or "sloppy" as he is known)?

European Blond Jesus Christ!  This poor fuck crossed the so-called "globe" so he could become a boolshitter arounder under the tutelage of "sloppy", in Jamacia Queens no less?  SOMEONE STEP IN AND HELP THIS POOR LAD!  SOMEONE TURN ON A VERY NOT SLOPPY MIKE CLARK INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO...STAT!!!

Totally rad, right?  Like a never ending Steely Dan record without all the fucking saxophones that no one cares about because saxophones are boolshit.

And really, heaven forbid anyone find interest in (let alone cross the globe in order to get closer to) this boring, uninteresting, clearly not funky get-down-shake-your-fucking-booty sloppiness.

Ol' "Sloppy"--that ol' boring, uninteresting, historically insignificant, americanino boolshitter, shitting around, right?  Why anyone would want to get with that loser when there's Mike Clark videos on the TV is a mystery for the ages and evidence of the cunning, baffling and powerful ability of the americanino boolshitter to distract us from the glory of white, European interpretations, distillation, corrective re-readings and ultimately, perfection of this clearly sloppy not interesting male americanino boolshitting arounding.

If there was one thing "Who?" and "Sloppy" agreed upon--and they didn't agree upon much--it was that Jimmy Lyons was a motherfucker on the saxophone (like anyone cares about the saxophone), that these records and the groups on them were among the strongest This Music has ever known and that without Jimmy Lyon's, much of Cecil Taylors earier works wouldn't have nearly the vibrancy they did--provided you find the music of Cecil Taylor vibrant, and not more of the same male free jazz male americanino boolshit free-jazz shitter around music.

But hey, maybe they were taking the records and their grant application to study with Milford to Onkalo? 

Regardless of the destiny of said utterly fantastic recordings of Americanino boolshit male saxophone shitter arounder music, I did, for that moment, feel a kinship with the other, united in This Music.  All this in a suburb of Helsinki, that looked a lot like Edina Minnesota no less (if one can compare any place in the old world with the forth world boolshit of the new world.)  Didn't see that one coming.

The performance was at a place called the Hard Rock House--don't call it the Hard Rock Cafe, because the Hard Rock Cafe sucks corporate ass.  The Hard Rock House, on the other hand, was/is fantastic.  A local place for locals--and (to the chagrin of all) Americanino shitter arounders with pot-pissing issues.  After the disorienting experience with the Jimmy Lyons records, we all walked to the venue, a whopping 3 blocks away.  How awesome is that?

Each and everyone one of the proprietors of the Hard Rock House were large, strapping handsome men of Indian (the sub continent) descent.  Maybe they were born in India and remember those Indian winters when it got down to 32 degrees Celsius as they defend against death in the 32 degrees Celsius below zero Finnish winter.   They were all completely friendly, totally helpful and more enthusiastic about the music than all the other venue owners I met in Europe combined.

This, like the Jimmy Lyons record thing was also quite disorienting.  Americanino's are used to the disdain and abuse from all the earth's people--and rightly so.  Maybe they didn't know they had an Americanino shitter arounder out of pot pissing crippled dog in their midst?

The first band--the Sami Pekkola Jazz Band consisted of Jooklo friends from way back--including the drummer who studies with "sloppy" and the two fellows walking around with Jimmy Lyons' records. I for one knew they were doing the right thing when, in the middle of their set, a Finnish woman (who was not drunk--only Americaninos get drunk in Europe) began hollering at the top of her lungs, wondering if the music was "supposed to sound this way" and other pertinent questions related to the sustained maintenance of her musical reality, only a few of which were translated for my amusement and horror.  Sadly, said woman left before I could spray her with my Americanino out of pot piss and all around boolshittery.  Oh the hollering we would have heard in that tragic instance.

Because I am a know nothing Americanino shitter arounder crippled dog who doesn't even own a turntable, my inclination is to say that the opening group owed some of their sound strategies and compositional methodologies to the music of the 60's--the African-American music of the 60's.  Like the New York Contemporary 5 for example (a group with whom "Who?" did a great deal of written work)

...or the New York Art Quartet (an otherwise excellent group save for the out-of-pot sloppy drumming of "sloppy.")

