I had a recent experience of meeting someone who is "Internet famous", an organizer of conferences and a name in the tech world. While it may have been because of the extreme travel conditions, I found him to be cold, begrudgingly offering a limp handshake,  and generally not giving a rat's ass about what I said, which was basically an appreciation of what he's done in the past. My mind has come around to thinking of this person as a sham and a ruthless self-promoter who spams all Linkedin connections on the premise that "if you're connected, you're interested in everything I'm doing". I mention this for a reason: it's bullshit. Unless you are only connected to a very small number of people and can follow every single event they produce regardless of whether it is of interest to you or even happening on a continent you inhabit or not. I've met a lot of people in over 40 years on the road. Nothing is uglier than those who think they are hot shit; they are only half right about that.

While I was visiting Shanghai, I noticed that Herbie Hancock was appearing there in concert a couple of nights. He was even quoted in the China Daily newspaper, calling China "a beacon of [hope and friendship]". Seeing Herbie's name reminded me of the day I met him. My old friend Victor was playing bass in the Monster Band at that time and so was my other piano hero, Nate Ginsberg. Imagine being a keyboard player for Herbie? I was able to go hang out at a rehearsal they were having. The photo shows the look the guys had - hair really changes in 3 decades.

I've always been more interested in the piano than the guitar, so my heroes over the years have been Art Tatum, Oscar Petersen, Red Garland, Wynton Kelly, Monk, McCoy Tyner, Herbie, Chick Corea, Keith Jarret and of course the great Bill Evans. I've seen several of thgese guys live. We saw Bill Evans in an L.A. club where they wouldn't let us sit in the empty front row, because it was "reserved for the press". It remained empty all night. Bill, and Monk too, were both in their last phases of illness when I saw them at Shelly's Manne Hole. Maybe in Bill's case substance abuse added to the mix. I know it wouldn't have been pleasant to meet either at that time of their lives, but Herbie... He was already huge in jazz, respected by all and now he was a rising star with the younger generation, funky music with great musicians, monsters playing the shit out of it! As you got bigger, many accused him of "selling out". Funny how that happens, in the arts, success is always associated with "selling out"

So the memory of Herbie is simple, They were playing a high energy tune, I moved over to the other side in front of the stage and just as I crossed over to get a better look at Herbie, I unplugged the entire P.A. system and all the amps, silencing everyone but Sheila, whose percussion went on for a few seconds. I immediately put the conectors back together or maybe a roadie did while I tried for invisibility. The fact is though, I did meet Herbie after the rehearsal, he of course recognized me immediately and waved away my apology. I noticed his reaction as I told him what you do in that situation, trying to express your admiration, something they've heard a zillion times before. Herbie is undoubtedly one of the great piano geniuses of all time. Unlike say, Bill Evans, who was a horrible, unhappy guy to just about everyone, Herbie made me feel like telling him about listening to his music mattered, it pleased him that his artistic endeavors made a difference to people, regardless of who or where they were. Most will never have to find out, but if you acheived stardom, what exactly would you be like? I wonder if the growing number of wannabes on reality shows are practicing their "nice" chops? 

Started a new Remembering Paul site for people who'd like to contribute to his memorial

On the night of our 30th wedding anniversary I learn of the death of Paul Lagos, a man who had a tremendous influence on me musically since our first meeting in the early 70's. Paul and I were born on the same date, but different years.

Paul played with Kaleidoscope and recorded with Leo Kotke, did a lot of recording in L.A., played in the Johnny Otis Revue and then went on tour with John Mayall, John Klemmer, did a bunch of gigs in Los Angeles with jazz and blues players. We toured together in the Pure Food and Drug Act in 1972.

Yes it was a long time ago, when you got on stage with instruments; drums, guitars and a sound system and made music, sounds you heard in your imagination and then translated through your limbs to skins and guts.

Paul taught me about Miles and Coltrane and Joseph Schillinger, about Joe Henderson and Thelonius Monk. We were kids, Victor Conte and I, and we lived in his basement with his flea-infested Great Dane, "Gretta", and we were privileged to meet the likes of the brilliant saxophonist Richard Aplanaugh and Don 'Sugarcane' Harris - who, with Dewey Terry, wrote "I'm Leaving it All Up to You", one of the most played songs on the radio for years. Paul was a GIANT, I'll miss him.

The last time I saw Paul was on a tour for my own CD in about 1995 in France and Switzerland. Ironically, Paul and I played in Geneva in 1974 with a band called the Curtis Brothers. That gig was the inspiration for my song "Woman In White" which was linked to by a nurses' site but in fact the woman in white wasn't a nurse but a powder. Oh, the irony of the Internetz...

