Miles of Cool

 

Miles of Cool

My Favorite Albums of All Time (Part 10)

 

My Favorite Albums of All Time (Part 10)

Elek Bacsik - Jazz Guitarist (1963) by Tosh Berman

 

Elek Bacsik - Jazz Guitarist (1963) by Tosh Berman

January 23, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 23, 2021

When I worked at Book Soup, Jeanne Moreau was in the store, looking at books and wandering around the store. As I watched her from a distance, as I was behind the bookstore counter, it reminded me of her walking around Paris in the Louis Malle film Ascenseur pour l’échafaud (Elevator to the Gallows). She occasionally picked up a book to look at its cover, open it, read silently, and then placed it exactly where she found it. It took me a few minutes, but then I notice that a cameraman was shooting her while she walked around the store. One needs permission to shoot in the store, and it was my duty as an employee to either stop the shooting or tell the manager. On the other hand, it is Jeanne Moreau in one's store, and who am I to tell her to stop filming. 

I didn't approach her or the cameraman, but I walked toward her like I was looking for a customer's book. You see, I can also act or perform in front of a camera, which I may have in this situation, but in my head. Jeanne may have been thinking of the same scene in the Malle film, and I'm her partner, following her in the streets of Paris. It's odd dancing in private, in front of customers buying and looking at books. None recognize her, and clearly, they didn't know what I was thinking or doing. At this moment, I wanted to put on the soundtrack to "Elevator to the Gallows" by Miles Davis. If I did that, would she catch on that she's discovered filming in the store? Or someone there recognizes her? 

She eventually went out of the store and looked at our display window. The cameraman shot her through the window, and Jeanne paid attention to the books, but then her eyes showed boredom and moved on down the street. The cameraman left the store as well, following Jeanne on the road. I stayed in the store and was behind the counter again. 

Juliette Gréco R.I.P.

 

Juliette Gréco, an icon from the beginning to the end. St Germain des Prés beauty and a great song artist. A dramatic life with intense romances (Miles Davis) and a close friend and perhaps even muse to Boris Vian. I love her. -Tosh Berman.

"Left Bank: Art, Passion, and the Rebirth of Paris, 1940-50" by Agnès Poirier (Henry Holt & Company)

ISBN: 978-1-62779-024-6

I can almost resist everything, except, any books about the Left Bank during the 1940s to the late 1950s.  Generally, readers/culture addicts are seduced by images of Paris and its culture throughout the years.   In a way, it's the conceptual 'Disneyland' for those who don't live there, yet, keep track of its beauty through pictures, movies, and of course, literature.  I'm so much in tune to that world that I pretty much started up a press, TamTam Books, just focusing on the Paris post-war years, due that I love the literature as well as the figures that came out of that time, especially Boris Vian.    

There are many books on Paris that was published throughout the years, as well as memoirs, diaries, and biographies - so it's not an obscure subject matter by any means.  But it wasn't until recently one hears the name Boris Vian in English reading books on the Existentialist period.  Vian was a significant figure in those years, and a lot of books about that period avoided his identity, I think due that none of his books were available in English at the time.  Therefore I have to presume editors for various presses probably decided if editorial cuts are being made, it is perfectly OK to eliminate Vian in its narrative.  That is not the case anymore.  Although he's a side-figure in the recent book "Left Bank" by Agnès Poirier, at least he's given credit as a writer and social figure in Paris.  

Beyond that, this book doesn't have any new information, and if one is a long-term reader of Paris literary and social history, still it's a fun read and Poirier does a  good job in covering all the loose ends of the rambling narrative that is the grand city of romance and ideas.  All the stars are here:  Juliette Gréco, Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Samuel Beckett, Camus, as well as the Americans that came to Paris during the post-war years, such as James Baldwin, Miles Davis, Richard Wright, Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer, and the old stand-by's such as Picasso and Jean Cocteau.   A colorful group of characters.  One is in good company.

Hugh Hefner 1926 - 2017

Hugh Hefner himself is not that important, but the importance lies in how America looks at Hefner and Playboy brand.  For all purposes, Hefner is not someone special, and therefore that's the secret to his visual success.   He knew how to tap into that world that was his generation.   Also, his other great secret or talent is that he wasn't hip whatsoever.   His Playboy philosophy appealed to the most unhip part of the population.  He didn't make the female an object, but more that he's part of the world that allowed or projected that world in a glossy magazine.   I think his appeal is that he was able to communicate with the average Joe and tell them that they too can be part of this world.  The big difference between Trump and someone like Hefner is that our President doesn't want anyone to be part of his class or share the power, on the other hand, Hefner clearly wanted to express that you too can be in his place.  

