A Day In The Life Of A Record Fanatic

When I tell people that I'm a record collector and have thousands of LPs, one of the first questions I get is "How do you decide what to listen to?"  I suppose they imagine me spending hours staring at my wall of records, trying to figure out what the heck I want to hear next. 

Decisions, decisions . . .

 

 

But the fact is, I hardly ever spend time looking through my shelves for something to listen to (unless I've managed to misfile something and can't find it).  So, how do I decide what to play next?  It's a fair question, and I realized the other day that I don't have a good answer.  Sure, some days I wake up knowing that I want to hear some Beatles or Joe Venuti (look him up).  But usually it's a more subtle process that seems to happen organically based on my mood, the weather (really), a song I heard in the car the night before, an article from a music magazine about a group or performer that I haven't listened to in a while, a record review in an audio magazine, a blog post discussing the merits of different pressings of an album, an email ad for a newly reissued LP, or, often as not, looking through my pile of recent LP purchases for something interesting to start the day with.

As I wrote in a recent post, I regularly come home with 20-30 albums after going through the $1 bins at a record store or digging through crates at an antique mall.  And it's a rare week that I don't order an LP or two from Amazon or Discogs.  As a result, I almost always have 50-100 albums in the intake pile that I'm anxious to get to.

To better explain how it seems to work, I thought it might be interesting to pick a random day (last Friday) and make a list of the records I listened to that day and explain how I came to choose the particular albums.  Here you go:

#1
Earlier in the week I had read somewhere about the reissue of an album by a relatively unknown L.A. singer/songwriter named Jim Sullivan, who released two albums before mysteriously disappearing in the desert of New Mexico.  I'd never heard of Sullivan, but some sample tracks I listened to online sounded good, so I ordered the reissue.  Jim Sullivan was actually his second album, originally released in 1972.  While I was at it, I went ahead and ordered the reissue of his first album, called U.F.O., which originally came out in 1969.

Jim Sullivan arrived last Thursday, so first thing Friday morning I cleaned it, entered it in my database, and sat down for a listen.  It's terrific -- a lost jewel of southern California folk/rock.  These songs would have been right at home in the 70s in Laurel Canyon or at the Troubadour on Sunset Strip.  With some better luck, Sullivan could have been the next Jackson Browne or Glenn Frey, instead of disappearing in the desert of New Mexico.

#2
The lilting, driving rhythm on a couple of the songs from Jim Sullivan reminded me of the the great Fred Neil tune, "Everybody's Talkin'."  So after Jim Sullivan was over, I pulled down Fred's classic 1966 album, Fred Neil.  I have three copies -- an early 1969 Capitol reissue, a 2002 Scorpio reissue, and a 2013 reissue from the 4 Men With Beards label.  I played side 1 of the original Capitol version, then switched to the 4 Men With Beards version for side 2.  Both sound great, but the original has a bit more detail and tonal balance.  (I also sampled a couple of cuts from the Scorpio reissue, which isn't half bad, but not as good as the others.)  

This gives you some idea of the rabbit holes I tend to go down when I'm listening to music.  After doing the shootout with my three copies of Fred Neil and making a few notes for future reference, I went online to check Discogs for other releases of the album to make sure there isn't a better-sounding version available.  Thank goodness there is not, since I really don't need four copies.

Back to the music.  One of the last songs on Fred Neil is the traditional folk song "Green Rocky Road."  As I was listening, I thought: You know who else does a great version of that song?  Tim Hardin, that's who.

#3
Hardin's version of "Green Rocky Road" is on his first album, the 1966 release Tim Hardin 1.  As I went looking for the album, I realized to my horror that I don't have a copy.  The only version of "Green Rocky Road" I have by Hardin is on a 1970 "best of" collection that is not in great condition.  Not to be deterred, I grabbed the 1968 release Tim Hardin 4 and put it on.  It's a great set of bluesy songs anchored by John Sebastian's fine harmonica.  Interestingly, although it's called Tim Hardin 4, the album is really a demo tape Hardin made in 1964 as an audition for Columbia Records.  In 1968, his then label, Verve Forecast, repackaged the audition tape and put it out as a new release.  Hardin was apparently not amused.  

