The Best of the Six Months of 2024

 

The Best of the Six Months of 2024

Tosh on Charlie Parker's Recording of Lover Man

 

Tosh on Charlie Parker's Recording of "Lover Man"

Dean's Passion: Charlie Parker—The Complete Dean Benedetti Recordings Of Charlie Parker (Mosaic)

 

Dean's Passion

Scrapbook Album, Part 1

 

Scrapbook Album, Part 1

Jive by Tosh Berman

 

Jive by Tosh Berman

Alphabetical Diaries by Sheila Heti & Charlie Parker (Gaza) by Tosh Berman

 

Alphabetical Diaries by Sheila Heti & Charlie Parker (Gaza)

My Beginning Exploration Into Charlie Parker (and Myself)

 

My Beginning Exploration into Charlie Parker (and Myself)

I Bop For Life

 

I Bop For Life by Tosh Berman

Paul Desmond interviews Charlie Parker 1954

134 Recordings Purchased and Listened to in 2023

 

134 Recordings Purchased and Listened to in 2023

Charlie Parker and Wallace Berman by Tosh Berman

 

Charlie Parker and Wallace Berman by Tosh Berman.

Read it here:  Charlie Parker & Wallace Berman by Tosh Berman

Wallace Berman's Be-Bop Jazz

 

My dad, Wallace Berman did this drawing when he was a teenager. Your typical hardcore Jazzier Hipster (of 1940s culture) for the record label Dial Records. There are different color versions of this work, because Dial released two separate compilations of their artists. One being the great Charlie Parker. This, I believe is the first time Parker has been on an album. My dad hung out at Tempo Records on Hollywood Blvd, which focused on the then contemporary be-bop music and artists. Tempo owned Dial and the rest is history.

Tosh's Journal - August 29

Very rarely has my father dealt with his memory of a place or time. He looked at the world as "now," and history I think meant a lot to him, but he was a person who existed for the present. So one would never ask him what it was like being in a recording studio with Charlie Parker. My father is dead, and I'm curious to know these things now, for instance, what did Parker say or do in that recording studio in Glendale, California? To hold that much culture on one's shoulder, one would think someone needs to share that information. Alas, as time marches on, the faces and names get cloudy, but surely Charlie Parker is important enough to share that tib-bit of details regarding what it was like to be in a room with Charlie Parker.



It comes as no surprise that I feel like Pinkie in Graham Greene's novel "Brighton Rock, which was also an excellent film starring Richard Attenborough. I'm so full of anger that I take out - anything, anyone, anywhere. I want to destroy so I can be devastated. My existence is so full of holes, that if you drew it on paper, you would need to have a mouse sticking his head through one of the cheese holes. Because that is what my life is like, Swiss cheese.



Then again, I should relax a bit more. One thing that is important to live is to laugh. I sometimes forget how significant it is to be able to walk into a movie theater, hopefully, a comedy, and just putting your angst aside and laugh what's on the big screen in front of you. What's in back of you can wait till the film is over. The thing is, I project Pinkie's face over everyone in the movie. I laugh, but it is like swallowing air, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I'm searching like a manic that there is some humor, either being said or implied. For all I care they could be showing "Night and Fog," and I would be laughing my head off. I sit in the theater, and I feel my scar on my cheek. I remember when I got into the fight, and he slashed my cheek. It didn't hurt for some reason, and when I went into the bathroom to examine the wound, I was intrigued by the cleanness of the cut. I took my thumb and little finger on my right hand, and open the cut to see if blood would come out. It reminded me of a woman's vagina, as I opened and closed the wound on my face. Thinking about the cut on my cheek in those terms made the pain bearable. It seemed like it didn't happen. I often dream at night that I have a loose front tooth, or an open scar on my body that is bleeding in front of the public, and when I wake-up, I feel that those physical dreams are quite real. It takes me at least five minutes to recognize that I was dreaming and the fact is that I don't have a loose tooth or a scar on my cheek. Yet, I play with my cheek, thinking that I have such an injury.



I wonder at times if I'm here or not. I often felt that I'm in someone else's dream or vision of a life that is not exactly mine. Perhaps Charlie Parker didn't exist, nor did my father. I feel I have seen something, and I can remember the scent of my father's shaving cologne, but as one gets older the senses get duller, and you eventually have a memory of having the experience of smelling such a scent. I imagine Joan of Arc, who heard voices from another world, as she knew the game was up and had to face the bonfire, that she had no choice but to follow the voice that came within, and surely not from another source outside her body. At the very least, I have the physical copy of the album cover that my father did for Dial Records, which is the first time Charlie Parker has appeared on a disk. That's real, and my memories are a movie as if it was directed and written by Preston Sturges.

