Dog Bites Sandman: Film at 11
It’s one thing if you’re awake at 3:30 AM because you’re still out and about, raising the roof with antics that will become stories you’ll tell for decades. Or antics so over-the-top that you cross your fingers and pray NOBODY else heard, saw, or remembers the next day. But it’s an entirely different situation when you’re AWAKENED at 3:30 AM by the dog, who’s giving you the “If I had opposable thumbs and understood how doorknobs worked, I’d let myself out. But I really need YOU to do it and you to do it RIGHT NOW!” look, with her part-Husky whine that’s highly motivating.
It’s a DEFCON 1 situation—the dog just set the land speed record from the bedroom to the back door. There is no time for footwear or a robe. 22 seconds ago, you were dreaming—purchasing a mint first pressing of Hank Mobley’s Soul Station for only $25 from a record store clerk who was a dead ringer for Sydney Sweeney. Now you’re clad only in your skivvies, freezing your cobblers off as you fumble with the latch on the door. As you slide the door open, the dog realizes this may take upwards of 2 seconds before there’s enough space for her to get out to the yard, and that is UNACCEPTABLE—she uses her snout to apply 7,000 PSI to assist you, causing the door to slide at a velocity guaranteed to cause the loudest 👏 noise 👏 ever when it hits the catch. And the awkward (but ultimately successful) attempt to prevent that mishap with your big toe results in a cartoonishly creative string of muffled expletives.
After all that drama, there was no five-alarm emergency. Not even a dog fart. She just stood there gazing skywards and sniffing. Followed by rolling in the grass, then more sniffing. Time stood still. I was already cold and getting colder. The dog’s power of suggestion had catalyzed my growing, urgent need, too—fortunately, I had opposable thumbs and a solid working knowledge of the doorknob principle. After finally coaxing her back inside, taking care of business, and crawling back between the sheets, it was only seconds before I heard the dog snoring softly. Lucky her. I, however, was wide awake. It was 3:41, what some call the “small hours” of the night. I’m unsure who created that expression, as that’s usually when all my small concerns become distorted into ginormous, unthinkable calamities.
For instance, you remember that you were supposed to make an appointment with the podiatrist about that recurring ingrown toenail—now it’s too late, and you’re going to die of ingrown toenail cancer. Or you forgot to order printer ink—now your trust HP Inkjet will run dry before the nametags for the school trip are entirely printed, and all the children in your daughter’s class from “M” forwards will be traumatized—the parents will sue you to cover the next 12 years of therapy. And remember that stupid thing you once said back in 3rd grade? Someone will undoubtedly quote you on LinkedIn, making you a pariah in the industry and blacklisting you from ever getting hired again; your family and friends will abandon you, and you’ll be forced to flee, change your identity, and live alone in a crappy apartment, subsisting on cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, ennui, and broken dreams. Oh, and that thing you felt guilty about doing/not doing? You absolutely should have done it/not done it—you’re a flawed, awful human being, and it’s a wonder that the dog even likes you. If you didn’t know how doorknobs worked, you’d have no redeeming features whatsoever.
Well, these aren’t happy, helpful thoughts, even though they’re (of course) completely ridiculous. But everything seems amplified when you’re alone with your thoughts just before 4 AM. Even sounds are artificially loud—as I reached for my headphones to try a therapeutic music intervention, I thought the modest “beep” of the Bluetooth connection would rouse the entire neighborhood.
My mind began to settle once I donned my headphones and enabled the noise cancellation. But now, I can hear the collective eye-roll of audio snobs—"Bluetooth? Noise-cancelling headphones? What sort of credible jazz vinyl enthusiast is this guy?”
Hear me out, please.
I’m pleased with my vinyl rig (Rega Planar 3, Ortofon Black cartridge, Schitt Mani preamp, Piega 501 speakers), and I have a set of Shure 535 in-ear monitors with custom Sensaphonics sleeves for critical listening. But for nighttime musicking or tunes on the go, I love my over-ear Apple Airpods Max. They are by FAR the most comfortable headphones I’ve ever owned. While they’re likely to disappoint from a lossless, high-res audiophile perspective (something I hope Apple addresses in a future generation product), they do ATMOS/spatial audio brilliantly and sound quite good in planes, trains, and subways. They’ve performed flawlessly with phone calls, podcasts, and dictation. They’ve got excellent battery life, and did I mention they were super comfortable? They’re pricey, but I’ve used them almost every day—sometimes for several hours—for three years and have no complaints. Audiophile? No. Excellent headphones for my purposes? Hell yeah!