Fun facts: Hardin was a Marine and served in Southeast Asia.  Tim Hardin Nine, his last album, released in 1973, was actually his seventh or eighth album, depending on how you count.

Rabbit hole number two.  After listening to Tim Hardin 4, I had to stop everything and go back online to track down a copy of Tim Hardin 1 to fill the gap in my collection.  After a half hour on Discogs, I found a NM copy of the original pressing for a reasonable price and put in the order.  The album is currently on its was to me from somewhere in California. 

#4
While browsing Discogs, I also came across a nice reissue of Cannonball Adderley's 1958 classic Somethin' Else.  My only copy is the 2014 Blue Note 75th anniversary reissue, which I'd always planned to upgrade some day.  However, I decided I'd better give it a listen to be sure.  Yep, I was right -- incredible music, and a very good remaster by Chris Bellman, but the pressing by United Record Pressing is noisy with some weird low-level whumps.  So back to Discogs.  The reissue of Somethin' Else I had found was from 1997, part of Blue Note's "Top Ten Series," a limited edition of ten (duh) classic Blue Note titles remastered from the original analog tapes by the most excellent Ron McMaster at Capitol Records (which owned Blue Note at the time) and released on 180-gram vinyl.  Everything about this series is first-rate.  And the sound is fabulous.  Counting Somethin' Else, I now have eight of the ten releases in the series.  Get some!

#5
While I was putting Somethin' Else back on the shelf, I pulled out a few other Cannonball titles, including the 1961 release, Know What I Mean?, which features Bill Evans on piano, with the rhythm section of Percy Heath and Connie Kay.  It's one of my favorite albums (with a truly bizarre cover - at left), that features incredible interplay between Cannonball and Evans.  So, what the heck, I'm already in a Cannonball mood, I might as well hear some more.  Fun fact: Julian Adderley got the nickname "Cannonball" while a student at Florida State.  But his nickname was originally "Cannibal," because he was known as a big eater.  Later on some band mates misheard the nickname and took to calling him Cannonball, which is also appropriate (Julian was a big guy) and probably for the best in the long run.

#6
While listening to Bill Evans play his classic "Waltz For Debby" on Know What I Mean?, it reminded me of the great Jerome Kern song, "All The Things You Are," another beautiful and poignant ballad.  So I went looking to see what versions of "All The Things You Are" I have.  My database found 44 different performances of the song in my collection.  It took me a while to figure out which one to listen to, but I thought I'd stick with a piano version and settled on Keith Jarret's terrific performance from the album Tribute.  Tribute is a 1990 release from a 1989 live recording in Cologne, Germany with his longtime trio-mates Gary Peacock and Jack DeJohnette.  "All The Things You Are" is the next to the last song on the two-album set, but wow is it ever worth the wait.  Jarrett starts off with a dazzling (and seemingly) improvised intro, and by the time he gets to something like the actual melody and the band kicks in, it felt like my hair was on fire.  Holy guacamole.  The German pressing on the ECM label is outstanding.

#7
By this point it was getting late, but the UPS man had just left a package with the reissue of Jim Sullivan's first album, U.F.O.  I had enjoyed Jim Sullivan very much and wanted to give a quick listen to U.F.O. before signing off.  U.F.O. is very much of a piece with Jim Sullivan, in the same way that two of James Taylor's early albums have the same sort of sound and feel.  Despite the bizarre and somewhat creepy cover (left), there is lots more fine songwriting and singing by Sullivan and excellent performances by members of the Wrecking Crew, the crack L.A. studio musicians who play on the album.

So there you have it.  I guess my answer to "How do you decide what to listen to?" is:  I don't.  I just go where the music takes me, one album leading to another.  Of course every day is different.  If it's raining tomorrow, I may wake up feeling like some Sinatra or Diana Krall.  And that will inevitably lead me to think of a different take on one of the songs by a different performer, or maybe to an album by guitarist Anthony Wilson, who plays on many of Diana Krall's albums.  That might get me thinking about how Wilson's style clearly owes a debt to Wes Montgomery, and inspire me to listen to some Wes, maybe his great collaboration with Milt Jackson on Bags And Wes, which will remind me that the great pianist Wynton Kelly also plays on the album, so let's hear some more Wynton Kelly, and so on and so on until it's time to go to bed.