Largehearted Boy: Tosh Berman's Playlist for his Memoir "TOSH: Growing Up in Wallace Berman's World" (City Lights)

"For us Topanga citizens, Neil Young was the cultural king of the area, and his band, Crazy Horse was his knights around the table. My dad was friendly with Neil, but his close friends Dean Stockwell, Russ Tamblyn, and George Herms were very close to the musician, and it was a regular event to see Neil and Crazy Horse either playing at the local bar, ‘The Topanga Corral’ or at a venue in greater Los Angeles."

Tosh Berman shared a playlist for his memoir, Tosh: Growing Up in Wallace Berman's World, at Largehearted Boy.

Largehearted Boy: Tosh Berman's Playlist for TOSH

"Los Angeles's Central Avenue Jazz" by Sean J. O'Connell

978-1-4671-3130-8 Arcadia Publishing

"Los Angeles's Central Avenue Jazz" by Sean J. O'Connell (Images of America series, Arcadia Publishing)

My beloved hometown Los Angeles is the best.   On the other hand, I don't think I have ever been to Los Angeles.  Even though I was born, and lived here for my entire life.  For instance, I never been to Central Avenue.  I have been to Silver Lake, Echo Park, Santa Monica, Brentwood, Beverly Glen, Topanga, the San Fernando Valley, Century City, Culver City, and on two occasions, Long Beach.   But that's not Los Angeles.   Central Avenue, to me, is a mystical location for Black American jazz culture.  I never was there, but my dad pretty much hung out at all the dance and jazz clubs in that area when he was a teenager and a young adult.  

I know of Central Avenue's music history, because it is truly a great one.  There are a handful of books on the subject matter, but I just came upon "Los Angeles's Central Avenue Jazz" by local historian Sean J. O'Connell and published by the always fascinating Arcadia Publishing. Minimal text, but no wasted words here.  Most of the text are to describe photographs, playbills, announcements and advertising from that great era in South Los Angeles.   This book is truly a remarkable resource for that era through these visual images.  There are some stuff that O'Connell misses, I think he's totally focused on Jazz music, for instance my dad Wallace Berman did the artwork for Dial Records (Charlie Parker's label) and also an interesting narrative that took place regarding John Dolphin, who owned and ran various small record labels at the time, as well as having a record store on South Central Avenue called "Dolphins of Hollywood."   "Hollywood" being used to bring some glamour to the place, but alas, the interesting thing that happened was that Dolphin was shot and killed in his shop by a disgruntled songwriter.     Not only that, but it seems that current Beach Boy and surf rock great Bruce Johnson was there and he witnessed the crime.   This specific information or text, is from a photograph of one of Dolphin's labels, with the song "Two Step - Side Step" written by Murry Wilson.  Yes, the father of Brian, Carl, and Dennis Wilson.   So there is even a Beach Boys reference to Central Avenue.  Not noted by the author, but me recognizing Wilson on the label.

Beyond that, this is a remarkable and well-researched little book on this great era in Los Angeles.    Great images of jazz greats such as Charlie Parker, Gerard Wilson, Art Farmer, Lucky Thompson, and other great iconic figures throughout the book.  Special mention of female jazz players as well.   "Los Angeles's Central Avenue Jazz' is pretty much an essential book for the jazz lover, but also anyone who is interested in Los Angeles culture.  I love it.

The Sunday Series : Sunday March 8, 2015

Sunday No. 9
Sunday March 7, 2015

As I sit here looking at my tree outside the window, I notice that the seasons play havoc with its leaves, and therefore so does nature with my beard.  I never liked to shave, due that I find the daily procedures boring.  I have a thick beard, and if I wanted to be totally clean-shaven, I need to do it every morning.  Sometime ago, I decided to only shave once a week.   Only on Sundays, I would shave.  But the weekly process of trimming the beard and then getting a razor was like being in school. I don't like to be told what to do -either by teacher or nature.  It wasn't that long ago that I started to see a barber for a hair trim and shave every Sunday.   A shave and trim costs $60, while just getting a full-shave is $35.   I have this thing where I detest odd numbers coming up on my bill.  So just to avoid that, I always throw in a trim as well to make the total into an even 60.

