Thursday, December 1, 2011

The Natural Laws and Principles of Ye Jamme Session

Like all other slightly deviant activities in the  universe, or the back bar, whichever you happen to be in at the time, the Melbourne (*) Jam Sessions are subject to immutable laws, generally empirically derived, and only clarified by the third or fourth round of drinks.




ABILITY  The Inverse Law of competence: This states that the amount of time taken to set up and start playing your instrument is inversely proportional to the level of competence subsequently displayed.


IMPROVISATION: The Law of Improvisation states that the number of notes played per nano second is often a clear indication of the complete lack of creativity in any given solo. Or of a devotion to late stage middle age be-bop fixation, which is much the same thing.


SOUND LEVELS: This law states that the louder you play, the better it will sound. It is a crap law, but does appear to have widespread support.


COMPLEXITY: The Law of Complexity states that complex tunes and/or arrangements, must generally be attempted by people deeply unable to master them, and deeply unable to appreciate that they remain un-mastered.. This Law of Complexity is often enhanced by the attemptee indulging in long explanations to other players of the form, intro, outro, key, fifth page repeated three times etc. etc. This leads to the Law of Perplexity


THE LAW OF PERPLEXITY: This states that the extent to which any given musician could not give a rats posterior about the long winded explanation (see above) is exactly proportional to the relative ability of that player vis a vis the attemtptee (see above again...)


THE GADGETS PRINCIPLE: The Gadgets Principle is that the number of gadgets required by a musician multiplied by the number of minutes required to connect said gadgets, divided by the number of tunes that could have been played in the time taken to rummage around for all the gadgets in the first place, then added to the the number of musicians standing around waiting for gadget connecting sequence to be completed... is errmm... a very silly number indeed.


THE COOLNESS QUOTIENT: This quotient can be derived by dividing your age by the number of years spent in studying jazz,. If the answer is between 7 and infinity, you need to stay out of the sun, acquire black clothes, a pork pie hat, a supercilious sneer, thick rimmed spectacles and a goatee beard. If female, you can skip the pork pie hat.


If your answer is below 7, you rock, Dude, probably own at least one skivvy with no writing on it, prefer vinyl to CD, know someone who knows someone who has heard of you but never met, and have travelled extensively in third world countries such as Carlton North and Abbotsford.


Footnote
Melbourne (Australia) is not known as the cultural capital of the South for nothing. It is a city of around 3.5 million people,  who all wear black, know where the best coffee in Melbourne is, and voted for someone else at the last election, so cannot be held responsible...




Monday, November 7, 2011

Advertising the jam sessions: tits to that!

Advertising every session every week is as much of a challenge as describing every session every week. I have put ads on Melband, which is a blog related to all thing musical in Melbourne, Australia. God knows if the ads worked... some very weird people have turned up on occasion, but I am consoled by the thought  that quite a lot of equally weird people haven't... so here goes: 

You are not allowed to say “tits” on the website any more:" Drop in and blow the tits off your fave toon or three, in front of an audience that is house-trained, enthusiastic, confused and friendly."

Kylie Minogue! "The jazz jams are a great opportunity to meet other musos, do a little networking on the side, set up the Next Big Thing, or Medium Sized thing if you prefer, try out a toon or three, whatever. Kylie Minogue won't be there this week. Probably. I haven't checked with her management."

Where is it? "The Leinster Arms, Gold Street, Collingwood - its half a falafel North of Johnson Street if you are a quick eater..."

A Warm welcome: "The beer is cheap, the audience have absolutely no taste in music but like it just the same and a warm welcome is assured."

The week after a busy session...no-one is expected to be there at all. This is your opportunity to launch your gigging career, play to an empty house, monopolise a vacant stage, indulge your inner muse, polish up your ukulele, maybe even play in tune (with yourself perhaps?). There again, there could be any number of musos to meet, some of whom are alarmingly normal, not all of whom are on medication, and most of whom will be happy to jam on a toon or three..

 A Suitable Motto perhaps: "Enthusiasm essential, charts a bonus, performance anxiety optional and competence to be well concealed as a kindness to others"

Chops? This is an opportunity to try out new stuff, develop your chops, whatever they are, and network with other musos. Or just drink beer.

It's free!: "Jazz musos invited, everyone else just welcome..."


Questions:" Send an e-mail for more information. (Can I play Coltrane? What's a chart? Where's the effin' Royal Standard? Can I play excerpts from The Sound of Music? Can Coltrane play excerpts from The Sound of Music? Do I feel smug if I know the answer to that last question?..."

Competence: "Jazz musos of all levels of incompetence (from the profound through stupefyingly to slightly) are respectfully requested to front up, deny everything and then blow the tits off their favourite tune - or just sit back and get in the groove. Hortense likes that....  "

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Golf

Golf

A pleasant walk in the countryside, ruined. The golfer Gary Player once chipped a ball from a near unplayable lie to within inches of the pin. A spectator  was heard to comment - Wow, that was a lucky shot! Gary agreed that it certainly was, but, observed that the more he practiced, the luckier he got...