Last fun fact: Anthony Wilson is the son of the mostly under-the-radar jazz arranger, conductor, composer, trumpet player Gerald Wilson, who, during his 75-year career, played with, arranged for, or conducted just about everybody in the business, and who should be designated a national treasure.  All of his albums are worth seeking out, but you could do worse than to start with the 1961 release You Better Believe it!, with Richard "Groove" Holmes on organ and a 17-piece big band.  Seriously good stuff.

Enjoy the music!

Bobby Whitlock -- The Heart And Soul Of Layla

I hope I really don't need to mention here that Layla by Derek and the Dominos is one of the greatest albums of all time, a seminal masterpiece of the rock 'n' roll canon that belongs in every collection of popular music.  Seriously, if you don't have a copy, stop reading right now and go buy one.  I'll wait.

Lucky for me, I have a very nice original 1970 copy of Layla which was released on the yellow ATCO label.  My copy was pressed by Monarch Records in Los Angeles from a lacquer cut by Al Brown at Atlantic Studios.  (George Piros at Atlantic also cut many of the original lacquers, and a lot of folks think that his version has a better top end.)  My copy rates a solid VG+.  But the fact is that Layla is just not a great-sounding album.  I've never heard a convincing argument about what went wrong, but the overall sound is thick, it lacks definition and detail in the mid range, and is rolled off and muddy on the bottom.   

Over the years there have been dozens of different releases and remasters.  None of them has really improved on the original 1970 issue.  However, in 2017, closing in on a half century after the original release, the good folks at Mobile Fidelity Sound Lab decided to have another go at tweaking the original analog tapes, with mastering engineer Krieg Wunderlich at the controls.  How does it sound?  In his review, vinyl guru Michael Fremer said "The new Mo-Fi reissue stomps all over the original in terms of background quiet, dynamics and especially bottom end drive and timbral accuracy."  I agree.  Although it's still not a sonic masterpiece, the Mo-Fi reissue is the one to have.

Mr. and Mrs. George Harrison

Layla the album, and particularly "Layla" the hit song, are famously known for the incredible interplay of guitar work between Eric Clapton and Duane Allman.  (Allman joined the sessions in progress, and played on all the tracks except for the first three on the album.)  On the rest, Clapton's inspired and seemingly effortless lead guitar defines each cut, while Duane's ethereal slide guitar soars above and through the music, adding an almost otherworldly sense of love and longing.  (If you don't know the background story to Layla -- Clapton's unrequited love for George Harrison's wife, Pattie Boyd -- look it up.)



Despite the obvious chemistry between Duane Allman and Eric Clapton, Clapton's real musical partner on Layla was Bobby Whitlock.  You will recall that The Dominos were three former bandmates from the Delaney and Bonnie group: Jim Gordon on drums, Carl Radle on bass, and Bobby Whitlock on organ, piano, acoustic guitar, and vocals.  

Jim Gordon, Carl Radle, Bobby Whitlock, and Eric Clapton

Clapton had briefly joined up with Delaney and Bonnie in 1969, becoming one of the "friends" on the famous "Delaney & Bonnie & Friends" tour and subsequent album.  In early 1970, Whitlock traveled to England to visit Clapton.  Over a period of weeks, Whitlock stayed at Clapton's house in Surrey where the two of them jammed and wrote most of the songs that would appear on Layla.  Anxious to get a group together to play their new music, they called Jim Gordon and Carl Radle over from the U.S. and tuned up by playing in the backing band on George Harrison's first solo album, All Things Must Pass.  

After several months playing informal gigs in England and the U.S., the band, which by now had been dubbed Derek and the Dominos, decided to record an album.  They set up camp at Criteria Recording Studios in Miami, and in late August and early September laid down the tracks for Layla.  The story of how Duane Allman came to play on the album and the drug-fueled sessions at Criteria are well worth reading about.  But that's not what I'm here to talk about.  My point is that the greatness of Layla owes as much to Bobby Whitlock as it does to Eric Clapton and Duane Allman.

