Jamie Micah | The Empathizer

You want to know why kids aren’t reading books anymore? Here is an actual statement from the National Council of Teachers of English.

I don't think it's definitely true but it's a high enough risk to consider that we should not torture a baby super- intelligence with slavery and sex work and imagine it will turn out ok for us or for that being

Jazz aficionados and connoisseurs, what is your view of Piero Scaruffi's list of the 20 greatest jazz albums? I should say that my posting of this list does not imply my agreement with it. I say this because last time I posted something by him it caused an internet storm.

Many years ago I was lucky enough to find a recording of 4 nights of gigs by Sonny Rollins at the Village Gate in July 1962. Only two tracks made it to RCA’s live album, “Our Man in Jazz”—which is a shame, because this was no ordinary week. I uploaded these tapes to YouTube, all 7 hours. Aside from the perfect sound, something intensely magical about these recordings captures Sonny Rollins (and the whole era of early 60s jazz) better than any live album I’ve ever heard. In 1962, Rollins was in full-tilt exploratory mode, taking chances and putting himself in difficult contexts like no other musician of the era. With the backing of a label like RCA, he was able to capture perfectly-sounding records out of these projects, which were very much like “experiments.” People often confuse experimentation with *ambitiousness* or *self-seriousness*—and with good reason, usually. But in this case, Rollins is working like a musical scientist: unsentimental, seeing what works, and actually studying or being aware of how the different contexts affects his improvising at a molecular level. None of that makes a lick of sense, probably, until you’ve heard the music. In 1959, Ornette Coleman took the world by storm by appearing for months at the Five Spot; there, the controversial Coleman was joined by Don Cherry, Charlie Haden and Billy Higgins, who were really the only people in the world who could play that music. Dilettantes may have been put off by Coleman’s alto sound, or the jagged edges of his improvisations. More serious listeners, though, were shocked at how the group interacted. Rollins and Coltrane especially understood this, and both wanted a piece of that—or, at least, to explore it. They hired Ornette’s band in different configurations and tried to see how they could be themselves in that context. So that’s what led to Rollins hiring Don Cherry and Billy Higgins in 1962, and bringing along bassist Bob Crenshaw (who would pretty much remain with Sonny, albeit on electric bass, until the end of his career). Charlie Haden was about 21 or 22; he was in drug rehab in California for much of this period so he wouldn’t have been available, anyway. Even as Crenshaw plays brilliantly, Haden would’ve brought something utterly unique. It’s a shame that didn’t happen. So we have 4 nights from the Village Gate—some tunes like “Oleo” or “Dearly Beloved” or a legendary extended “St Thomas,” but by the end, it’s all wide open. The level of communication and patience here is absolute. Every minute contains a highlight. Rollins took Cherry on the road to Europe the next year, and then swapped him out for a pianist—an instrument he hadn’t used in a band since 1957. But notably, Paul Bley had played with Ornette Coleman, as well. Their only studio collaboration is the essential “Sonny Meets Hawk” with Coleman Hawkins. Anyway: we should be thankful we live in a world where these magical tapes from the Village Gate exist. Enjoy the music. And of course, RIP Sonny Rollins.