Not much luck at  the Sunday Arvo Leinster Jam De Luxe, then. . Strewth, but  they all turned up - some even played music. As fine an afternoon of ballad mangling as I can remember, so props to Frank the Finger, Keef (in fine form, kept playing the Captain's faves before Col could get to them) Paul drums 'n bass, Don, Jacin, John (a diverse selection of guitaristes this week), Agus (piano) accompanying Sir Roger who blew up a storm on alto sax, Noriyo (late starter, piano) , I think Ali and Peter played sax, but I can't remember either , Jack on  Trombone, whose singing is no idle threat, all directed, as ever by Captain Chaos who had stops, fours, rhythm changes, medication changes, and another beer at the bar for me please, all down to a fine art. Glen (landlord) got a fine round of applause for his drumming, and, come to think of it, so did Alan, when he stopped.

Jam sessions: a pleasant romp through the standards, ruined. And no one got within cooee of the pin. Tells ya something, but I am not sure what...



Melbourne Australia: the jam session capital of the free world, or this part of it anyway. The Leinster Arms Hotel, Gold Street Collingwood, Sunday afternoon from 4.00pm onwards. If you are passing by this part of the world (which you probably won't be unless you start somewhere North of the Equator and need to get to Antarctica,) feel free to drop in,  blow up a storm, preferably on your own violin, tell exaggerated stories about your musical or golfing career, and buy us all a drink. We'd love to see you. Really.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

On Jam Sessions:

I have been thinking about the nature of Jam Sessions. In New York, jams are dominated by professionals, as perhaps they should be.  In London, apparently, there is a jam every night of the week, mainly for professionals, but with amateur sit ins; some with a cover charge for the audience and musos in for free; others where they pass a bucket round and everyone tosses in a coin. Here in Melbourne, deep south capital of culture (not),  jam sessions seem to come and go, and vary between the deadly serious rendition of (normally) bebop,  and the entirely light hearted mangling of whatever tune springs to mind. No prizes for guessing where the Melbourne Jazz Jammers sit.


We have no jam sessions for professionals, for the simple reason that those few professionals that survive on Melbourne gigs are way too busy trying to earn a living and/or claw their way to the top. It shouldn't take long, as the top is remarkably close to the bottom.


It is a pity really, as jam sessions, free or not, are an easy entry point for people interested in listening to, or playing, jazz. I feel that they really help promote the jazz scene, and build an audience for up and coming musos.


The MJJ sessions are squarely aimed at the enthusiastic amateur. This invites disaster as there are always a few whose self esteem runs way ahead of their ability(*) . But in between the train wrecks, are moments of ballad mangling delight - a bunch of incompetents having fun is always entertaining, and the Jammers often have the audience numbers to prove it.


(*) It is often said that to be a good jazz piano player, you need a very high opinion of your own ability. True enough, and as they say, in my case, entirely justified...




Sunday, October 2, 2011

Sunday Arvo at the Lunatic Soup Kitchen

Sunday Arvo at the Lunatic Soup Kitchen, mouldering pile and watering hole of distinction in the grubby backstreets of Melbourne, Australia .  Glen the Landlord was giving away free beer, but that was yesterday.


Ah yes, the jam, now let's see. Started well enough with the usual suspects Col, Frank and Brian, joined shortly thereafter by meself, Al The Jazz (drums) and Jack the Lad (trombone).  Ali (tenor sax) joined the Captain, and then Keef sauntered in, as he does. Very good sauntering from Keef, we all thought.


The music ranged from Naima (Coltrane) to When My Baby Walks Down the Street (tin pan alley). Ali's friend/sister/complete bluddy stranger got up and sang My Funny Valentine followed by the Eva Cassidy arrangement of Autumn Leaves.. McCue played well until  he fell for the old make-it-hard-for-the-piano-player trick, and got lumbered with You Don't Know What Love Is, played in entirely the wrong tempo by all concerned. You Don't Know What the Tune Is, played by all unconcerned,  more like. Rob retired to the bar to contemplate the sight of four sets of feet tapping away, to four different beats..


The Jazz was so good on the sticks, we had a struggle persuading Hirsh to take over, but eventually he conquered his nerves (hah!) and positively ripped through Bernie's Tune, One For My Father, and a coupla others. Somewhere in the middle of all that, a young lady aged about 10 got up and played some solo piano. Precocious brat, disgustingly confident, quite good. Shouldn't be allowed. Then Noriyo from Kyoto stepped up and played keys for fine renditions of Ipanema and Satin Doll, and will hopefully do so again.

An entertaining afternoon, with an audience that stayed, drank and gossiped as they should. It  ended with the usual riotous assembly ripping out a fine version of  Doxy then comprehensively murdering Route 66, We'll probably do it all again next week, only better, or worse, or backwards.

