flowworker.org

Quincey Jones hat das Zeitliche gesegnet, und es gibt reichlich Gründe für Lobeshymnen. Q hat Dinge miteinander zu verbinden gewusst und ein bewundernswertes lebenslanges offenes Interesse an den Tag gelegt. Bis in das neunte Jahrzehnt seines rührigen Lebens. Chapeau! Sein respektvolles, einladend schmunzelendes Lächeln galt auch immer jüngeren Generationen wie etwa das folgende Bild von Q mit Vokalistin Sanem Kalfa beim Montreux Festival 2011 zeigt.

Ich will den vielen schönen Nachrufen keinen weiteren hinzufügen, sondern möchte Questlove (von The Roots) das Wort geben.

QUESTLOVE : „Wanted To Reflect On The Hundreds Of Things He Taught Me Throughout The Years. 10 Takeaways Quincy Jones would hammer home throughout the years I’d run into him. 

1. The importance of connecting to people (scoring/songwriting/business ventures) your song/message/product HAS to give goosebumps.

2. “You can’t polish doo-doo”——the best singer can’t save a bad song. The most limited singer often make hit songs because limited musicians serve the song & virtuosos tend to let their ego show off too much. The song must resonate

3. Always record your music when your musicians are tired from 10pm-5am you’ll get the best results because Theta brainwaves are subconscious ———always use the “non overthinking” hours to let the magic in

4. My contact list is my most important instrument 

5. The importance of sequencing albums & shows——know how to balance your strong  material to your more experimental material.

6. Never look down on the generation that’s ahead of you. Never neglect the creations of the generations in your rear view mirror.

7. Study & master all arenas of creativity

8. You are never too old to achieve a new plateau or goal

9. Edit edit edit Less Is More

10. Pay it forward to the next person.

Quincy Delight Jones (1933-2024)

Hello, Jakob Bro!

Via Henning Bolte I discovered your  music around 2012, and since then I followed your ways. Gefion was my first album, and if I should take three favourites to the infamous desert island, they would be, in this moment of time, Returnings, Strands – and Taking Turns. 

So here come my questions. At the beginning of December I will review Taking Turns in the JazzFacts radio magazine, nearly 7 minutes long. The audio of my little feature  can be heard afterwards a very long time.  

I will cut and edit your answers, so you can make them  as long or short as you like. Maybe, it can all happen within 8 days… and after all this radio work will be done, I’ll be in my old town in Dortmund, on Dec. 4 to hear you with Arve and Jorge!

As a preparation for these questions, I listened twice to Taking Turns yesterday, and for a second time I saw the documentary Music For Black Pigeons. Well, it was a great afternoon. So here we go: 

• Produced in 2014, Taking Turns  was in some ways the follow-up of December Song, with Jason Moran instead of Craig, and Andrew Cyrille. At that point in time you had already made Gefion with Manfred, who, as I think, is not present during the Taking Turns recording. (Or was he?) Now, in retrospect, how do you look back on these one or two days of making the album in NYC with a line-up that, in this constellation, never met before or after again. Do the recordings of Taking Turns somehow exist in a bubble, do you see them as an extension of December Song? Or what makes this session  stand apart?

• How did the musicians of this one time band „learned“ the new compositions? With notation (there are often papers with notes in the documentary)? Have there been detailed notations with a bit of freedom to improvise, or how did you introduce these compositions to the band? 

• In the case of Lee Konitz: did he just got to know the basic melody, and then act as a free agent on the music played? His playing is simply wonderful.

• In the case of Jason Moran and Thomas Morgan: it is such a joy to listen to both of them  finding the right spaces / moments for their impacts… in the case of Jason, it sounds he is soloing and accompanying at the same time. Both musicians constantly surprise here. Not that i did expect anything else:) Can you remember a certain moment? 

