Outstagram: Navigating a New Abnormal
Music Reviews, NYC Winter Jazzfest, and Yearning For Old School Browsing
In the Listening Room: NY Winter Jazzfest Inspirations
It was a privilege to attend the Jazz Congress and Winter Jazzfest events, meet many wonderful people, and see/hear loads of great music. The most impactful shows I saw were John Coltrane's A Love Supreme Celebration and Strata-East Rising, with two musicians in particular making a strong impression.
I was knocked out by Allison Miller’s drum work on the first Artemis album a few years back, but until the Coltrane celebration, I hadn’t had the opportunity to see her play. She was mesmerizing, and when I started investigating her music, I was delighted to see that she had a new album available! Big and Lovely is her collaboration with the legendary One O’Clock Lab Band, and together they make this big band swagger, swing, and turn on a dime. I’m obsessed with this record. I recommend you become obsessed with it, too. Also, I’ve heard the forthcoming Artemis album Arboresque and it’s BRILLIANT—“Komorebi” has been living rent-free in my head all week:
Strata-East lives! It was a who’s who at Le Poisson Rouge (fun fact: that’s where the Village Gate used to be) that came out to celebrate the history and mystery of this storied label. I didn’t know who to be in awe of first: label founder Charles Tolliver? Cecil McBee? Jon Batiste? They all had their share of awe-inspiring moments to be sure, but the guy I couldn’t stop watching was drummer Darrell Green. It wasn’t just me—my wife had the same experience. I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that I went into the evening knowing very little about Mr. Green. But I’m getting up the learning curve quickly. I dig this live album he recorded with his wife, the amazingly talented Camille Thurman (who also wowed us at Strata-East Rising). He’s an amazingly musical drummer with an unstoppable groove, and watching him play was an absolute treat. Hearing Ms. Thurman—whom I primarily know as a vocalist—dig in and WAIL on sax made the music even more exciting and dynamic. As a new chapter in Strata-East begins, how cool would it be to see Ms. Thurman and her husband Darrell unleash some new music there?
I Found This Very Relatable
A colleague texted me a link to the article Are You Overreacting in The New Yorker, suggesting I’d sense a resonance. I read it as he’s a trusted source, despite the article’s self-help premise priming me to make the same face as if I were choking down a forkful of lima beans. When I got to this paragraph, I understood completely why he sent it:
In his book “On Browsing,” the poet and critic Jason Guriel remembers taking the train all the way into the city to poke around in some book and record stores, hoping to find something remotely interesting. “How hoary the old pathways look to us now, like ruts left by a stagecoach,” Guriel writes. “What elaborate workarounds and wastes of time we’d evolved to find the content that now floods our phones.” He remembers going to one bookstore, where he’d thumb through a printed guide to great albums, before ambling across the street to a record store to see if they had anything he wanted in stock. “The sheer legwork of it all!” he recalls. But “we needed that long subway trip downtown. . . . We needed the sobering disappointments and sporadic victories. . . . Mostly, we needed wind resistance. It took effort to cultivate our enthusiasms in a desert, but it’s clear now that we took the desert’s role for granted.”
I spent many a weekend doing exactly that—thumbing through dog-eared copies of The Rolling Stone Record Guide or old copies of Creem, Circus, and Crawdaddy. I’d note album reviews or advertisements for records that sounded interesting, and jot them in a notebook. Then I’d hit as many second-hand record stores as I could find, digging through unsorted crates until my hands were filthy and I spent every cent I had. There were times I even spent my cab fare back to Grand Central Station AND the emergency $20 my father insisted I keep stashed in my sock. You’d be surprised at how happy one can be walking from West 4th Street to Grand Central Station in the pouring rain after you just scored an album you’d be hoping to find for MONTHS. I still have many of them on my shelf. Though I appreciate the ease and speed of tracking down rarities at the speed of the Internet nowadays, it doesn’t hit quite the same.
Remixstagram
The Venn Diagram of Jazz and Coffee Substack readers and Instagram followers suddenly has a lot less overlap. Public declarations from friends, family, and colleagues leaving Meta are increasing, for many understandable reasons. I have no immediate plans to quit Instagram, which after a decade of building my brand and audience would feel like capitulation to bullies making bad decisions—taking @jazzandcoffee offline hurts me far more than it does Meta. However, that doesn’t mean I support the recent changes to Meta’s fact-checking, moderation, and Hateful Conduct policies, nor their shift towards generally being a shitty place to interact with other humans. Which, ironically, was the reason Facebook was created in the first place. Though I won’t go out of my way to throw sand in Marc Zuckerburg’s Vaseline (though he deserves it), I will be reposting ALL of my Instagram music reviews here going forward, and catch up on recent posts as well.