My Funny Valentine , by the way, is no laughing matter. Autumn Leaves, but it keeps coming back. We didn't play Summertime., and most of the other tunes weren't much better. There is nothing wrong with a jazz waltz chart that a box of matches couldn't fix. Captain Chaos could organise fours without total confusion resulting, but he prefers not to, and from an entertainment value standpoint, I think he is on to something.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Sunday at the Leinster: A Jam Session perhaps

Sunday at the Leinster: All chips and nonsense really. What had started as a quiet afternoon with Frank, Brian and Col performing the opening stanza for the benefit of Don and meself, turned out to be one of those typically chaotic ballad mangling sessions with the likes of Maria, Deb, and Kay taking it in turns on the tonsils, whilst the rest of us (that is once Keef, Jack, and Jim had joined in)  had a quick loop through the Captain Chaos book of songswhatcolknows, some young drummer turned up , turfed the world's 4,578th worst drummer off the skins, tweaked the tempo and entirely disconcerted the string section toasting by the fire. Then a casual passer by got up to sing Summertime as casual passers by occasionally do, only she really could sing.

Frank the indefatigable played Route 66 without resorting to his Melways, Debbie sang One Note Samba so fast it sound like half a note samba, and the evening ended in style, with Maria, Deb, Kay and POCKOTL taking turns round Bye Bye Blackbird. A wonderful song sung with such vigour that by the end of it, there was not a single blackbird left in the Leinster Arms Lounge Bar and Lunatic Soup Kitchen, and not many paying customers either... so we all rolled out into the gathering dusk, reflecting on the fact that some jazz tunes might sound better with a bossa, swing and country feel all emanating from different corners of the pit orchestra, only we don't know which ones.. and nor, given the afternoon's entertainments, which proved many and varied, should we care....

For the benefit of casual readers from somewhere other than Melbourne , Australia, I append some helpful explanatory notes:

The Leinster:: this is a pub styled in the manner of a 1950's recreation of a midland counties 1923 hotel gone to seed.
" Frank the Indefatigable played Route 66 without resorting to his Melways" The Melways is a locally produced book of maps, whereby one can tell exactly where one is lost in Melbourne, which is a sprawling city of some 3 million souls, all of whom wear black.
And Frank got lost, by the way.

POCKOTL: Princess of Cool and Keeper of the List: she who has the e-mail list for the jammers newsletter. Has been known to dance on the tables with an inverted salad bowl on her head, and swearing like a trooper in Greek. Most of this is completely untrue.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Jazz v Blues, Corporate Gigs and 27

Jazz v Blues

I read the other day that the difference between jazz musicians and blues is that blues musicians play three chords in front of thousands of people, whilst jazz musicians play thousands of chords in front of three people.

Three people! Jazz audiences must be getting bigger....


Corporate gigs

I keep getting asked to do corporate gigs. (Well, if you count once in a blue moon as keep getting asked). I have always liked corporate gigs because they pay well, but I have never been quite sure what "corporate" means. Body or something, I guess. Whatever, these are gigs attended by people with cloth ears and high disposable income. They have the high disposable income because someone else is paying for it. I don't know where they get the cloth ears from, but I am not complaining.

27

All that stuff about musicians dropping off the perch at 27.  I can't help feeling that it is not the music that kills them, but the management. Amy Winehouse is going to be a very profitable industry judging by the record sales. She was a real person before she became a pop icon with a habit. Thankfully, most jazz musicians do an absolutely marvellous job in avoiding the pitfalls of making too much money.


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

I think there is a review of a Jam Session in there somewhere...


Before her Bairnsdale ballerina debacle, Madge from Altona was fairly keen on a young bicyclist by the name of Francis.. His aim, apparently was to do the Tour de France, Madge's aim, was of course to do something several degrees lower. She could never resist the offer of a Ploughman's lunch, especially if there were pickled onions and cold tongue involved. Whatever, she would have settled for the Tour de Francis, and very nearly did. That was in her early days, when she could still get into a corset, (although she preferred getting into trousers). 


Their favourite haunt was The Stuffed Parrot, which  was at that time in full swing. The music was hot, and the  jazzeurs were, by their own estimation, somewhat cool cats, who had taken to  affecting foppish looks, wearing a slouched berets, thick black framed glasses, and smoking cheap American cigarettes. Of course, the good folk of Altona do not take kindly to that sort of thing, so they also learnt to play every tune very fast, and run even faster. Especially if Madge was in the audience.

But I digress. The Leinster Arms, ah yes, that was what I was getting to. Got there Sunday arvo actually.   Frank and Brian starting off, with a bit of key from meself, and sax from Keef.  We took a tour through the Jack the Lad chartbook, Sam came in and played some drums, and we all managed to massacre Bernie's Tune, before blithely ignoring the fact that Chega De Saudade has two pages. Captain Chaos put us right on that one, Don wielded the axe for a while and Miss Sonya took out the tonsils and waltzed through a coupla ballads as you do. Then as the headcount/chaos factor mounted, Sam whipped out his organ.