Playboy was the only world where Herb Albert can beat out Miles Davis as the best trumpet player in one of the Playboy jazz polls.  This, I think expresses honestly what the Playboy Magazine thinks and listens.  It's an image that has no bearing on reality, yet, it is a remarkable skill to make a world of one's liking.  When Hefner was younger, it was awesome-like, but as soon as age creeps up on one, it becomes bad taste.  In fact, there is a lot of kitsch culture that goes with the Playboy brand and image.  They didn't intend it to be in that light, but alas, they were not that self-aware of their existence. 

"The Last of the International Playboys" is a truthful portrait of that generation of lost men.  The aging swinger was grasping toward youth, and not be able to hold on to its magic - in fact; it causes premature aging!   Hefner was never really young.  He was always an old man, and if anything, it's his brilliance to capture the middle-aged American Male's psyche in the mid-century era.  - Tosh Berman

Music I Listened to on Vinyl Today (June 10, 2016)

May 26, 2014

May 26, 2014

It was a happy shock to me when I heard that my book “Sparks-Tastic” was up for the Prix Goncourt last December, but alas I didn’t win, due that that prize goes to French language authors, and somehow, even though I do have some French blood (mostly Canadian to be honest) running in my veins,  I’m neither a citizen of a French providence nor can I read or speak French.  But in spirit, of course I’m French.  So I was disappointed that I didn’t get the prize and the fact, technically, I shouldn’t have been on the list in the first place.  Which now comes to mind, I despise any hint of nationalism in one’s art or even behavior.  Technically I’m an American, but what does that mean?  To this moment, it still bothers me a great degree that no American has participated in the Eurovision song contest.  What I find irritating is the case that a lot of European artists sing in English, yet, where are the Americans?

Miles Davis tried to get on the show in the late 1950s, with a pick-up band of Juliette Gréco and Catherine Sauvage sharing lead vocals, Johnnie Ronson (Mick’s dad), and Peggy Lee doing some scat vocalizing in the background - yet, unbelievably, they were not chosen to be part of the event.  Although, and I do admit, that there were different nationalities in this line-up, but still, shouldn’t the Eurovision judges acknowledge the talent behind this one-off band?   As an American (therefore a humanist) I find it totally disgusting how art is placed in a box, and not allowed to sing out, whatever it is in song or in my profession, words.  And I should also like to say, not just words, but words arranged on a page in a specific manner.

Now, that I brought up this subject matter, I need to be honest with all of you.  I resent being in contests, and then… losing.   Why invite me in the first place, and then denounce yours truly by not giving one the prize that they so richly deserve?  It’s insane!  Nevertheless let by-gones be by-gones and focus on the present.  As a youth I ran across an interesting street musician in mid-town Manhattan, who wore a Viking costume, and I was struck by his amazing music and being such an astonishing and forceful individual.  When you take a walk, not expecting what will hit you…, well it’s a stunning moment.  Now whenever I put my pen onto paper, I will not forget that moment, and will wander till I find it again.

My Favorite Albums of 2012 (on vinyl)

Part 2:

Also keep in mind this is what I listened to in 2012.  I rarely listen to brand new releases.

I found a Mono copy of this album at Brand Bookstore in Glendale.  $4 and I play it at least once a day.    Glenn Gould is such a remarkable player, and when he has Bach in front of him it is sort of like watching a great dance between the minds and fingers of these guys.   Gould always struck me as a jazz player for some reason, because he teases and pulls on the melody, its very sexy and what he leaves is a form of perfection.  Fantastic album.

On Charles Mingus' record label, this album captures a brilliant series of moments in a recording studio in 1955.  Moody, textural bliss.  It also features one of my all-time favorite songs "Nature Boy."  Teddy Charles plays vibes on this album, and it really adds a smokey existence that you can still feel after the needle leaves the vinyl.  Sort of the ultimate soundtrack for the first drink in the evening, but it is also very reflective and goes beyond the surface or one may say 'under the skin.'  All I know is when I play "Blue Moods" I get lost in my thoughts.   Elvin Jones on drums.

The Walker Brothers Live in Japan.  Recorded at Osaka Festival Hall January 2nd - 4th  and yeah, a wow.  This album was originally issued only in Japan.  What I have is a British re-issue that came out sometime in the 1980's and was given to me by my friend Stuart sometime in that era.  I sort of lost it among the books and other records, but discovered it recently and I put it on, and was taken to another world.  Loud audience noise of course, but the music and more important the voices come out ringing.  They do all their hits, as well as "Land of 1000 Dances" and "Ooh Poo Pah Doo."  A great snapshot of a time where Scott soon afterwards follows his instincts to a very different area of his mind or world.  A very rare record, and a very fantastic one as well.