I remain committed to keeping this Substack a music-focused and troll-free environment. There are substacks, blogs, and social media platforms better suited to engage with the various tribalistic signs of the times that have made the Internet a lot less fun than it was back in the early 90s. That said, I’ve never shied away from calling out perceived injustices or the role of music in a politically relevant or historical context. Sadly, whether it’s the music business or politics, experience has been a merciless teacher of two things:
When you’ve got the interests of one class of people pitted against another, left vs. right, red vs. blue, artists vs. labels, or major labels vs. independents, there’s a third party making money from it.
The last ~25 years of the music industry has a long history of outsiders—digital carpetbaggers—who came in with a lot of swagger and attitude. They dismissed entrenched institutional knowledge, incumbent leaders, and pre-existing business relationships. Those outsiders insisted the old ways were flawed, and that they would usher in a new era of prosperity. When the dust cleared, the major labels were still standing. What came of these outsider saviors? There were no survivors.
Instagram Interlude: In Case You Missed These Reviews
Please be patient while I catch up from the last couple of weeks! More will follow in the next Substack.
Freddie Hubbard Red Clay
Fans have feelings when a prolific artist with deep artistic credibility has a breakout hit. Implied congrats to the artist aside, some fans perceive a creative zero-sum game in which increasing commercial success erodes artistic purity. Others struggle with an existential neutral zone infraction, as larger venues and higher ticket prices accommodate a growing fanbase. Some even feel a twinge of betrayal, as if the band’s choice of musical direction left a handful of OG fans who’ve been loyal evangelists from the beginning behind to embrace the growing masses and prevent the “new stuff” from overshadowing the extraordinary body of work that came before? (tl;dr “the old stuff was better”) So, let’s talk about Red Clay. It’s a fantastic record that, for many good reasons, is the album that Freddie Hubbard is most closely associated with—even though the man helped define the sound of 1960s jazz, both as a leader and a sideman, on some of the genre’s most revered recordings. Red Clay is a fantastic, enduring record with strong generational crossover power. While few use albums for seed removal nowadays, Red Clay still accompanies many dorm bake sessions, and thanks to Jack Wilkins’s cover and A Tribe Called Quest’s subsequent sample, it’s a hit that hits (especially while taking a hit) across a wide demographic. It’s got the DNA of modal jazz, space-fried with irresistible funk grooves and a sultry, late-night mood. Romantic, hypnotic, and alternately hot and cool, it’s perfect “baby-making music.” Let’s be real—more humans on this planet were probably conceived to Red Clay than, say, Eric Dolphy’s Out to Lunch or Ornette Coleman’s Free Jazz. (And Hubbard, by the way, played on both of those classics, too. Talk about range!). Red Clay isn’t as abstract as In a Silent Way or as daring as Bitches Brew. It’s not as kosmigroovically funky as Hancock’s Mwandishi era, nor does it go all-in a la Mahavishnu. But Hubbard, Joe Henderson (sax), Herbie Hancock (electric piano), Ron Carter (bass), and Lenny White (drums) deliver with chemistry, style, and a simmering, captivating groove.
Dolo Coker California Hard
Pianist Dolo Coker’s California Hard feels especially poignant right now. Recorded in 1976 for Xanadu Records, it’s a blend of Coker’s hard-bop leaning Philadelphia roots and West Coast jazz—a reminder that music, like humanity, binds us across geography. Reflecting on the recent (and ongoing) fires in Los Angeles and the profound loss many face, this album sounds like a homage to resilience and connection. Coker’s dream team includes Blue Mitchell-trumpet & flugelhorn, Art Pepper-alto & tenor saxLeroy Vinnegar-bass, and Frank Butler-drums. Art Pepper rarely recorded as a tenorist, which he does here on two tracks, most prominently and effectively during his original composition “Mr. Yohe.” Like the introspective “Tale of Two Cities,” Coker’s originals capture his dual identity: the urgency of Philly’s bebop and the cinematic sweep of L.A.’s jazz scene. The Coker-penned album opener “Jumping Jacks” is a more straightforward hard-bop swinger. Mitchell’s 15-minute mini-epic “Roots 4FB” begins with promise, only to get derailed by an overly-long drum solo. Still, it’s a minor flaw in the grand scheme of what this album symbolizes. As messages come in from friends and colleagues I’ve been concerned about, reassuring me that they are safe, among them are tragic stories. Homes gone, businesses destroyed, and dreams shattered. Who cares if the drummer goes on for longer than he should? In times like these, music reminds us of what we share. California Hard doesn’t feel like “just” an album right now; it’s a virtual connector to those out west with whom we stand, honor, and grieve. Musicares is a respected, long-running charity focused on the music and music industry communities. They’ve been on the front end of making resources available for musicians and those in the music industry impacted by L.A. fire tragedies, including funds to assist with relocation, medical care, essential living needs, and instrument replacement/repair. Please visit their Instagram or website for more info and to make donations.