We eventually got the life ban from the Leinster Lizard Lounge and Cabaret Club lifted, by explaining that it was a Hammond; and stepping over the prostrate form of a deeply disappointed Hortense, or not as the case may be, resumed with what is sometimes laughingly referred to as music for a splendid little session. I might try that again next week.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Happy Birthday is in F and Hortense has been out shopping

It is almost gratifying to hear people ask after Hortense, she who hovers in the nether recesses of the room, acquiver with excitement at the thought of yet another jam session; or not, as the case may be. She would not, as it turns out, have been disappointed with Sunday's shenanigans at all, leavened as it was with the 76th celebration of Alan's birth. There was an afternoon of fine music making, aural delights, wild jazz and blues, artistic creativity of the highest order etc etc. or she could have gone to the Leinster Jam Session instead, and heard the usual suspects mangling the usual tunes in the usual way, whilst the rest of us gossiped maliciously, spread doubtful rumours and sipped the occasional lunatic soup by way of diversion.

Al "Papa" Jazz is, as we are slowly realising, a natural on drums - you can tell he has never had a lesson in his life. He is so good he can play drums just as well in his sleep. . It seems like only yesterday that he discovered that drumsticks come in pairs. It is indeed a rare talent that takes seventy six years to reach this level of competence.

All in all, this was The Leinster Arms at its finest: packed to the gills and rocking. If you were there, and I haven't mentioned your name, it is because you are young, good looking and talented, and the rest of us are jealous. If you weren't there, then we were probably talking about you anyway.

But I digress. Hortense spent Sunday furniture shopping. (ah yes, that was the point I was getting to), so she may not have been at the Leinster after all. Intrigued by an ad that said all furniture was 50% off, and "Hurry!!! at this price the stock won't last long!" she rushed out and bought a sofa. Truth in advertising: the legs fell off on Monday morning.

See ya at the jam.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Thomas G Crapper and the Jam Sessions

The Leinster Arms jam sessions, possibly one of Australia's finest gathering of amateur jazz talents, but probably not, bring to mind the lifetime achievements of Thomas G Crapper. Thomas G Crapper, was, as many would know, the inventor of the modern flushing toilet. We are all deeply indebted (particularly when you think the alternative). Sadly, Thomas, flushed with success ,(sorry about that) did not possess the good sense to quit whilst he was ahead.

He went on and invented the toilet seat! And men have been copping it from women ever since. Idiot Crapper!

Jam sessions can be like that: an indifferent tune, played indifferently is often, in the minds of its exponents, best exhumed by the big BIG BIG ending, where everyone endeavours to play as many notes as possible, in the hope that they can get to play the last note of all.

Big deal! -  it generally sounds like crap. The audience does not just clap when  you stop - they are clapping because you stopped.   Just like Thomas G should have done, why not quit whilst you are ahead?

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

So what?



And Boplicity as it turned out, and various other tunes of the era (4.56pm on October 32nd 1957, I think)

Sunday at the Leinster Arms, ancient hostelry (by Australian standards* anyway), Kay opened the innings by singing up a storm with Georgia, Stormy Weather and a few other show tunes , Taariq on bass, Mr Hirsh on drum thingies, all reduced to a state of musical mayhem by Captain Chaos blowing up a storm on his sax. Then a sit down, with an appreciative audience (well, they didn't leave, and some took their ear plugs out), suitably refreshed with Carlton Daft, Ned's Red and other varieties of lunatic soup. Frank's elegant bass took over and drove things along nicely for a while, jazz tyro Al - almost in the all time top 6,396 for drumming (but not quite...) took a stint on the drums, the aforementioned Col took his leave for a rehearsal in Dandenong, and some one whose name I will eventually get played soprano sax. Exquisitely. I don't even like soprano sax as a rule, but warmed to it rapidly.  Keith and Jack joined in for some big band style numbers. All in all, a typical jam session, except that Paul (trombone), who leaps onto bass every week and hopefully plays the opening riff of So What, actually got his chance to play it as a closing number, and absolutely smoked it. I don't even like So What as a rule, but...

...so what?





* this is ironic. Australia doesn't have any standards. If it did, they would have been stolen from New Zealand or something, and this wasn't possible, as New Zealand hadn't been colonised by the Poms, and all standards were in Maori, which is admirable but incomprehensible.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Telemarketers

Brrrt... Brrrt...  Hello?
Hello - I am calling from the (insert name of company you have never heard of). How are you today?
Are you try to sell me something?
Oh no, I am just calling to.....
I'm sorry, I only take sales calls. Goodbye.
Click
Pfft - works for me!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

More Guidance for Jazz Jam Sessions

Dubious guidance, of course... originally written for the edification of jam session regulars in Melbourne Australia, but it will be just as irrelevant wherever you are...

How to sing in one easy lesson:
Open the gargle full wide and breathe in through the catskills. Adopt stance of herniated french onion seller and crease the visage with a sternly emotive look. Or just squint at the lights. After letting the band play the intro four times, come in on the 5th beat of the 23rd bar. Screech or howl convincingly (screech is for ballads, howl is for blues) and collect applause, lippy, handbag and someone else's cheeky little chardonnay on the way out. 