Whitlock was born in 1948 in Memphis, and according to an article in Mojo magazine, learned to play organ while "peering over Booker T's shoulder at Stax Studios."  He befriended and learned from other Stax artists, including Sam & Dave, Albert King, and the Staples Singers.  While still in his teens, he was performing at clubs in Memphis, playing R&B and soul, while sitting in on recording sessions at Stax.  In 1968, Delaney and Bonnie caught his act and lured him to Los Angeles to join a band they were forming. 

Clapton's love for the blues is real and deep.  But Whitlock was born and cut his musical chops in Memphis, the home of the blues and the birthplace of rock 'n' roll.  Whitlock is the heart and soul of Layla.  It's apparent from the first song on the album, "I Looked Away," co-written by Clapton and Whitlock.  After Clapton sings the opening lines, Whitlock takes the lead, and his voice is much more expressive and, well, soulful.  On track two, "Bell Bottom Blues," even when Clapton and Whitlock are singing harmony, it's the passion in Whitlock's voice that comes through when they plead: "I don't want to fade away, give me one more day, please."  You can hear the difference all through the album.  Clapton is a great singer, but Whitlock's voice has much more emotional impact.  If you don't agree, listen to his heart-breaking take on "Thorn Tree In The Garden," the closing track on Layla.  If that doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you're just not paying attention.

After Derek And The Dominos fizzled out, Whitlock had a brief solo career, cutting four albums from 1972-1976.  His first, 1972's self-titled Bobby Whitlock, sets the pattern for those that would follow, with a mixture of country/rock, R&B, blues, and ballads.  It was followed by Raw Velvet (also in 1972), One Of A Kind (1975), and Rock Your Socks Off (1976).  All four albums are well worth picking up and are are available in used NM condition for $10-15.  The first two albums were originally issued on ABC/Dunhill, beautifully produced by Andy Johns, younger brother of producer Glyn Johns.  They were reissued on vinyl in 2013 by Future Days Recording, and mint copies are still available cheap.  But resist the siren call of the 180-gram remasters and get copies of the originals on ABC, which sound head and shoulders better than the reissues.

Whitlock's next two albums, One Of A Kind and Rock Your Socks Off, were released on Capricorn, home of the Allman Brothers Band, and various members of the ABB make guest appearances.  Neither of these later albums has been reissued on vinyl.  It's interesting to note that Whitlock revisited two of his Layla compositions on his early albums: "Tell The Truth" appears on Raw Velvet, and "Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad" on Rock Your Socks Off.  In 1999, after a 23-year hiatus, Whitlock released his last solo album, called It's About Time.  Here, he once again revisits "Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad" as well as "Bell Bottom Blues."  The later is significant because it is listed on Layla as being written by Eric Clapton.  Whitlock had long argued that he should have a co-writing credit, and at some point Clapton agreed, so the song appears on It's About Time with a Bobby Whitlock - Eric Clapton credit.  If you're keeping score, that means that Whitlock wrote or co-wrote half the songs on Layla.  Maybe they should have called the group Derek and Bobby and the Dominos.

Sometime around 2000, Whitlock joined up with Delaney Bramlett's second ex-wife and sometime producer, Coco Carmel (Delaney and Bonnie divorced in 1973).  Carmel is a multi-talented artist, musician, singer and songwriter.  She and Whitlock started making music together and eventually got married.  To date, they have released four CDs, and as of a couple of years ago, were living in Austin, TX and still performing.

Enjoy the music!

Music I'm Kind Of Embarrassed To Admit That I Kind Of Like

A few days ago I picked up about 20 albums from the $1 bins at a used record store nearby.  I love buying $1 albums; as long as the vinyl is in halfway decent shape I'll grab anything that looks even slightly interesting.  Often I'll pick up albums by groups that I've heard of but don't know much about, or even albums by groups that I don't particularly like but that might be amusing to listen to once before I donate it to the local PTA thrift store.  And finally, I like finding $1 albums by groups that I would be embarrassed to admit that I own, but that I secretly kind of like.  Case in point:

Ah, yes, The New Christy Minstrels.  Formed by singer/songwriter Randy Sparks in 1961, The New Christy Minstrels were huge during the early 1960s, singing string-drenched, four-part harmony covers of pop and folk songs, along with a few original numbers written by Sparks and other members of the group.  They toured extensively, were all over TV, and sold millions of albums.  And while most of the 10-14 members (at any one time) were unknown, a number went on to very successful careers as solo acts or with other groups, including Barry McGuire, Jerry Yester (The Lovin' Spoonful), Gene Clark (The Byrds), Kenny Rogers (The First Edition), and Kim Carnes.  Amazingly enough, the group still exists and continues to perform today.

