Django at 108; or That Toddlin' Town

I couldn't help but notice Tuesday is the birthday anniversary of Django Reinhardt, the celebrated master of "gypsy jazz" who was one of the first guitar players to use the stringed instrument as the lead for his music, rather than just strumming chord patterns in the background for rhythm.

Reinhardt, of course, is long departed from our realm of existence, dying of a stroke in 1953 at age 43. If he were still with us, he'd be 108 now. And yes, the centennial of his birth was celebrated with, amongst other places, a tribute concert eight years ago at the Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park.

YES, I'LL ADMIT that while I enjoy listening to recordings of Reinhardt and his guitar playing (which I can't even come close to matching myself), I'm writing this copy in part to give myself a break for the day. Regular commentary will return Wednesday. I'm sure Donald Trump (or Bruce Rauner) will have said something stupid by then.

But I'll leave you with a couple of recordings to sample his work -- one of which is his take on that classic tune of our city, the one that boasts of us as "that toddlin' town" (and which I always prefer to that other Chicago tune that was the theme song from the Frank Sinatra film Robin and the Seven Hoods). Along with an actual video snippet of Reinhardt playing "live."

I hope you can enjoy his playing similar to how I do.

  -30-

EDITOR'S NOTE: For those of you who can't comprehend the existence of anything prior to 1980, there was that Woody Allen-directed film from 1999, "Sweet and Lowdown," starring Sean Penn as Emmett Ray, a guitar player who billed himself as the "Second-greatest" guitarist in the world, right behind Django. Personally, I still get a kick out of the Penn character's reaction upon actually meeting Reinhardt himself.

Signing ‘scat singing?’

It was kind of beautiful to watch, if also hilarious and also (if you think about it too intensely) nonsensical to watch.
 

Signing 'scat' music? Photos by Gregory Tejeda

The “it” was a moment Saturday night during the Chicago Jazz Festival, which I attended that night and was at the Pritzker Pavilion during their “Ellabration!” program by which several singers acknowledged the musical talent and legacy of Ella Fitzgerald – who if she were still alive today would be 100.

THE PROGRAM CONSISTED of female singers Sheila Jordan, Dee Alexander and Frieda Lee, along with male performer Paul Marinaro – all being led by singer/hostess Spider Saloff.

Now let’s be honest – no one mistook any of those individuals for Ella herself. Although hearing the extensive catalog of songs she created from the 1940s until her death in 1996 (she was 79) being performed was a pleasant way to spend an evening.

Although I have to confess to “the moment” that will stick in my mind being when I happened to look over to the far right end of the stage, which is where the American Sign Language interpreter happened to be standing.

She being the individual who attempts to capture the mood of the lyrics and music with sign language so as to allow those who are hearing-impaired to capture some sense of what is taking place.

A trio of ladies trying to convey the spirit of Ella Fitzgerald

NOW ANYBODY WHO knows about music knows that a significant part of the Ella repertoire was scat singing – which some might dismiss as gibberish but actually is a musical skill that is difficult to pull off without sounding ridiculous.

Because it entails improvisation and the use of sound without specific words – I have heard some people say it is the equivalent of using one’s voice as an instrument rather than to speak.

Woman keeping self cool with her 'jazz fan'

Which means there aren’t exactly words for the sign language interpreter to spell out or translate. The interpreter who happened to be working while Frieda Lee was scatting literally began waving her arms about and fluttering her fingers in all direction as if trying to capture the random nature of the sounds that those of us fortunate enough to not be hearing-impaired were hearing.

Not being deaf, I don’t know if that interpretation in any way captured the spirit of what we heard. But it was something that was a sight to see – although I’m sure there are some smart-alecks who would think the interpreter was just flailing her hands about, or maybe having some sort of epileptic seizure.

I’M SURE MY description of what I saw is not doing justice to what occurred. I know the pictures I attempted to take don’t really capture the beauty of what I saw. The best photograph I shot almost makes it appear as though the woman were being held up in front of a Millennium Park crowd – which I’m sure some ideological nitwits will want to believe is a routine Chicago occurrence.

Millennium security watches ...