How to play the saxaphone in one easy lesson:
Grasp the fernuggle by the snotter, and take a read of the manual. Lick the read so no-one else will pinch it, and spread the fingies evenly over the rattly buttons. If feeling posh, cock the pinky and stand at the front with weight evenly spread over three or four feet. Adjust snotter, check zip and epiglottal your way through 16 bars. Repeat until cooked...

How to play bass in one easy lesson:
Lugubrious is the look, as in "I play bass, and no-one ever lets me take a solo, and even if they do, the friggin' bass is no good for soloing anyway." Bass players are to jazz what Eeyore is to Winnie the Pooh.

How to play piano in one easy lesson:
Not tellin'. Too many of them already. Smug bastards generally.

How to play accordion in one easy lesson:
This should not be attempted under any circumstances. The definition of a gentleman is someone who owns an accordion but does not play it.


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Better Than Nothing

I might have seen Hortense the other day. She was in a small quandary, poor thing,  barely adequate for this time of year.  Hortense has been hanging out for the postman for weeks now, hoping he'd come around but he hasn't and her mailbox has lain empty for quite some time .  Hortense retains her unflagging optimism, although it was sadly dented by the circumstances of her dismissal from the Oscar Beetroot Band (*). Quite why she lit the torch for her last cabaret song is a mystery to us all, and given that the Poisoned Ferret burnt to the ground during the third chorus, it is a mystery which must remain unsolved. Every year since, she lights a candle on the anniversary, sets fire to the curtains, and watches the Fire Brigade put it out with their big hose.


It's better than nothing.


Much like the jam session last Sunday. A quiet afternoon threatened, with everyone away for Easter, no bass, no drums, but singers and saxaphones a'plenty, Bob,  Marion and meself on keys, all upstaged by the return of (cue trumpet) Peter Dann, anonymous author of the great Melband put-down, and gentle blower of the silver bugle - we just had to pin back the lug'oles and listen.  POCKOTL held court at the back of the bar and Al amused himself at the drum set. Whilst it is generally accepted that there is a beat in a bossa, Al is still working out which part of the bar it should be in (**). 


Singers on the day were Deb, Maria, Lisbeth, Sonny (blues)  and (cue tonsils) one time jammer Amanda whose knee is no longer crook, and whose singing never was.. Other familiar faces in the gathering included the avuncular Mark, and Peter, one of the few carpenters who can still count to ten. Welcome back.


It was all quite a bit better than nothing.

(*)  No consideration of the Balkan conflicts of the Nineteenth Century would be complete without at least one reference to the Oscar Beetroot Band, although I am not sure why.

(**)  In the corner, next to the piano. Hortense could show him where to put it in a flash.



Monday, April 4, 2011

On Neitzsche, numbers and the jam session du jour (that's Sunday to you)

The venerable Friedrich , philosopher and misogynist (*), held the opinion that numbers do not exist. There cannot be two of anything as each thing is unique. It is a little known fact that old FN was keen on the drums as a young man, and once played in  the infamous Oscar Beetroot band that contributed almost nothing to the rise of subversive cabaret in pre war Berlin.  There can be many reasons why this fact is little known, not least of which is that it is entirely untrue. But I digress.

Numbers, yes, Hortense. All different, as they should be. And a fair few of them got trotted out on Sunday arvo at the Leinster Arms, watering hole of the impoverished and nondescript (amongst others.).  Summertime, Autumn Leaves, Sugar, The Old Country, (solo by Col, reprise by Lisbeth), Night and Day (Marieke). Keef on saxinet and/or clariphone,  Uncle Jack turning up late and blowing a few bent notes (as you have to on a trombone) Michelle (p) and Rachel (v) romping through the song book (Route 66, Stand By Me and a few others)  Deb bouncing about in fine form, and Glen eventually getting up to bossa and bop on his new drum set. There was dancing, needless gossip, rumours and red wine, (and Maria who didn't sing whilst I was there) . And don't mention the bass player, Frank, whoops I just did. Well, he was in fine form, as ever.

Next Sunday, we are all going to finish in time to go to Paris Cat to hear Bob Sedergreen's singers class perform. If you haven't been before, this can be a lot of fun, as everyone drags out their maiden aunts, friends surplus to requirements, husbands, wives and pets, complete bluddy strangers and that weird waiter from the Indian takeaway  taxi rank that you picked up last Tuesday. A polyglot crowd to listen to some polyglot singers.

All different

Nietzsche would have approved.


     (*)    " Woman was God's second mistake."   Friedrich Nietzsche 

Monday, March 28, 2011

Seven Thoughts and a letter from The Nora Breadstick Correctional Facility. Altona

Grand Prix week in Melbourne. Revhead heaven apparently: which got me thinking.....


If 110,000 people sit on the grass and watch 24 lunatics in very fast cars for five hours, they will probably create less carbon pollution per capita than musos driving to and from a jam session. Aren't statistics wonderful!

If all the rock guitarists in Melbourne played Smoke on the Water it would be neither entertaining nor particularly unusual.