Bobby Hutcherson Patterns
Patterns along with Medina and Spiral are the Hutcherson Three—a trio of albums recorded in the late ‘60s that were unjustly imprisoned in the Blue Note vaults for being too awesome. They were eventually paroled in 1980 for the same reason, though not without the reputational stink accompanying a vaulting. Patterns is top of mind this month for “A Time To Go,” James Spaulding’s pensive, melancholy tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., composed by the alto saxophonist/flautist himself. The tone is somber, but beneath the sadness is a reminder of Dr. King’s determination. Reggie Workman deserves a medal for his bass playing on this track, which is just PERFECT. Spaulding was an evanescent presence here, with saxophonist Harold Land poised to join Hutcherson in a formidable partnership that would span many albums. However, Spaulding’s contributions to Patterns are some of his best on record. Especially notable is Spaulding’s flute playing, where he avoids the twin pitfalls of going full-on Ron Burgundy or sounding like he’s DJ’ing your dentist’s office. Pianist Stanley Cowell’s love song to his wife, “Effi,” was recorded for the first time at this session. However, audiences first heard this terrific tune on Max Roach’s Members, Don’t Git Weary, recorded a couple of months later and released in December of 1968. ‘Effi’ soared even higher when Cowell co-founded Strata-East with Charles Tolliver, sprouting spiritual jazz wings as the music continued to evolve. Cowell’s skills as a composer and arranger deserve more love. The other four tracks are by drummer Joe Chambers, who keeps things on the more accessible (but not basic!) side for much of Patterns relative to some of his other collabs with Hutch (I’m looking at you Components Side B). All of the Hutcherson Three are absolute musts. And somewhere out there, live material from the Hutch/Land era is gathering dust in a vault that REALLY needs an official release someday. Seriously. I mean, just LOOK at these guys go!
Buddy Rich Just in Time: The Final Recording
Who needs a second cup when you’ve got Buddy Rich’s Just In Time: The Final Recording? Not that I’d turn down another coffee, mind you, but the energy and power of this Buddy Rich Big Band is off the chart. This incarnation of Rich’s big band had been together for a couple of years (the equivalent of several lifetimes measured in Buddy Rich years) and playing with unmatched precision and intensity. Rich seemed untouched by the ravages of time, with his legendary speed, drive, and finesse on display at all times. If there’s anything to call out that reveals this is Buddy Rich aging gracefully, it’s that he pulls back ever so slightly from reminding you that he’s Buddy Rich ALL 👏 THE 👏 TIME 👏. He gives plenty of room for his band to do their thing, and they’re all wildly impressive. This recording (circa November 1986 by the Rolling Stones mobile studio) and killer pressing via Gearbox is equally remarkable. Seek out the deluxe edition, which contains a 30-minute bonus track, “Good News,” split over two sides and features a classic Rich drum solo. The wall of sound this record unleashed from my speakers this morning was a welcome and benevolent jazz derecho. All killer, no filler.
Yes Close to the Edge (Super Deluxe Edition) 3/7/25 Release
If you’d asked anyone who knew me in high school or college what defined me back then, they’d probably say, “Syd was the world’s biggest Yes fan.” Today, I’m proud to share a personal *AND* career highlight—I wrote the liner notes for the Super Deluxe edition of Close to the Edge, announced for a March 7 release on Rhino Records. Close to the Edge is widely regarded as Yes’s masterpiece, often described by fans, critics, and musicians alike as “the greatest progressive rock album ever recorded.” Subjectively, it’s been one of my all-time favorite albums for decades, shaping my love of music in ways I’m still discovering. This made writing for Close to the Edge—an album that continues to influence new and veteran Yes listeners—equally exhilarating and intimidating. My goal was to capture the magic of Close to the Edge—to pull in as much historical and creative context as possible without breaking the mystique that makes it so timeless. Embracing this challenge is one of the most rewarding projects I’ve worked on—and perhaps the most fun I’ve had writing all year. There’s plenty of draw for the Yes-faithful regarding new mixes and previously unreleased tracks. My highlight is the December 1972 live gig from the Rainbow Theatre, which features a live performance of the title track that’s so mind-blowing that you may need to schedule an MRI afterward. As a longtime (four decade+) Yes bootleg collector, I’ve heard nearly every live version of “Close to the Edge” out there, and this one stands out as the most intense and electrifying of them all. It’s the apex predator of “Close to the Edge” performances. It’s been wild to rediscover this album in new ways and reflect on its impact. Seeing my name on a release that shaped my love for music? That’s beyond humbling. It’s also an honor and a career highlight I’ll treasure forever. Here’s to celebrating the magic of Close to the Edge for years to come.
Thanks for sharing the ‘On browsing’ , same story , different train, different city , one hour ride into London to Peckings , the new Virgin mega stores of the early 70’s. My only criticism of your Substack is a compliment a post more !!