But I digress…what to play at 3:52 AM? Uptempo was out—the idea was getting back to sleep, not hitting an after-hours club. A recent batch of new live jazz gigs was awaiting post-production, and I didn’t want to muck around with scrubbing through radio station IDs, commercials, or long encore breaks. And I wanted to give myself a time limit—if I couldn’t put myself in a mindset that would allow a return to sleep in 45 minutes or so, I’d get up and start the day. So, I created a playlist with the intent of enough familiarity to keep me focused on breathing exercises to relax. Here are the annotated tracks as I took some notes along the way.
Jazz For An Overactive Mind—A Small Hours Jazz Odyssey
While “Maiden Voyage” is often a sunrise or first-thing-in-the-morning track, the magic works at all hours. Serenity is established immediately, and I can feel myself sinking deeper into relaxation as the first deep breathing exercise begins. At 1:20 in, George Coleman enters with one of THE GREATEST tenor sax solos in jazz. The way he drops into the solo still stops me in my tracks every time, no matter how many times I listen. Then Coleman says more in the next sixty seconds than most musicians say in a lifetime. Freddie Hubbard’s trumpet solo that follows is equally sublime and one of his most expressive. It’s my second favorite Hubbard solo after his heart-wrenching statement on “Stolen Moments” from Oliver Nelson’s classic The Blues and the Abstract Truth. Understandably, Herbie Hancock was inspired after these two exceptional performances, and the cascades of melodic freedom he brings forth underscore his compositional intent—splendor.
“Stolen Moments” was a natural follow-up tune. It holds a special place in my heart as a breakthrough moment, coincidentally once again at 1:20 when Freddie Hubbard’s solo arrives. His forlorn solo speaks of loneliness and defiance, while Eric Dolphy’s following flute solo is the sound of surprise and delight. “Stolen Moments” is also the tune where I’ve occasionally “heard” my father’s voice. While he still visits in dreams, for some reason (hello, psychiatrists out there), he never talks—I’ve not heard him speak since the automobile accident that took his life over three decades ago. “Stolen Moments” is our communion, my sole acquiesence to the notion that the soul lives on beyond the body. If I ever wonder, “what would Dad do?” I reach for “Stolen Moments,” and ask.
“Native Land” is a potent blend of Grant Green’s “Idle Moments,” John Coltrane’s “Equinox,” and Phish’s “Reba” (yeah, you read that right). Easily in my Top Ten favorite jazz performances of all time, “Native Land” should be an audio button next to the word “magic” in the dictionary—it defies gravity, time, and my ability to convey its ability to take you places. Nowhere weird, but the way this track “hovers” so effectively above the daily day-to-day concerns makes it a perfect gateway soundtrack to meditation. It’s about 20 minutes since I started my headphone sesh, and I’m now entirely in control of my breathing, with a breath in/out cycle taking over a minute—not bad!
The device capable of measuring John Coltrane’s “Equinox” emotional wallop has yet to be invented. The power, gravitas, and solemnity that pours forth from the speakers when this song plays are felt as much as heard. If it doesn’t give you the feels, see a doctor immediately. I could pontificate about “Equinox” until every social media algorithm gave up and self-destructed, but that’s beside the point—as serious and weighty as this track can sound, there’s also a quiet resolve reminding me that problems may arise, but problems get solved.
My wife and I thoroughly enjoyed Amazon Prime’s television adaptation of Michael Connelly’s Bosch. It’s a wildly enjoyable series, and Harry Bosch’s enthusiasm for jazz—especially the music of Art Pepper—makes it even more compelling. We just saw a scene when Harry Bosch puts this record on his turntable, explaining to his daughter Maddie that the track “Patricia” was by “the late great Art Pepper” and was inspired by Pepper’s own daughter, whom he was missing when he wrote this profoundly moving ballad. When we watched this episode, my daughters were away at college and felt very far away. Fighting back unexpectedly arriving tears, I was seconds away from hitting the pause button to make an incredibly out-of-character phone call to each of my daughters. Fortunately, I got hold of myself. Otherwise, I would have embarrassingly prattled on about how proud I am of both of them, how much I miss them, and started a litany of questions about whether they were taking good care of themselves. Such is the power of Art Pepper—maybe as Craft Recordings continues their Contemporary Records reissue program, they should put warning labels on his records for empty nesters. This is a long post, so I’m not sure my daughters will make it this far, but if they have—are you wearing a warm sweater today? Did you remember sunscreen? Are you staying hydrated? Did you apply the latest security updates to your Mac? And most importantly, are you swiping left on anyone who calls more than one record “vinyls”?