I like to think my haircut is as precise as my personal life. Neatness is a sign of a civilized man, and to this day, I'm bothered to see if some male is either wearing his hairstyle wrong, or the clothing is off.    Socks to me is the real test.  They should match with something that you are wearing.  Shirt or even, a hat is good if it's the same color or pattern as your socks.  It's a little gesture, but the actions will take you far.  Also it serves as a mental exercise as well.  To locate the right pair of socks with the correct shirt can be a treasure hunt, but if you're good at it, the awards are plenty.  I have noticed that most women are aware of the sock and shirt combination.   The best or as I call it, my masterpiece is the argyle sock that matches the sleeveless argyle v-neck sweater. Powered blue button down shirt, either opened at the neck or buttoned up - your choice.  But the color combination is a real winner.

Every Sunday I do my best to dress as the best I can before I see my barber in Echo Park.   He knows me well enough (not my life, but what I prefer in a haircut and shave).  I remember the first time I saw him, and it was a joyful experience.  I got into his barber chair not knowing what to say exactly.  I always felt it was beneath me to show an image of the haircut I wanted.  To articulate your desires verbally to your barber is the best form of communication.   I told him that I wanted a haircut that was short as possible on the sides, and a tad long on the top.  He asked me if I wanted a "1" or a "2" for the sides I told him that I didn't know the difference.  He cut my hair to a "2" on the side, and then showed it to me.  It was long.  I told him a "1."  He then suggested a 1 and then a "2" and will cut half-an-inch on the top.   That sounded perfect and that is exactly what he did.

The best part of the haircut is when he focused on the hairline above the ears.  I was obsessed that he cut it in a way where the skin was shown, and that the whole area had to be 'clean' with no hair whatsoever going over the ears. He also spent time tracking down all the hair on my ears as well.  One of the things I hate the most is finding hair in or on my ears.  I hate to see it when I'm talking to a male person, and the first thing I notice is the hair either on the ear, or worse coming out of a nose nostril.  I do have poor eyesight, but still, the details are extremely important.  At home, I have a check list of things that must be looked at on a regular basis - which includes hair on the ears, coming out of the nose, and hair on the nose.  And eyebrows must be trimmed at all times.  Bushy eyebrows cannot be helped, but surely one can keep them trimmed and for God's sake don't allow hair between the two eyebrows.  One doesn't need a bridge between the left and right eyebrow.

The beauty of having a shave is being in someone's power.  As soon as the shave starts, my eyes are closed shut.  To this day, I have never seen a straight razor blade approaching my face.  The first thing he did was put a lotion on my face, and then a hot towel covering everything except my nose.  Once removed he forces my head to one side and starts to work on the neck and on up.  I can actually feel every hair being cut on my neck. Not exactly painful, but there is the feeling of something being cut off your neck and face.  The slight pain is part of the procedure, because every time you feel the tinge of pain or discomfort, you get an award of a soothing cream or hot towel or both.  When I shave I always shave upwards, but not once does he do that.  It is all downstrokes, and the whole procedure takes at least a half-n'-hour. It never fails, that I think of Sweeny Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street while feeling the blade against my throat.   Somewhere in that procedure he put on something that stung me slightly, but the smell was Royall lime.  I remember the scent of the after-shave, because my Dad wore it all the time.  There was one time he picked me up from the ground to kiss me, I must have been three or year years old, but I clearly remember the smoothness of his face right after he shaved as well as the royal lime scent.

As I was sitting in the barber chair, I was suddenly in another place, location and time.  The music being played over the barbershop sound system was Charlie Parker, when he was making recordings for Dial records in Glendale, California.  A sound that was very much part of my childhood at the family home.  So the combination of the scent, the hot towel and the memory of the smooth skin of my dad brought me into another dimension.

The images that were in my brain eventually became a black and white 8mm film, and once the towel was removed, and I opened my eyes, the world was in Technicolor.  The first time, the first trip is always the best, and after that, you're just trying to capture that lost moment.  Although my face is right, the hair perfect, and the shave as smooth as that girl's ass - I'm feeling out of time.  Like a stray dog knowing where his food is, I go back to the barber shop every Sunday to get my emotional fix for the rest of the week.  

