The other night I raced downtown to catch the last set of Mark Hundevad’s Cecil Taylor tribute. Very intense. Mark wouldn’t do anything less. Who better to honour the supreme reinventor of Jazz, than Mark, who befriended Cecil in the early 80s, spending many weekends at Cecil’s brownstone learning first hand. He returned each week to drive a Toronto school bus 9 – 5, mon – fri. I rented a room in a house where he also rented a room. I watched him study Cecil’s records. On turntables he pressed his finger against the revolving record, slowing it down to work out the intervals. What could be more flattering to the solitary complex path Cecil lived than knowing a young player as devoted as Mark made this type of effort. Piano wasn’t even his first instrument. He’s a vibraphonist then a drummer then a pianist. I heard a young hot saxophone player at the time call Cecil fake or bullshit. That guy couldn’t hear it or couldn’t be bothered trying. When it hit me it did because I placed a different energy into listening. Afterward I felt people like Cecil lived with a curse. Not many people will make the effort to join you. Some art is passive, some is active. Placing the audience into the active position isn’t how people get rich.
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Earlier the same day, I concluded the four hour film, The Sorrow and The Pity. Interviews with all sides of the WW2 occupation of France supplemented with newsreels and headlines, recorded about fifteen years later in 1969 in black and white. It is very amazing. In one of the last moments, Maurice Chevalier tries to substantiate what happened to him during his missing years in the war (he was hiding in the South with his Jewish wife and her parents). He says all three reports of his assassination were false. Hard to disagree with that. He also replies to rumours he was a collaborator which piqued a different curiosity for me. I knew he was a famous French singer from 80 years ago (and the Marx brothers passport sketch in Monkey Business) but this documentary captures the capricious tone of whole worlds of people adjusting to being in the kidnaposphere. One hears many contrary allegations viewing this film. How can you know who is telling the truth? Makes me think “fake news” was invented along with whatever else Gutenberg first printed. Makes me also think about the musics that are called fake vs. not fake.
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At the graduate student presentation, one person addressed patriarchal problems about music. She explained people privilege John Coltrane but not Alice. That didn’t sit right with me. I do not find Alice in the same league, however, I felt like speaking up could get me accused of being an S.S. collaborator so I only did so in an alternate universe. Safely I proceeded to the microphone and said Alice is ok but she wasn’t in the same league as John (not even to Martha Alderich). While I am here let me add we tend to think more of Karen Carpenter than Richard and of Tenille more than the Captain. Maybe you are right and Alice was just as important as John but maybe you are unable to see past an ideology. Her next proof of negative patriarchal influences on music were summed up explaining that playing many notes is considered more fantastic than playing a few. That was funny, in the way surrealism can be hilarious but not as accomplished as are Chico, and later Groucho, failing to persuade customs officers that they are in fact Maurice Chevalier. Only mute Harpo convinces. He uses a record player behind his back.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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