Picking a favorite track from Wayne Shorter’s Speak No Evil is a tall order. As one of my favorite jazz records, every song is a favorite of sorts. But “Infant Eyes” always sends me back to myself if my thoughts have gone too far astray. While the tune invokes a feeling of relaxation, it also reminds me that tabula rosa allows me to strategize, plan, and act without judgment. An infant is a learning machine, taking in enormous amounts of intel every minute. New understandings about their environment, people, and things accumulate with each passing hour, and the thoughtful, fragile, but ultimately somewhat haphazard lines and chords—particularly from Wayne and Herbie—remind me of my daughters and how their faces and limbs would move in response to stimuli when they were tiny. When like all infants, they were absorbing and learning without judgment.
This track from the debut Landsdowne recording of the Don Rendell/Ian Carr Quintet never fails to satisfy. Somehow, as I’ve managed over the last 45 minutes to recalibrate my thoughts, slow my heart rate, and get my breathing under control, I was ready for the track that would send me into slumber before dawn. “Blue Mosque” does the trick. This ensemble expertly plays the gorgeous melody and beautiful solos, and it’s SO well recorded that I feel inside the music rather than simply hearing it.
And so, surrounded by music, people, and the dog I love, I’m ready to drift off.
I worry too much.
Here’s a Spotify playlist collecting all of the tracks together:
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Wayne Shorter ‘Etcetera’
After Wayne Shorter roared in 1964–24 new tunes, joining Miles Davis, recording three Blue Note albums as a leader, completing three LPs with Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, and sideman work—Wayne Shorter was ready to hit the ground running in 1965. He did just that, his pen as much of an extension of Wayne’s hands as his saxophone as he composed extensively on behalf of the Miles Davis Second Great Quintet and himself. With the first Miles SGQ record in the can and Miles requiring hip surgery, Wayne was again in a leadership role. In early March, Wayne led an excellent sextet session, The Soothsayer, followed by this June quartet date, Etcetera. With so much music under his name (and others) already in the pipeline, perhaps the execs at Blue Note felt a need to pump the brakes to avoid competing with himself, or maybe there’s some other reason now lost in the pages of history. But I simply cannot accept that anyone believed that The Soothsayer or Etcetera was subpar—Blue Note’s decision to vault instead of release wasn’t about quality. While the tunes here aren’t quite as obvious as those on his other quartet dates like Adam’s Apple or Juju (which this album probably resembles most closely), they’re all engaging. The underlying swing serves as a counterpoint to an overall atmosphere of mystery that permeates this record. It’s not an intentional obfuscation but more like a conversation between the musicians that speaks to something they’d instead hint at than reveal. It’s subtle, and you might miss it if you weren’t keeping a watchful ear and eye, but it’s like that feeling you get when having a meal with a group of friends and seeing two of them exchange a knowing glance over a shared history that you’ll have to inquire about to understand. But rather than make you feel like an outsider, that experience only makes you more curious. This record would have been held in higher esteem had it been released in sequence with Wayne’s other Blue Note albums of that era—let’s see if its reputation catches up now that it’s widely available. Team Tone Poet couldn’t have picked a better title to kick off their series back in 2019–Etcetera is a must!
Jackie McLean ‘Right Now!’
I don’t know about “best” or even “favorite,” but Right Now! is undoubtedly the Jackie McLean album I’ve got on the brain. It was the album on my mind last night while prepping for sleep and this morning upon waking, so if that’s not a sign to spin it for coffee this morning, I don’t know what is! Right Now! is on the more accessible side of McLean’s trademark adventurous yet melodic modal-leaning hard-bop stylings, but I wouldn’t call it a commercial, either. Like his prior quartet date, Let Freedom Ring, McLean’s sole horn in the spotlight burns brightly with some of his best, biting solos on record. He and pianist Larry Willis are the session heroes, with the veteran McLean assuming a commanding (but not overbearing) role and newcomer Willis out to prove himself. Both succeed, with bonus points to Willis for composing the best track on the record, “Poor Eric.” Written as a musical eulogy for Eric Dolphy, this reflective, melancholic, and achingly beautiful tribute is one of my favorite ballads in jazz—a marvelous tune that’s played to perfection. It’s the second track on the LP, following the sole McLean original “Eco,” which is six minutes of particle acceleration that’ll fuse your coffee machine and turntable into your own personal Hadron Collider—please use it for peaceful purposes. Side B is all-high energy, with another Willis tune, “Christel’s Time,” leading off, and the title track penned by Charles Tolliver cooking hard—bassist Bob Cranshaw and drummer Clifford Jarvis certainly aren’t wallflowers, even if they aren’t afforded much solo space. That’s OK—McLean and Willis deliver solos to keep you on the edge of your seat. While ‘Right Now!’ is more straightforward and melodic than McLean’s inside/outside albums like Destination...Out!! or One Step Beyond, it’s all killer, no filler. And in general, any Jackie McLean album with one or more exclamation points belongs in your collection!