Paul, I didn't get to tell you that I loved you man, and now I can't even find out how to contact the woman you lived with to tell her how much your life and advice meant to me. Maybe someone will read it here.

We shared a short period of music nearly 40 years ago, I feel "we hardly knew ye". Thanks for Trane, Miles, Bird, Monk and yes, the blues I feel tonight in learning of your passing.

Please take a moment to listen to this song. It isn't Paul on drums, he would have played it a lot better, but he was there when this moment took place and we laughed about it many times - because we survived it.

The Woman in White

I had a dreamIn the blue of the nightI was caught in the schemeOf the Woman in WhiteLong agoThrough the mists of the pastShe blackened my soulIt all happened so fastDown Cadillac ValleyI copped me a dimeDid it in the alleyTo save a lotta timeWhen I almost died...As I slid to the groundI heard kind of cryLike a siren soundAnd I rememberMoments of blissThe scent of a smileor the color of her kissBut seeds of sorrowLay buried deep withinAnd I'm never going back Never goin' back thereEver againI woke with a screamIn a stone cold sweatI know that meansThat I'll never forgetThat she got my moneyNearly took my lifeIt's time I stopped runningFrom the Woman In WhiteAnd I rememberMoments of blissThe scent of a smileor the color of her kissBut seeds of sorrowLay buried deep withinNever going back Never goin' back thereEver again

 "Why?" I asked, having to try to keep the party going and get it got to
the conclusion we were hoping for, Victor and I.

 "Because it's so repetitive." said Bambi.

 We always had stuff playing and at that time it was a tape of Ron Carter with
Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter and Tony WIlliams. The baddest of the
bad, together. They played some kind of crazy stuff so creative it
scared me. As the above exchange was taking place, Ron and the boys
launched into the head of a tune, played it twice, and then took off on
15 minutes of improvised solos. Although improvised, at this level there
is structure and if you listen you can hear it. It's the best kind of
structure, not contrived but perceived and shared on the fly.

 So after 15 minutes of beauty from chaos, the band played the head of
the tune again. Bambi said: "See what I mean? Too much repetition!"

 Ironic that she actually was able to recognize the melody (thanks to
repetition through the changes of the head) and yet couldn't hear the
music.

 Imposing order on chaos doesn't guarantee quality, but at the worst, at
least it's a sign of good workmanship.

 Turning chaos into beauty is a miraculous thing, like a spider web. It
takes a human being to perceive the structure and with it the beauty of
the creation of great art, great music, great food and great wine.

Some of my most poignant musical memories took place in a club called
Shelley's Manne-Hole, in L.A. I lived there in the early 70's, way after
a deceased friend wrote about it as "a green and groovy place to be". It
was already a smoggy and brown place to be, but there was excitement as
a young musician trying to hook up with gigs and recording dates.
 
"Cop and blow" was always a big thing, go look at the people who changed
the idiom, like Bill Evans, Thelonious Monk, McCoy Tyner (Trane was
already dead and I never saw him play live) and lots of locals like
Bobby Hutcherson. In a jazz club, then as now, while brilliant talented
people compose gems live for you on stage, materialistic conversions
between dealers and hookers and their public go on unhindered.
 
Why "poignant"? Because in the case of Bill Evans and Monk, both were
visibly at the end of their tethers, tired, sick and almost beyond the
reach of the ecstasy that such artists must have felt in their earlier
gigs when they were moving up, not only in fame, but in power of
expression.
 
Wow, that seems so heavy I need to insert an anecdote that might make you
laugh as it does me when I recall it. This was in another jazz dive, The
Lighthouse in Redondo Beach. The band playing was Airto. He always had
to say, "Ey, Ear, Toe" and point to the body parts. Good musician and a
spirited human. His (wife?) was Flora Purim, remember she sang on Chick
Corea's Return to Forever version of Spain and all that. Another
far-reaching music innovation. So anyway, Airto and Flora are standing
next to each other at their mics and they each had a marked round pot
belly. The Brazilian music they were playing was loud and had a lot of
breaks to mark the rhythms. Conversation was impossible (not should one
want to converse) but my saxophonist friend Richard A. turned to me and
said, exactly at the moment of a four beat break, when the entire
crowded room was absolutely silent: "Can you imagine them shtupping?"
and then the music started up again.
 
 
Here's a link to a much earlier Bill Evans recording at Shelley's