You can fit 60 political pamphlets into a trombone case, and still not get caught smuggling them out of the country. I know, I've done it.

In Ireland, the difference between a violin and a fiddle is that the violin has a case.

There are 2,143 separate parts in a the average unweighted keyboard. Regrettably, they are often joined up.

It is possible to learn and then play every Coltrane solo ever recorded note for note. It is also very silly, and not something that John Coltrane would ever have done.

Summertime can be played at a jam session in a key other than A minor. This remains a theoretical concept.



Rotten Ronnie sends his regards from the Nora Breadstick Correctional Facility, where he is currently residing following an unfortunate misunderstanding at the Altona Dog Show

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Madge from Altona's Little Book of Etiquette for Singers at Jam Sessions.

I was talking to Madge  from Altona the other day. They have magnificent lamp posts in Altona. Madge was leaning on one and it only fell over a bit. But I digress. Madge was bemoaning the lack of etiquette in singers at jam sessions these days, and has kindly come up with some simple ideas to help you at your next jazz triumph.

Introductions and Thankyous: Start by saying welcome to the Poisoned Ferret, (or whatever the name of the venue is). Particularly since the singer before you has already done that, and the singer before that. Jeez, most people had forgotten that was where they had come to, and I am sure the bass player never knew in the first place. Finish by introducing every member of "your" band, except one. Get most of the names wrong just to be sure.

Charts: If you have one, leave it at home. If you accidentally bring it to the jam, make sure it is in the wrong key, and printed so small that the pianist needs an industrial strength magnifying glass.
Bonus points for having a chart with 5 or more pages, all sticky taped together so that it falls on the floor at the end of page 1.

Following the Form: Either choose a song with no form whatsoever, or if it has a form, ignore it entirely. Loads of laughs to be had from seeing the band work that one out. Bonus points for altering the arrangement, in pencil, telling half the band, and then ignoring that too.

Tempo: You set the beat by counting in the song:- One..., Two..., One-Two-Three-Four. Come in on five, or seven, or when you feel like it . Bonus points if your chosen piece is in three/four time.

Rhythm: Avoid this altogether. It is just a silly convention amongst musos. Your song will sound much better if you add (or subtract) a few beats from the occasional bar. Keeps the band on their toes, and they will appreciate that.

Follow these rules and your performance will be truly unforgettable, and in the band's case, unforgiveable. They will welcome you back time and time again, for sure. Actually, that is about as likely as Django Reinhardt ordering more than three beers.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Belgium - What Were They Thinking?

Did you know that the saxophone was invented by a Belgian? Incredible!


Belgians have no sense of humour whatsoever. And IPods are now so sophisticated that all the saxophone solos ever recorded can be fitted on to a single IPod. And it doesn't float.


There's an opportunity for someone...

Sunday, March 13, 2011

A student's lot is not a happy one



Melbourne, like any other city, regularly hosts this debate from a number of students at or near the end of their jazz course at one or other of our esteemed Universities (Melbourne has four Universities, but only one Juvenile Remand Centre) This debate generally has six themes, all about how to make enough money as a serious jazz musician.


1 There aren't enough live venues: . True: Melbourne has four or five "serious" jazz venues, and any number of restaurants, bars and coffee shops which host jazz. They almost all give up live music or go broke on a regular basis (see Proposition 2 below)

2 We don't get paid diddley squat: True: that would be because live music costs more money than it makes, and the venue operators think they should take a cut, because they take the risk (see 1 above)

3 If we all refuse to take low paying gigs they will have to pay us properly...Not true: there will be no gigs (see 1 and 2 above)

4 Low-life venue managers are avaricious leeches exploiting our musical talents: Possibly true: but having that attitude may not persuade them to hire you...

5 We should all support each others gigs: This could work, except the average musician expects a door pass as a tribute to his or her talent, and even if they do spend money, can make a bottle of water last all night, or even for a full saxaphone solo on Footprints..

6 You can always take up teaching: your teacher got you into this position in the first place.

We have this debate every year because that is the exact fequency with which the Universities turn out another batch of highly talented musicians, almost all of whom are destined to a life of washing dishes, penury and/or teaching, and I am not sure which is worse. Teaching probably, as it perpetuates the system. At least washing dishes gets the dishes clean,and I am not really sure what penury entails. Not a lot, I suspect.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Definitely a Cat

It is raining. It often is in Melbourne these days. As I look out the window, I can see a cat on the roof: it isn't hot, it isn't tin but it is definitely a cat. There were jazz cats at the Leinster Arms this week: they probably weren't hot, it may not have been jazz, but it was definitely the Leinster.... and all for a Sunday arvo jazz jam session...
 
I got there late, after a gig in sunny salubrious Warrandyte, to hear young Emily singing up a storm as well as up an octave on Summertime, Bob at the piano, Frankplaysbass, is -Don -is -good on guitar, Peter on sax and Captain Col stressin' at the helm - in other words the usual state of mellow chaos, in a variety of keys and tempos (tempi?).
 