That's Randy Sparks in the middle. And yes, they
actually won a Grammy for their debut album in 1962.

The New Christy Minstrels are a perfect example of a group whose albums I ordinarily would never buy, and whose name I would never mention in hip company, but will gladly pick up for a buck.  I mean, just look at that cover (above) - that's worth a dollar all by itself.  And to top if off, the copy I found is an original 1966 Columbia Records two-eye pressing in Near Mint condition.  The sound is fabulous, which is not surprising, since in my view, Columbia two-eye pressings (1962-1970) are some of the best-sounding audio recordings of all time.  It's nearly impossible to find a badly-recorded or badly-pressed Columbia album from this period.  In general, the 1960s were the golden age of LPs, when the major labels like Columbia pressed tens of millions of albums per year.  Columbia's engineers and production teams were some of the best in the business, and their pressing plants turned out flawless disks.  In case you don't know what a "two-eye" pressing is, here's a photo of the label from New Kick!

Two-eye refers to the two "walking eye" CBS logos on either side of the spindle hole.  From 1956-1962, Columbia had "six-eye" labels like so:

Six-eyes are likewise uniformly great-sounding records.  I'll often pick up six-eye titles in good condition even if I don't know anything about the recording.

Beginning in 1970, Columbia changed to the familiar red label with a repeating orange ring that has six "Columbias" and six "walking eyes" around the outside.  Back to the future.

But I digress.  The point I was making was that despite being a serious and totally hip record collector, I have a soft spot for schmaltzy music, including soft rock, light jazz, progressive rock, and even the occasional easy-listening gem.  However I draw the line at Montovani and Kenny G.  And Merlot.  "If anyone orders Merlot I'm leaving.  I am not drinking any freaking Merlot!"  [Great quote from the very funny movie Sideways.]

Examples of the soft rock/easy listening/light jazz that I will reluctantly admit to kind of liking are performers such as The Carpenters, The Baja Marimba Band, The Moody Blues, Renaissance, Claude Bolling, Jonah Jones, and Charlie Byrd.  

Don't judge me too harshly.  I listen to a lot of music, and about 95% of it is serious rock or jazz.  But every so often (preferably when no one is looking) I will slip on some lightly-Latin jazz by Baja Marimba, or maybe some of Claude Bolling's feel-good classical-jazz, or even a shot of some Mellotron-infused prog rock by the Moody Blues.  For one thing, it makes a nice change of pace from serious music, since it doesn't require you to pay a lot of attention.  When I put on Miles Davis or Dexter Gordon, I like to sit down with the liner notes in hand and focus on the music, marveling at the brilliant solos, appreciating the interaction of the players.  Same thing with The Beatles.  If I'm distracting by checking my text messages instead of paying attention to Lennon and McCartney's genius lyrics or Ringo's amazing drum fills, I feel like I'm not showing the proper respect and appreciation for the music.

The New Christy Minstrels, on the others hand, are perfect for checking text messages.  Or reading the paper or taking out the trash.  I don't feel the least bit guilty if I'm not paying close attention while The Minstrels do their dirge-like reading of "I Want To Hold Your Hand" or zip through a high-speed version of "Blowin' In The Wind."  And don't get me started on the intricate male harmonies on "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'."  But the real appeal of The Minstrels is that their music is so bad, it's actually good, in a weird kind of way.  In addition, if you put on some Beach Boys or Bill Evans after listening to The Minstrels, it helps you realize that Brian Wilson and Bill Evans really were geniuses. 