Although I also have to admit to being clueless as to how many hearing-impaired people were actually among the Saturday night Jazz Fest crowd and relied on the sign language interpreter to provide them an understanding.

For some, I’m sure they gave the woman (there were several that night, working in shifts throughout each of the different performers Saturday night) and her gesticulations little thought.

Now I know I get a kick out of the music festivals Chicago sponsors each summer. They do provide some quality entertainment that rises above the usual level of dreck that people often pay ridiculous amounts of money for in order to get tickets to.

... over Saturday night Jazz Fest crowd

PERSONALLY, I WILL long remember the 1985 evening when I saw John Hammond, Stevie Ray Vaughn AND Koko Taylor all perform hour-long sets, one right after the other, on the same stage.

Any one of those performers would have been a memorable show. Put together was quite an experience.

But Saturday night with the sign language interpreter was a sight I’m also going to keep in my mind for years to come. For all I know, it will be the last thought I have on my death bed – and a future generation will ponder for years to follow just what I was babbling about in my final moments.

It would be the sight of scat singing – which has a visual beauty that matches anything Ella herself ever uttered. And I also got to hear some beautiful voices perform. All in all, a pleasant weekend evening.

  -30-

Too black to be Latina, too light to be black? Saldana shows how confused society still is with regards to race

SIMONE: As herself

As one who enjoys the singing of the late musical performer Nina Simone, I wish I could say I was looking forward to the film based on her life that is supposed to be released publicly next month.

But with all the fuss that’s being made over the fact that actress Zoe Saldana is playing the part of the famed singer, all that this film is likely to do is further illustrate just how confused our society is with regards to race.

FOR THE RECORD, Saldana is a dark-skinned woman whose ethnic origins include significant elements of the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico – along with traces of Haiti and Lebanon. I’m sure there are many in our society who look at her and see a black woman; something she has never tried to deny or downplay.

SALDANA: Can she be convincing as Simone?

She’s a dark-skinned Latina. There have been feature-type stories written that emphasize Saldana as the perfect example of how not all Latinas are light-brown in complexion, and can come in many complexions.

But there are those people who think that isn’t good enough for Saldana to play the part of Simone. They want someone whom they’d like to think of as pure-black.

As though her ties with Latin America make her unfit to think of holding such a role. Too light to be black, and too black to be Latina? It makes me think that all sides of our society have their hang-ups that need to be overcome. Either that, or maybe us Latinos are correct in thinking it's everybody else in society who's a bit ridiculous.

INSTEAD OF BEING a celebration of the life of an entertaining singer with a social conscience back in the 1960s, this film is likely to get bogged down in racial nonsense – particularly from people who think of race as an absolute.

Rather than some sort of mixture that 99 percent of us have little bits and pieces of everything. Everybody has that relative in their past who is the “dirty little secret” they’d probably rather have everybody else forget all about.

It’s going to be bogged down in a lot of cheap rhetoric about racial categories; rather than focusing on whether or not Saldana is capable of convincingly portraying the singer who gave us a convincing cover of that semi-pornographic blues tune “Sugar in My Bowl.”

At least it was when blues singer Bessie Smith gave it to us on ancient recordings nearly a century old. Simone turned it into something almost loving and sweet.

ALTHOUGH I DO wonder what Simone herself would have thought of the casting choice (she died in 2003). She was into the Black Power movement of the 1960s, and I know some jazz music fans (including my father) who still get outraged anytime they hear the song “Mississippi Goddamn.”

Which was her musical response to much of the violence against black civil rights activists who protested throughout the southern U.S. in the 1960s.

Maybe Nina would have been bothered too by someone not quite as dark and a little more brown than black portraying her. Just as I remember a few people getting all worked up when Saldana played the part of Lt. Uhura (the role that Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., supposedly enjoyed) in that 2009 remake of Star Trek as a movie.

Although I found it interesting to read reports on Friday where Simone’s daughter said her objections to the film had nothing to do with Saldana’s complexion and were more tied to the script.

LISA SIMONE KELLY told Time magazine she’s bothered by the romantic relationship the film has her mother having with her manager, Clifton Henderson – a man whom Kelly claims was actually gay.