Debbie sang, Lailah sang (but not whilst I was there), Sandro sang, Malcolm played the sax (but not whilst I was there) and then got on the drums, in the absence of Al (I want to be Bluddy Rich) who wasn't there, possibly one of the greatest drummers in the Western world, possibly not. Get better soon. But I digress.
 
The afternoon then took on a slightly surreal flavour with the arrival of a combination Hen's Bucks party, staggering in to the key of inebriate. Some fine singing ensued, almost  in the right key, and occasionally with the lyrics and melody of the same song, at the same time.

It doesn't get any better than that, does it? We all wish it did, but you can't have everything.
 

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Why do we do it?

 It has been a funny old week in Godzone (1)St Kilda Festival to the South, Halls Gap Festival to the West, bugger all to the North unless you count Bendigo (2), and why would you want to do that? So no-one is going to turn up for a little ole Sunday session de jam at the Leinster Arms in the Melbourne salubrious suburb of  Collingwobble (3), innit? 

Wrong, as it turns out - Keef, Frank the Indefatigable and meself had a fine time amusing ourselves, and, peripatetically, a slightly confused lone drinker at the Leinster for quite-a-while, until singers Maria, Lisbeth, Malcolm the saxophonost, Alan the nearlytheworlds greatest drummer (4) and a whole bunch of listeners fronted for an afternoon of casual ballad mangling interspersed with white wine and malicious gossip. Pleasant - it really , really was.

Where did they go?
Over the four and a half centuries, or whatever, since the Melbourne Jam sessions started back at the original Dizzy's Jazz Club, there have been a considerable number of jammers (well over 500),  some of whom have gone on to bigger and hopefully better things. Where did they go? A quick survey this week came up with the following names
Whilst Captain Col probably sat in with every band in Halls Gap (I wouldn't know, I wasn't there), one time jammer Kate Vigo graced the stage at the St Kilda Fest, jam session maestro  Adam Rudegair launched his CD (catch Black Wax on PBS FM if you can - he presents an increasingly eclectic mix of jazz: http://www.pbsfm.org.au/blackwax ). One time jammer Amanda has stopped  sulking because her band got balloted out of Halls Gap, and is going to play Inverloch Jazz Festival with Rory Clarke (reputedly a close relative of the nefarious Sir Roger de Coverley whose mediaeval exploits and bebop proclivities are legendary)  Occasional singer Cathoel is reading this in New York, one time jammer Sam Izzo is too busy, also in New York, to read this, (but is dropping some mighty fine names of acts he has got to see there) and the rest of us are too busy either gardening or just feeling envious of all of the above...

Normal service will be resumed shortly, once the medication kicks in. In the mean time, stick to the black notes, they're cheaper.
Lost in translation: 
(1) Godzone: as in godzonecountry: Australia
(2) You may not have heard of Bendigo. Lucky you
(3) Collingwobble: aka Collingwood. The suburb was named after Samuel Pepys, who was named quite some time before
((4) Alan could definitely be the world's greatest drummer - its only the lack of ability as a drummer that is holding him back.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Jam Sessions: Rotten Ronny and his part in Hortense's story


It is a little known fact, quite probably untrue, that all saxaphone players have the same level of appeal for the ladies. Not much. Rotten Ronny the Gippsland cad was one such, before his unfortunate demise. He was descended from a semi famous father, Ronnie senior, who made his name playing the Invisible Man in a silent movie, having passed the audition with flying colours by not turning up and saying nothing. Sent his agent to collect the dough whilst sunning himself on the Costa Del Backbeach at Portseadarling for most of the 1920's. Poor Rotten Ronny was left to languish as third sax in the house band of Mme Trixie La Belle's Academie de Danse back in Altona West. He played a mournful saxaphone, to little effect. But I digress.
 
Sometime ago, Ronny caught the eye of the notoriously  promiscuous Hortense one night, whilst she was dancing wildly to a reggae version of Darktown Strutters Ball, or something. And promptly returned it, so he wasn't entirely a cad after all. One thing led to another, and soon he was saxaphonically serenading her from the street below her bedroom window, a musical enterprise which eventually earned him a ticking off at the local Magistrates, three demerit points for failing to stop after fourteen choruses of Footprints, and the partial admiration of the aforementioned Hortense, who was trying to sleep it off. I am not sure which it was being slept off.
 