Even so, I still feel a little sheepish buying a New Christy Minstrels or Baja Marimba album - like maybe the record store guy is thinking -- really, dude?  Although, to be honest, I suspect most record store clerks have no idea who The Baja Marimba Band or The New Christy Minstrels are.  But I know, and I have my reputation to think of.  So I'll usually slip The Minstrels into a pile of very serious bebop titles and hope the clerk doesn't notice.

In the end, I think it's best for all concerned if we just agree not to judge people based on their musical tastes.  After all, I know otherwise intelligent and rational people who listen to rap, metal, electronic, German lieder, and Zamfir, for god's sake.  I even know a few truly misguided souls who don't like jazz.  And that's perfectly fine.  (Which is to say, fine, but really, really disturbing.)  People should listen to whatever they like, particularly if they are wearing headphones, or in the privacy of their own homes.  Which is where, from time to time, you might catch me listening to Jonah Jones's happy horn, the soothing strains of Charlie Byrd's guitar, or The New Christy Minstrel's totally groovy version of "Homeward Bound."

Enjoy the music!

Happy 71st Birthday to the LP!

The 1st ever long playing records. Columbia ML4001

What's the oldest LP record in your collection?  Well, it's for sure that it's no more than 71 years old, since the modern, long-playing, vinyl microgroove record was introduced by Columbia Records in June, 1948.

Cribbing from Wikipedia, Columbia Records unveiled the LP at a press conference at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York on June 18, 1948.  The new 33 1/3 rpm format, which had been some years in development, was initially introduced in two sizes: a 10-inch disk, matching the size of a standard 78 rpm single, and a new 12-inch disk.  At the press conference, Columbia displayed its first 133 LP records: 85 12-inch classical LPs (Columbia catalog numbers ML 4001 to 4085), 26 10-inch classical LPs (Columbia ML 2001 to 2026), 18 10-inch popular LPs (CL 6001 to 6018), and four 10-inch juvenile records (JL 8001 to 8004). Even though all 133 records were made available at the same time, the distinction for the being the first modern vinyl 12-inch LP goes to Columbia ML 4001, since it was listed first in the Columbia catalog.  ML 4001 (above) was Mendelssohn's Concerto in E Minor with Nathan Milstein on violin, accompanied by the New York Philharmonic and conducted by Bruno Walter.  Initially, Columbia only released classical recordings on the new 12-inch format, so the first popular long playing microgroove record was the 10-inch disk, CL 6001, The Voice of Frank Sinatra. 

Four-disk 78 album C-112

The music on CL 6001 was a repressing of a four-disk set of 78s (C-112) released in 1946 (left).  You've probably seen some of these multi-disk 78 rpm album sets, with cardboard covers and multiple sleeves for the various disks.  Which, by the way, is the reason LPs became known as "albums."  Since one LP could hold the same amount of music as a multi-disk 78 album, people began to refer to LPs as "albums."  

Columbia's decision to release only classical works on the new 12-inch LP format was a practical one.  After doing research, the record company determined that about 95% of all classical works were shorter than 45 minutes.  So, the new 12-inch disk -- which could hold 45 minutes of music -- was perfect for the vast majority of classical recordings.  At the time, no one could imagine needing that much time for a popular music recording, so there was no thought given to releasing popular titles on 12-inch disks.  The popular music industry and the record-buying public were firmly focused on hit singles.  Even by 1958, 10 years after the introduction of the LP, singles still outsold LPs three to one.  (By then, of course, 10-inch 78s were rapidly being replaced by the 7-inch 45 rpm disk introduced by RCA in 1949.)  In addition, since the new, larger LPs were very expensive (the list price of the first series of 12-inch disks was $4.85, equivalent to more than $50 in today's money), the record industry figured that only serious (and presumably more well-heeled) classical music lovers would shell out for the larger disks. 

 
I don't collect 10-inch disks, but over the years I have picked up a dozen or so.  The earliest 10-inch disks in my collection are from 1953, and include Stan Kenton's New Concepts Of Artistry and Ryhthm, Nat "King" Cole's Two In Love, and a collection of Mexican favorites called South Of The Border by the Al Sack Orchestra.  I find the 10-inch LP format oddly appealing, though as a practical matter it made little sense to continue having two different long playing formats, since it cost more or less the same to produce a 10-inch or 12-inch disk.  By the mid 1950s the 10-inch disk was already becoming scarce. 