(if you look, you'll see the know-nothing who soiled the Internet by uploading this americanino boolshit has the idiot audacity to write "the drumming is breathtaking".....well, if by "breathtaking" you mean sloppy...)

Later I was informed/corrected (and maybe a little bit scolded?) that the music of the Sami Pekkola Jazz Band actually sounded like music from the 80's.

What the fuck do I know?  (answer = 0.00)

My know nothingness can be proven, as there was an official Jooklo video made (though not yet uploaded) of the the Sami Pekkola Jazz Band.  Smart!

There was no official Jooklo video made of our set.  Even Smarter!  Lo tho I was only reminded a mere eleven times I had lost the camera charger, no effort was made to press the "on" button on the video camera that is not owned by me but owned by those who are not shitter arounders who do not live in a rubbish house, a camera that was already set up and ready to go.  Probably for the best--heaven forbid a border guard check the footage only to see (and worse, hear) me spraying male, saxophone, Americanino, crippled dog out of pot piss from my pitiful little americanino piss horn with the sticking G# key.

After we finished our situation, it was decided that we mix the chocolate and the peanut-butter to make a whole greater than the sum of the parts.  This usually is my most favourite part of the improvised performance reality--when after the show, after each group get a good huff of one another, an actual improvisation.  I know I had no (zero, 0.00) idea what aural shape this improvisation was going to take place--and I love that.

Mind you, while it is possibly true that I and I alone ruined not only the music, but the musical experience for audience and performer alike, it is absolutely true that I had a most enjoyable time doing so.

Of all the places the Jooklo-Zappa Irie Circus of Respect and Open Mindedness travelled, the Helsinki situation struck me as the most sensible and sustainable.  Walk to the gig at a club where the owners are kind and helpful, perform for an audience who at the very least pretended to enjoy the goings on, walk home and wait outside for 40 or so minutes until someone finally opens the door and lets us in so we can go to bed, in silence.

Without much help, I could envision myself in Helsinki for a month, performing once a week with this same group, rehearsing the other five days, with one day off to do laundry and check the the latest in global atrocities on internet (which are easy enough to need to "to review the agendas of every venue and organization that invites me to perform" (your poor beleaguered thing) just don't go to Dixie!)

But then Americanino Boolshitter arounder Savage Retards are to be contained like Zika infested mosquitos or malicious code.

Kiss kiss love you Helsinki!!!  Hope to see you again (in the summer, that is)!


  1. Milford Graves' performance may be minimal, but he's going in the right direction. I agree with you in respect to cultural bias, but why does it have to be so not visual? Even if you take out all the fashionable elements, music is still heavily tied to the right place and the right time. All I was trying to say is that you would be able to create unprecedented suspense by adding dance. I'm not saying it's easy to pick up an instrument and do what you do, but step out of your box and do something extra - a surprise. Like this wonderful journal you’re writing. BTW, Mike Clark is dead boring. And never mind the Dixieland too.

    To follow up on your request about my whereabouts. It’s a low-down high-street waste-land. I can’t get around a certain racial sentiment. They are trash people, doing bullshit jobs in convenient stores. It’s that same entrepreneurial spirit where you come from. Was it us or US? It drives people to rip off each other and generally deliver a miserable quality of work. The greed that makes you forget about ethics and your responsibility toward the environment. Which stupid dick has invented the plastic bag and bottle? Haven’t they been able to foresee the consequences? This wouldn’t have happened in Germany.

    I’m struggling to find even a few words. When have you been writing all these articles? The encyclopedia is a bit lame but the rest is A+.

  2. I think Mike Clark would have been quite interesting when Dixieland was in vogue. After "Civil Rights" it's a little vulgar maybe?

    Aaah jeeze, let the kids have their fun, right?

    Dance...once inseparable from music, which once was just "music". When consulting with a merchant about selling all my god-damn fucking horns, I was urged to part them off in the smallest pieces possible (i.e., sell the mouthpiece, and perhaps even the necks separately).

    The same merchant spirit is alive in "music"--or the sale there of. "Hey now, this isn't improvised music, it sure as fuck isn't 'free jazz toilet paper room boolshit', it' folk?" Sure...more categories...why not? (There again, let the kids have their fun.)

    I don't know who invented the plastic bottle, but here's a great way we can make plenty of rope with which to hang said entrepreneur.

    peace be unto thee, Dr. Skifo