If you have read this far, you will realise I didn't attend a jam session this week. I am sure it was fabulous. Might be a coincidence.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

On Warrandyte -



What is it with Warrandyte? - full of fading hippies who didn't quite achieve the mudbrick nirvana that Australians know and love as Eltham, but settled for the lesser 'burb, whose citizens only move in their own elevated social circles, and as a result end up dizzy and still in Warrandyte. Such a plethora of ageing university lecturers, lesbian potters and slightly louche middle-aged men in green shorts and whiskers suggests that if the world has not already passed them by, it soon will.
Whatever - Warrandyte was recently host to the 23rd most important Recorder Master Class in the civilised world, an event which, had you known it was to occur, would have had you drooling with anticipation. Drooling being a feature of the recorder apparently, and possibly of the lesbian potters as well, I wouldn't know.
I am deeply indebted to Marion for some (almost none) of this information, which made the pleasure of hearing her play piano at the Sunday arvo jam all the greater. Stinking hot (the weather, not Marion, but then again still waters run deep) and an afternoon of gentle ballads from the likes of Col (Capo di capo), Frank, Taariq, Glen on drums, Debbie (on gin and tonic), La Stewart on tonsil (a rare and radiant foray due to her having a private gig next week), Jack the Lad on trombone, and Kevin on guitar.
Highlight of the day, for me, was Taariq getting the groove going for Feelin' Good. We agreed at the end that it almost sounded like real music. Not like yer average jam at all really.
Apparently POCKOTL*   turned up late, having been mysteriously delayed by traffic in Warrandyte or somewhere, and clutching a magnificent glazed pot. Or not as the case may be, I wouldn't know, I wasn't there




* POCKOTL: Princess of Cool, Keeper of the List

Saturday, January 22, 2011

I still don't like Mondays

Who invented Mondays? Someone must have - miserable bastard.

Still, if we didn't have Mondays, Tuesdays would be much, much worse. And if your birthday fell on a Monday, and hadn't been invented, you would miss all the presents. But you wouldn't get any older.

Everything has its pros and cons.

Especially Silvio Berlusconi's barbeques, I gather.

Still don't like Mondays.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

JAMMIN'


I couldn't resist posting this from the La Pena sessions: nervous singer approaches the piano player: 

I want to sing a song “

Okay, what do you want to sing?”

Straighten up and Fly Right”

Do you know what key you sing it in?”

What's a key?”

Well, how high do you sing it?”

I'm in Grade Three”

Right, lads, Straighten Up and Fly Right, in Grade Three..”

And that is what Cassandra sang. She was 8 or 9 going on precocious.

Friday, January 14, 2011

The Jam Session Review that wasn't...

The Leinster Arms Jam Session Review

There wasn’t a jam session last week, and it wasn’t at the Leinster Arms, as is so often the case, or not as the case may be – so here is the review. No one turned up, no one played a bum note, and all the singers were note and word perfect, young, talented and glamorous. There were free drinks at bar prices as usual.


The Saxaphones: Ah, the saxaphones – did they notice there wasn’t a jam session? Of course not -being saxaphone players, they didn’t turn up, but would have stood at the front and played too many choruses if they had the chance. And let’s face it, if you had the chance , you wouldn’t have been a saxaphone player in the first place.

The pianists: They turned up alright, but in a parallel universe. If you are not good,children, they might come back.


The brass section: all brass players were warmly invited – which is about all they need, usually.


The drummers: What? What??? Whatawhatawhatawhat??!?? Oh never mind, I’ll have a beer thanks…


The bass players. What is the point of turning up anyway. Always stuck at the back. Could have turned up, but who would have noticed? They only notice when the bass player is not there…


The singers: just before the jam session we didn’t have was about to not finish, three singers turned up,…. no-one listening to meeee!  …so they all flounced out, sulking, never going to sing again unless asked really nicely… well, nicely would do… well damn well ask willya…well I might just get up and sing anyway…

The guitarists: of course they turned up – to 11

Remember to take your medication, or some-else’s if that works better for you, stick to the black notes, they’re cheaper, and turn up at the jam next Sunday – see ya there!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

A brief and splendidly inaccurate history of the Blues in Australia:


Blues music started in the Untied States of America when Blind Big Willy from way down somewhere else fell into a dumpster and came out clutching a ukulele with three broken strings and a bottle of Drano, which does something to the voice but I am not sure what. 

Blind Big Willy could only count to three, so that setled the question of which chords to play. Almost every blues song begins with "woke up this morning" , followed by a litany of daily catastrophes that is so inevitable  one wonders if waking up is in fact a bad career move. The Blues should have quit whilst it was still ahead ...but instead it developed into a dubious art form, requiring its exponents to (a) shoot a man in Memphis, (b) hitch a ride on the Midnight Special and (c) get done left by their woman on a regular basis, before dying of consumption, a broken heart, and a lifetime of luck, all of it bad....
 
At this stage it was brought to Australia by a travelling snakeoil salesman, where, in Melbourne at least,  it was enthusiastically adopted by Madge from Altona, Robbo the postman from Preston and several people mostly called Eric who saw it as a preferable alternative to paid employment. Disguising their middle class origins with such names as Fat Mama from Altona, Freddie the frontloader and the blind drunk boys of  Upper East Doncaster they would take it in turns to bemoan their fate and cadge drinks from an unsuspecting public due to the inadequacy of their non specific performing arts grants, received on a weekly basis in exchange for forged documentation suggesting they were actually applying for work in the field of brain surgery or some such.
 
And so it thrives, every week at the Leinster Arms, Gold Street Collingwood, on a Friday night, and a Sunday arvo.
 
Next week I will definitely attend something. Maybe, a jam session. Maybe you should too..