Friday, August 11, 2017

Day 21 -- The Geneva Convention / Coltrane is Boolshit / Did I Ever Get A Recording of That Show?

My time in Geneva began at 11am when I finally woke up to see a dramatically aged americanino crippled dog looking at me in the mirror.

However that americanino crippled dog is never to old to learn some new information!

Just as farting on clothes folded on a bed as a good-morning, John Coltrane as a fuck-up is another foundational, oft repeated Jooklo trope that never ever gets worn out.

"Coltrane is boolshit"

"Something really wrong with that guy"

"Sloppy" (not to be confused with Milford Graves, who is also "sloppy")

"All surface"

"The same bebop groove from the beginning to the end"

Here's what boolshitter arounder americanino  Jackie Mclean had to say about that sloppy boolshit guy who is all surface:

Jackie McLean:  Right. Exactly. Here’s Trane coming in every night sick and drinking booze, as much as he can drink to get through this thing. And then when he gets on the stage, his clothes were all wrinkled up because he was sleeping in his same clothes. And this is about the 4th night now. They opened on like a Tuesday. Friday night, when the club is packed with people man, here comes Trane with the same clothes smelling like, you know…and Miles is looking at him…and I’m listening to him play and his pain and his physical discomfort in addition to whatever else…it was almost like Jesus….it was almost religious in the sense that it was like….the stone rolling away from the cave where Jesus’s body was…he was gonna rise up…I mean he was delirious. And they would play them tunes of Miles, you know the band. And he was sloppy, playing the melodies with Miles, it wasn’t smooth.

But when he got to his solo, and they had one tune where they corral him up in a mode for about 32 bars. [sings rhythm] “Dang—Dang–Dang…Dang—Dang–Dang…” Like that, you know. And he was…he was playing so much saxophone, man, it was like…and he couldn’t…what he couldn’t make he just kept going and it sounded like he made it anyway. I mean even when he hit bad notes…everything sounded like….there was nothing that he could do that was wrong…it was all out of tune….all…had nothing to do with changes and everything…but  swinging!…and then every now and then he’d get it back together and come back in on the changes, you know…and right back at it…oh man. I was sitting out there with my mouth hanging open. And people were coming up to me saying Man, why don’t Miles get Hank Mobley?”

And I was saying “What are you crazy? Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

“Aw man he’s up there all drunk.”

But I said “Man, are you listening to him?”

“Aw man he ain’t shit…he sounds…”

You know. I was like “Man, what is wrong with these cats?”

That was the time that John had me.

SL:  He kind of turned your head.

JM:  He had me. He got me. Because, I mean, he was playing what I was looking for. You know it’s like when I heard Bird the first time. Bird was playing what I wanted to hear. I didn’t like any altos…I didn’t like the alto.

Sloppy and swinging?   IMPOSSIBLE!  Someone exhume Jackie Mclean and tell him he's wrong! Out of pot piss as inspiration for Jackie Mclean?  HOW CAN THAT BE? And what's that?  Jackie McLean was an educator?  Like, a member of the Academy?  What's there to learn from "the Academy?"

And for your listening distress, below please listen to early John Coltrane v. late John Coltrane--and see if you can hear the difference, or if as posited, "it's the same be-bop grove from beginning to end"


End, which is totally identical to the beginning.

Maaaybe if you really squint your ear holes you can sort of make out some kind of an aesthetic developmental arc...but for the most part, 1957 might as well have been Tuesday and 1966 Thursday of the same week for all the samey same-ness and non-developmet of the "same be bop groove from beginning to end" of that "really fucked up guy."

?????       ?????

Oddly there aren't many notes for day 21 in my journal.

Some sort of something about the crazy notion that people might judge situations differently when drinking (maybe that's true for Americaninos, but c'mon now, these are Europeans....)

The show was recorded by a big fan of Frank Zappa.  He was a gentleman.  Not only did he know who Husker Du were, he might have loved them as much as he loved Frank Zappa!

I wonder...did the other 3/4ts of the ensemble get a copy of this recording?  It sure seemed meticulously recorded and the equipment seemed to be top notch.  When I asked for 2 microphones, no one (in a position to do anything) looked at me like a crippled dog.  Ah well, easy come easy go.  I'm sure I'll get my copy eventually, along with the rest of the ruined by-my-out-of-pot-piss recordings from the tour.

The show was attended by an even bigger Frank Zappa fan than the sound engineer who recorded the show of which I have yet to receive a, a Zappanale attending, friends with Jimmy Carl Black level of Zappa fan.  He had some interesting factoids and anecdotes to share, some not about Frank Zappa, but about his home of Slovenia.  I have since lost in the the rubbish pit that is my barely covered with hair mind.  Does that surprise anyone?

The venue was as delightful and Euro-superior as promised.

The food and hospitality were top notch.

They made a groovy poster.  Maybe there were even a few people in the audience?

After the show, David asked for a "big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big big beer" and received it quickly with a smile.

And yet, for some strange reason, I just wasn't feeling it. 

The last entry in the journal for Day 21:

D & V seem pleased...I am not.  Funny how that works.

In bed, 3am.


  1. The bass line on the early one sucks. Meaning I could do better, if they allowed electric instruments. The late starts with filling from A to Z, I only start to really like it when the piano kicks in, and a sort of conversation ensues. Also I don't like some of the emotions, but then again he's able to do large swings. He's able to generate drama. The quiet parts are too sparsely distributed and I don't mind it if people sing. There's too much New York in it. I don't know, do you think about NY when playing Jazz? The only way to enjoy it is to sit in a smoke-filled basement, alone in a public space. Neurotic? Fed up with people? I was in Brooklyn, buying bottles of French and Spanish wine. Waiting for the ferry to Manhattan. Could it be my uncle? Who knows. A short passage in life across the river. My host was a gay Chinese, living in Poughkeepsie. Waiting for me after not responding the phone all day. I ate. Gorgeous. Expensive. On the Upper Westside. He's waiting, he's drunk. Want to go home. My thyroid. I tell him he sucks. He starts waiving his finger in my face. I'm driving. Out on the street. The snow falls. I miss them. Never been so happy playing cards. It's not about winning.
    What do you think about my Cabo Verde song? Can you feel it?

  2. Dr. Skifo.

    By all means, I URGE you to do better with your electric bass. Should you be able to do so, a storied and rewarding career in "jazz" awaits.

    Also, I urge you and all Europeans to detail very clearly what the fuck "too much New York in it" actually means or sounds like.

    Do theatre goers complain about too much English accent in their Shakespeare?

    If so, they might be know-nothing Europeaninos.

    Lastly, I have no feelings and as such can feel nothing, least of all things musical.