My Favorite Albums of 2012 (on vinyl) Part One

Due to time I am only listing three albums at a time.  And keep in mind that not all of these releases are new ones - but more what I listened to in the year 2012.  As  you can gather, I have very little interest in 'new' recordings.  But there are of course, exceptions.   All the albums are on vinyl.

As a kid, my family hung out with architects at their homes and it seems every one of them had this album.   For one, its not wild.  This is music that soothes but with a certain amount of sexual tension.  Miles is very much a sensual player and his trumpet sways like a dancer with the orchestration.  A perfect cocktail type of album where you sipping wine/martini and just floating with the haunted, but somewhat bitter melody.   I bought this at Rockaway, during their Black Friday promotion. Its a newly issued Mono version.  Really beautiful work.

There are records that you can just throw on the turntable and do something else.  Scott Walker's "Bish Bosch" is not such a record.   Once the needle hits the first track you are tied down to a chair or floor in front of the speakers, and you are not going to move an inch, because this is work that demands your full attention.   Hauntingly beautiful, this is music that takes you into today's world - all the ugliness, the bitterness, and a certain amount of beauty (or some version of it) mostly due to Scott Walker's still-incredible vocals.  Rarely do I hear new work that says 2012.   Probably the most un-bullshit album ever.  To say I love it, is like one needs water.  Without a doubt the most essential record released in the 21st Century so far.   The silence on this album is just as important as the music.

Hearing Sparks' "No 1 Song in Heaven"  on vinyl for the first time is a real 'wow' series of moments.  Released in the late 1970's this record is the shot that was heard around the world.  Without a doubt a major influence on future electro-duos like Soft Cell, Associates, Pet Shop Boys, etc.   I had this album on cassette, CD, and eventually MP3 - but the vinyl kicked me in the rear end so hard.  Its an aural masterpiece on the 12th degree.  And not one bad or weak moment.  Very rarely does one come upon such excellence.  Dreamy, hypnotic,  and sensual to the core.  A Ron and Russell masterpiece.  Do get it on vinyl!

Miles Davis' "Porgy and Bess" Vinyl (Mono)

The second of the three albums by Miles Davis and Gil Evans.  Regarding the big band, it melts under the direction of Evans, and Miles sort of pulls the orchestra with him, not against him.  Based on the opera by George Gershwin, this is an reflective piece of work, that grooves but also gives room for introspection.  A beautiful multi-textured layered work that in parts reminds me of Miles great score to Louis Malle's film "Ascenseur Pour L'échafaud."  Did Miles Davis ever, like, failed?

French 45rpm record cover

Miles Davis' "Sketches of Spain"

An amazing beautiful piece of record-making. I just purchased this the other day, and its in Mono, and the sound is so fantastic.  But then again, the music is incredible on many fronts.  The Gil Evans arrangements are superb, knows when to be quiet, and knows how to raise the temperature in a room. 

Miles just glides over the melody - goes in and goes out like a wave hitting the beach.  In essence its being on the sand and letting the water hit you and one can feel the pull into the ocean, and it will bring you back in place and time.  "Sketches of Spain" does that to me.  Overly romantic, but the mood is a combination of dark and plain reflective. 

I remember this album when I went off with my parents as a child to visit other people.  They were architects, and I always think of architecture when I hear this album.   Very mid-century type of sound - more geared towards the professional than say the bopster in a coffee house or club.  I imagine this album had a huge affect on people like Bryan Ferry - due to its orchestration and effortless perfection.  

Also this album is very hard to categorize.  I think it belongs to another world that only exists in one's head.   Which is my favorite type of album.  

Miles Davis' "Miles Ahead" (vinyl, mono)

A very beautiful album that's not perfect, but has touches of genius on it.  Miles Davis and 19 other players are under the spell of Gil Evans, and he makes this trip into a smooth sailing.   It never sounds busy or brassy, but every sound is put in place  Besides the brass, there's bass and drums (of course) but no piano.  In some ways there are hints of "Sketches of Spain" in the mix - a future that's bright.  Its an interesting album because I think for Miles, this was a goodbye to a certain era or sound.  And his solos are so sweet, but not sugary, just a right combination of sweet with a tad ounce of sour. 