That may be a more legitimate reason to be skeptical of the film – although one I’m sure that would bore to tears the people who’d rather get all worked up over skin complexion.

Let's be honest -- being able to do Calvin Klein ads convincingly is a large part of why Saldana gets film roles

If anything, such disputes may wind up showing how irrelevant complexion and racial differences can be.

Particularly if the film winds up directing at least a few people back to the original records of Simone’s music. That would be the best outcome of this whole experience.

  -30-

EXTRA: No more Jazz Record Mart. Musical philistines truly prevail

I’m sure some people are going to respond to this commentary with a “So F---in’ What!” and claim we’re somehow better off that the Jazz Record Mart – located at various spots just north of downtown Chicago throughout its history – is no more.

Just a few of the final purchases ...

All I have to say is that those people are cultural philistines – with a few choice obscenities placed in that label as well.

AS ONE WHO particularly enjoys jazz and blues music and was always disgusted at the selection of said recordings available at the typical suburban mall record shop or department store record department, I remember thinking that the Jazz Record Mart was a truly unique asset that made our city superior.

The kind of place that out-of-towners would (or should) make a point of checking out during their time in Chicago. It certainly would be more worthwhile than any time spent at Navy Pier buying tacky junk in their gift shops.

Or thinking there’s something culturally significant to eating at the pier’s Bubba Gump Shrimp restaurant.

But the Chicago Tribune reported that the store closed up shop on Monday. It seems the deal was finalized Monday morning, and at that moment had to close for good – leaving some would-be customers locked out and unable to make one final record buy.

I MADE MY own final trip to the store about one month ago, and I have to confess it was the first time I had been there in a couple of years – which is probably a good part of the reason why the store is no more.

Although its owners told the Tribune it is the growing rent rates for downtown Chicago real estate that made it too costly to keep doing business at its Illinois Street location.

... I made during my final trip ...

On the day I went there, I have to confess to blowing about $100 – which is something I used to do a lot, but haven’t in quite a while. In part because my own record collection accumulated over the past four decades has grown quite comprehensive – particularly since I inherited the records my brother had collected prior to his passing away.

I’m still sorting through his vinyl assortment, which now gives me an absurd amount of recorded music for one to own.

BEFORE ANYONE STARTS telling me about the wonders of downloads, let me say I’m not buying it. Not only because I’m convinced that a clean, well-preserved piece of vinyl will give you better sound than anything involving digital recording.

... to the Jazz Record Mart.

But because I want the physical feel of the albums and their covers – and also enjoy the technology of a record turntable more than I ever could using my computer or an iPod (which I have never owned) to play recordings.

Besides, the idea that people came from around the nation to shop at Jazz Record Mart isn’t odd. The last time I was there, I had to wait in line behind a guy who plunked down something like $500 worth of recordings on his credit card.

He said he was from Houston, and made a point of visiting the store every time business brought him to Chicago, because there just wasn’t anything comparable in Houston. And to think, there are some fools who want to believe that Houston will surpass Chicago in any sense some day soon.

THE ONE THING I did notice when I was last at the store was that the stock included rock ‘n’ roll records along with their other stock. Which probably means it needed the additional revenue such stuff brought in, instead of relying on the sounds of Charlie Parker or Billie Holliday to keep alive.

Now I can hear Gene Vincent's 'Pistol Packin' Mama'

Although it would seem that having the old Mick Jagger or Aerosmith records weren’t enough to generate the kind of money that let the store pay its rent at a downtown location.

 

I must confess to even buying one rock record, along with my other final purchases – Radio Gold, a compilation of songs that were big hits in Great Britain. Where else can I hear Frankie Lymon’s “I’m Not A Juvenile Delinquent” along with Frankie Laine’s take on the theme from “Rawhide.”

And if you tell me the “Rawhide” theme was done by Elwood Blues, I’m prepared to dismiss you as a truly clueless musical philistine.

  -30-

EDITOR’S NOTE: A Facebook-based tribute to Hegewisch Records, another comprehensive record shop that is no more where I spent far too much time and money during my youth. I suspect I'm going to become very acquainted with Beverly Records on the city's Southwest Side in coming years.