Even though Columbia was in no hurry to release 12-inch popular music titles, other independent labels weren't nearly as reluctant.  In fact, in July, 1949, scarcely more than a year after Columbia's press conference at the Waldorf, Dial Records released the first ever 12-inch popular music LP -- Charlie Parker's The Bird Blows The Blues.  Its catalog number was Dial Records 901.  Dial Records 902, Erroll Garner's By Gaslight, came out shortly after.  Columbia held out until September, 1951 before finally issuing a popular music title on the larger format.  Their first 12-inch title was Columbia GL-500, Benny Goodman: Combos - Benny Goodman Quintet, Sextet, & Septet. 

Dial 901, the first 12-inch popular music LP

The oldest 12-inch LPs in my collection are classical titles from 1951.  I have a couple of early RCA Red Seal releases of Brahms Symphonies played by the NBC Orchestra, conducted by Arturo Toscanini.  Also from 1951, I have the Living Presence High Fidelity Sampler on Mercury, which, as the name implies, was a 98 cent loss leader with selections from Mercury's brand new Living Presence classical music series.  I also have a 1953 album by French singer Jacqueline Francois, American Favorites, released as Columbia ML 4780.  Since it was part of their ML (or Masterworks) series, Columbia regarded this as part of their classical (or at least not popular music) series.

The earliest 12-inch popular music albums in my collection are from 1954.  I have 15 original 1954 LPs, including three by Dave Brubeck: Jazz Goes To College; Jazz At The College Of The Pacific; and David Brubeck At Storyville, all on Columbia Records. Also from 1954 I have a couple of the earliest titles from EmArcy Records (Mercury's jazz subsidiary which was founded in 1954), Sarah Vaughn - Sarah Vaughn, and The Blue Stars of France - Lullaby of Broadway.  The Sarah Vaughn title is fabulous, a seminal early vocal/jazz session.  Among the other 1954 titles I have are volumes 2 and 3 from the eventual 11-part Clef Records Genius Of Art Tatum series, and Cal Tjader's Mambo With Tjader, which was released by Fantasy Records on really cool red vinyl.

Several of Tjader's early Fantasy Records albums were released on red vinyl.  Surprisingly, they aren't that rare or expensive and make great collectibles.  Keep your eyes peeled in the used bins.  And while Mambo With Tjader was one of the earliest LPs pressed on colored vinyl, there are 78s on colored shellac going back to the 1920s, including some bizarre splatter 78s on the Morrison Records label in the 1940s.

Cool splatter 78 shellac records from the 1940s

By the time we get to 1955, I've got more than 50 12-inch popular music LPs, including titles by Frank Sinatra, Julie London, Stan Getz, Ella Fitzgerald, Joni James, June Christy, and Gene Krupa, among many others.  

The Sinatra title from 1955 brings us full circle, because it's the 12-inch version of The Voice (bottom left below) which has most of the tracks from the 1948 10-inch LP (top right below), which was a repressing of the 1946 four-disk 78 rpm album (top left below), which was a compilation of the original four separate 78 disks.  And for good measure, Columbia also released the same tracks as a two-disk set of 7" 45s (bottom right below) in 1952.

Enjoy the music! 

Treasures From The Vault - Newly Discovered Live Jazz Recordings

If you are a jazz fan, you are surely aware of the sensation caused by the release last year of a lost studio session by tenor great John Coltrane. Called Both Directions At Once, the session was recorded at Rudy Van Gelder's studio in 1963. At the time, the bosses at Impulse Records decided not to release the tracks from this session, so the tapes were filed away in the company's vault. By the time anyone went looking for them -- decades later -- the reels were nowhere to be found and presumed to be lost. Then, a few years ago, the family of Coltrane's first wife, Juanita Naima Coltrane, found a copy of the tape among her effects. Apparently, producer Bob Thiele had given Coltrane a copy of the session tape so he could listen to it at home. Naima's family brought the tape to the attention of the label, and the rest is history. Obviously an album of previously unreleased Coltrane sessions was always going to be a huge event for jazz fans, but the story about the rediscovery of 55-year-old lost session tapes made it compelling news even for non music lovers.