August 29, 2014

August 29, 2014

Very rarely has my father dealt with his memory of a place or time. He looked at the world as “now,” and history I think meant a lot to him, but he was a person who existed for the present.  So one would never ask him what it was like being in a recording studio with Charlie Parker.  My father is dead, and I’m curious to know these things now, for instance, what did Parker say or do in that recording studio in Glendale, California?   To hold that much culture on one’s shoulder, one would think someone has a need to share that information.  Alas, as time marches on, the faces and names get cloudy, but surely Charlie Parker is important enough to share that tib-bit of information regarding what it was like to be in a room with Charlie Parker.

It comes as no surprise that I feel like Pinkie in Graham Greene’s novel “Brighton Rock, which was also a wonderful film starring Richard Attenborough.  I’m so full of anger, that I just take out - anything, anyone, anywhere. I want to destroy so I can be destroyed.  My existence is so full of holes, that if you drew it on paper, you would need to have a mouse sticking his head through one of the cheese holes.  Because that is what my life is like, Swiss cheese.

Then again I should relax a bit more.  One thing that is important in order to live is to laugh.  I sometimes forget how significant it is to be able to walk into a movie theater, hopefully a comedy, and just putting your angst aside and just laugh what’s on the big screen in front of you.  What’s in back of you can wait till the film is over.  The thing is, I project Pinkie’s face over everyone in the film.  I laugh, but it is like swallowing air and it makes me sick to my stomach.  I’m searching like a manic that there is some humor, either being said, or implied.  For all I care they could be showing “Night and Fog” and I would be laughing my head off.  I sit in the theater and I feel my scar on my cheek.  I remember when I got into the fight, and he slashed my cheek. It didn’t hurt for some reason, and when I went into the bathroom to examine the wound, I was intrigued by the cleanness of the cut.  I took my thumb and little finger on my right hand, and open the cut to see if blood would come out.  It reminded me of a woman’s vagina, as I opened and closed the wound on my face.  Thinking about the cut on my cheek in those terms made the pain bearable.  It seemed like it didn’t happen.  I often dream at night that I have a loose front tooth, or an open scar on my body that is bleeding in front of the public, and when I wake-up, I feel that those physical dreams are quite real. It takes me at least five minutes to recognize that I was dreaming and the fact is that I don’t have a loose tooth or a scar on my cheek.  Yet, I play with my cheek, thinking that I have such a scar.

I wonder at times if I’m actually here or not.  I often felt that I’m in someone else’s dream or vision of a life that is not exactly mine.  Perhaps Charlie Parker didn’t exist, nor did my father. I feel I have seen something, and I can remember the scent of my father’s shaving cologne, but as one gets older the senses get duller, and you eventually just have a memory of having the experience of smelling such a scent.  I imagine Joan of Arc, who heard voices from another world, as she knew the game was up, and had to face the bonfire, that she had no choice but to follow the voice that came within, and surely not from another source outside her body.   At the very least, I have the physical copy of the album cover that my father did for Dial Records, which is the first time Charlie Parker has appeared on a disk.  That’s real, and my memories are really a movie, as if it was directed and written by Preston Sturges.

"Wonder While You Wander" by Tosh Berman Part Two: Loree Fox, Wallace Berman, Tempo Music Store

Wallace Berman and Loree Foxx in the Front of Tempo Music Shop on Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles

Interior of Tempo Music Shop on Hollywood Blvd, Los Angeles

Artwork by Wallace Berman (age 16 or 17) for Dial Records, Los Angeles

Loree Foxx Photo by Wallace Berman

Loree Fox by Wallace Berman

I'm currently working on a childhood memoir "Wonder While You Wander," and this serves me as a scrapbook of ideas/images/etc.  

"Be-Bop Jazz" Dial Records (cover by Wallace Berman)

My father, Wallace Berman, did the illustration/artwork for this particular album.  In many ways this is sort of the ultimate be-bop jazz album.  Issued at the height of its greatness.

For more (a bit more) info check the link :  http://artjournal.collegeart.org/?p=1682

Wallace Berman's cover for Be-Bop Jazz Volume Two

Sadly I missed out in obtaining the above image.  Its a 78 rpm release of a recording with Charlie Parker - the first time I believe he as appeared on record.   The other "first" is that the cover was drawn by Wallace Berman, my Dad, when he was a teenager.   Very rare, in fact the package here photographed didn't have the disks inside.  Nevertheless it would have been great to have this, but at the same time I have no regrets.  The memory of something (even if its true or false) is more important than the object.   But i have to say I am rather proud that my Dad is both on the cover of Sgt. Pepper as well as being involved in Parker's first recording for a label.   That's pretty great.