Miles Davis Quintet Live

Miles Davis Quintet featuring Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams. Recorded at Berlin, West Germany, on November 4, 1967



Miles Davis - trumpet
Wayne Shorter - sax
Herbie Hancock - piano
Ron Carter - bass
Tony Williams - drums

Juliette Greco meets Miles Davis

Miles Davis "So What"


Juliette Gréco singing "Les Amours Perdues" by Serge Gainsbourg


This is an interview from The Guardian UK May 26, 2006. I found this piece extremely charming and moving. Gréco is an artist that I admire from her toes to her head, and Miles... Well ok he's the king... of everything! Here's the article:


Like every young person of my generation, I immersed myself in jazz. I met the greatest musicians - Charlie Parker, the Modern Jazz Quartet, most often at the Club Saint-Germain with Sacha Distel, and Dizzy Gillespie when he came to Tabou. All that happened over the space of two or three years, a mythical period that today feels as though it lasted 20 years. They arrived after the war, we welcomed them, we listened to them fervently, we loved them, and in a way they transformed our ideas about what jazz was - what we already knew, we'd picked up almost by accident. During the Occupation, if you tried to listen to jazz, you risked punishment. So we listened to The Lambeth Walk - for us, the ultimate trip. But above all there was Django Reinhardt, again someone who had arrived from another world.
Article continues

I always loved it when I was taken to places where I could learn things. I was like a little sister to [the writer and musician] Boris Vian, who was very protective towards me. The first time Miles Davis came to Paris, it was at the Pleyel, a crumbling place. Recently, on a plane, I bumped into the man who ran the Pleyel and he said, "It's all changed, come and have a look." I was touched; it was very sweet. For it was there that I first met Miles, at his first concert in Paris.
There weren't any seats left - and anyway I wouldn't have been able to pay for one - so I was taken to watch from the wings by Michelle Vian, Boris's wife, who was looking after me. And there I caught a glimpse of Miles, in profile: a real Giacometti, with a face of great beauty. I'm not even talking about the genius of the man: you didn't have to be a scholar or a specialist in jazz to be struck by him. There was such an unusual harmony between the man, the instrument and the sound - it was pretty shattering. Miles was a spectacle in himself: he always dressed in a very classic way, not the way he dressed later on.

So I met this man, who was very young, as I was. We went out for dinner in a group, with people I didn't know. And there it was. I didn't speak English, he didn't speak French. I haven't a clue how we managed. The miracle of love.

I wasn't tempted to sing with Miles: why try to do badly, or less well, something that other people do so well? I'm not going to start singing jazz standards: it's not in my blood or my culture. Mind you, I have a deep affection and huge admiration for Ella Fitzgerald and a few others.

Miles didn't hear me sing until much later in New York, at the Waldorf-Astoria. Before that, to him, I was just me, a girl with a strange face, and it was me he loved, which made me happy. At that point I'd had only very limited success as an actress. I was becoming famous without really having done anything, which is a very uncomfortable position. I didn't talk much, only when I needed to ask questions - about existentialism, about things I'd read about without really understanding. One day [the philosopher] Maurice Merleau-Ponty spoke to me. He must have liked my face, because he invited me to dinner. We went dancing and he answered all my questions, which was magical. I was all curiosity but I felt I didn't have anything to give in return; I was at that age where all one does is take.

I'd heard of people like Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir when I was 14 or 15, through my sister who was a student, but I couldn't ever have imagined that one day I'd be close to them. Sartre said to Miles, "Why don't you and Juliette get married?" Miles said, "Because I love her too much to make her unhappy." It wasn't a matter of him being unfaithful or behaving like a Don Juan; it was simply a question of colour. If he'd taken me back to America with him, I would have been called names.

Years later at the Waldorf in New York, where I had a very nice suite, I invited Miles to dinner. The face of the maitre d'hotel when he came in was indescribable. After two hours, the food was more or less thrown in our faces. The meal was long and painful, and then he left.

At four o'clock in the morning I got a call from Miles, who was in tears. "I couldn't come by myself," he said. "I don't ever want to see you again here, in a country where this kind of relationship is impossible." I suddenly understood that I'd made a terrible mistake, from which came a strange feeling of humiliation that I'll never forget. In America his colour was made blatantly obvious to me, whereas in Paris I didn't even notice that he was black.

Between Miles and me there was a great love affair, the kind you'd want everybody to experience. Throughout our lives, we were never lost to each other. Whenever he could, he would leave messages for me in the places I travelled in Europe: "I was here, you weren't."

He came to see me at my house a few months before he died. He was sitting in the drawing room and at one point I went to the verandah to look at the garden. I heard his devilish laugh. I asked him what had provoked it. "No matter where I was," he said, "in whatever corner of the world, looking at that back, I'd know it was you."

· Interview by Philippe Carles; translation by Richard Williams.