While the release of Both Directions At Once received by far the most press attention, the fact is that for a number of years now there has been a growing stream of rediscovered recordings by major jazz artists. For the most part these are live recordings of club dates or concerts. Many were taped and originally broadcast 50 or 60 years ago by European radio and TV stations. After airing, the tapes were shelved and gathered dust for the next half century.

Then, about a decade ago, some small, enterprising record labels began to realize that there was gold in them there tapes. So they began combing through the archives of places like Radio Denmark and French TV and making licensing deals to release these old recordings. 

The first of these new releases that caught my attention was Echoes Of Indiana Avenue, an album of previously unreleased live and studio takes by guitarist Wes Montgomery. It was put out in 2012 by one of the re-release pioneers, a label called Resonance Records.  Resonance was co founded by American producer Zev Feldman in 2008 in California as a non-profit organization dedicated to supporting jazz artists and preserving the art and legacy of jazz music. Resonance Records has released an impressive list of rediscovered recordings by such artists as Scott LaFaro, Gene Harris, Freddie Hubbard, and Bill Evans.

Another important player in the business of finding and releasing classic live jazz recordings is Elemental Music of Spain. Among their discoveries are fabulous live concerts by Dexter Gordon and Woody Shaw in Europe and Japan. One of Elemental's co-founders is - you guessed it -- producer Zev Feldman. Feldman has developed such a reputation for his ability to uncover lost jazz tracks that Blue Note president Don Was recently hired him to dig through the label's vast archives for buried treasures that Blue Note can release.

Lastly, I'll mention Gearbox Records of London. Founded by Darrell Shienman, Gearbox have put out a series of excellent live recordings by artists such as Yusef Lateef, British tenor great Tubby Hayes, Dexter Gordon, and many others. If you're wondering why Dexter Gordon shows up in so many of these releases, it's because he lived and toured in Europe for more than a decade. He played thousands of shows, and there are probably still hundreds of recordings of his concerts gathering dust on the shelves of radio and TV networks throughout the continent. 

However, Gearbox's biggest coup to date was the 2018 release of Mønk, a live recording of Thelonious Monk from 1963. The concert was recorded on March 5 in Copenhagen's Odd Fellow concert hall and broadcast on Danish radio a few days later. As seems to be the case for many of these recordings, it was thought to be lost, but according to the excellent liner notes accompanying the disk, a Danish record producer rescued the original broadcast tape from a dumpster(!) about 20 years ago. Gearbox records negotiated the rights, got approval from Monk's heirs, and then lovingly remastered the tape in their own studios in London. 

To my mind, Mønk is the best of the wave of live concert "rediscoveries." I'm not a die-hard Monk fan, but this is a fun, accessible concert that, as reviewer Chris May of AllAboutJazz.com writes, "Is full throated, stomping and hard swinging." May's full review is here. Gearbox use an all-analog chain to produce their LPs, and the (mono) sound on this one is "you are in-the-room" fantastic.

Overall I have about 15 of these newly discovered releases. While the sound quality varies, most are very good, and some (like Mønk), are excellent. However, the recordings don't always capture a typical performance by the headline artist, since many artists, including Dexter Gordon, usually toured solo and picked up different sidemen in each city. Even still, it is always a treat to be able to hear and compare new recordings by these great artists. 

Related but somewhat off-topic rant:  When did it become a thing to stop putting the track titles on the LP label?  I first noticed it a few years ago when I bought a couple of LPs that not only didn't list the track titles on the labels, but didn't even bother to indicate which was side 1 or side 2. I mention this because Gearbox's Mønk continues this ridiculous new trend. Here are the labels for Mønk:

Which is side 1? You tell me. I had to start the first track before I could tell. Then I had to stop the record and turn it over to start the actual side 1. What exactly is the point of not listing the track titles and side indicators? Is the art director trying to make a statement? Are they just messing with us? I don't know, but please just stop it. 

Enjoy the Music!