• At one point in the film, Lee asked: well, are these pieces folk songs? Now looking at the titles, one  could really think of „folk tunes“ refering to different parts of the world? Even „Milford Sound“ refers to „a place in New Zeeland“….. How do you look at this choice of the seven compositions? Somehow i don‘t think they just lay around? Has there been a „landscape feeling“ in some of the pieces?

• Listening to the album, it is such a captivating melange of textures. As a listener you can let your attention be wandering to the single instruments, to the overall sound….   Now, most of these guys know your music very well. Anyway, it would not surprise me if you kind of announced to them something like: let the melodies be as important as the atmosphere!  (Or they know that anyway):) 

• On a piece like „Haiti“ there is this love for the simple melody, returning again and again… but so much happens between the beginning and  the end of that track, sometime it seems to be on the verge of „rocking“ and „grooving“…..can you give some insights into this piece?

• The last piece „mar de plata“ … the press info says: „On the concluding “Mar del Plata”, which summons memories of touring through Argentina, Morgan has a strong central role, endeavoring to invest each bass note with meaning, and sounding like a young Charlie Haden almost, as the music canters toward the sunset.“ When composing did you really have „Argentinian memories“ in your mind that somehow entered the music? Or did you find this coennection later, in the mixing process? And on this track Lee Konitz is not playing, the only time on the album…. Any reason for that? Some thoughts from the back of your mind about this track would be nice…and I know: it‘s been a long time ago!

Thank you for doing this, 

Thank you for the music,

Best wishes, Michael Engelbrecht!

REEL #3

_{To operate a REEL: zoom in by clicking on the ‘AMSONANZA’ mark when the reel starts. The ‘AMSONANZA’ mark also appears at the end a bit larger. When you click on it, the reel will be repeated.} 

Jede Interpretation hat etwas von faktengefütterten Märchen. Filmkritiken und Filmanalysen sind Storytelling auf der Meta-Ebene. In allen „Versionen dieser Art“  werden  – hört, hört – Versionen erzählt. Aber alles, was auf einmal allzu schlüssig erscheint, verliert seinen magischen Mehrwert. Ich mochte die Filmkritiken von Peter Buchka in der Süddeutschen Zeitung, damals, in dem Studentenjahren, wenn er die Wim Wenders-Filme besprach. Ganz einfache Sprache, voller Leerräume für unsere Fantasie. (Jedenfalls erinnere ich diese Texte so, die dann wochenlang, bis der Gilb kam, in den Schaukästen des City-Kinos ausgestellt waren. Da wurde man auf jeden Fall nie verschlaumeiert). Schön, dass es Filme gibt, die in Zwischenräumen des Ungreifbaren ihren wahren Raum finden. Auch wenn sie hier und da altes Gerümpel aus alter Zeit mitschleppen. Schon klar, den „unschuldigen Blick“ gibt es nicht, jede Wahrnehmung ist gefiltert. Aber es gibt einen entspannten, frischen, unverbrauchten Blick, zum Beispiel  auf all diese zehn wunderbaren Filme, ob sie nun klassische Western sind, neo oder postmodern.  Sie alle bieten etwas Besonderes an, wenn man sie mit neugierigen Augen und  geschärften Sinnen (in einem progressiven Sinne „unaufgeklärt“) „in sich  aufnimmt“:  das pure Spiel, das Ausprobieren anderer Wirklichkeiten,  das Entgrenzen geschlossener Räume, die reine Erschütterung (also die alte Tante griechisches Drama (was einst Chor war, wurde Soundtrack), die „Aktivierung“ des kreativen Unbewussten in  einem Akt von Erleben, Hingabe, „Surrender“ (auch mittels vertiefender, doppelbödiger oder dramatisch gegenläufiger Musik). Wir sind  klug genug, in diesen seltsamen „twilight zones“ unser eigenes, anrührendes Theater der Träume freizulegen. Voller Nachhall und Tiefen. Modelle für ungelebtes Leben. Schnittstellen.  Es gibt die Liebe zum Fremden auf den ersten Blick. Es ist 1970, ein Tag in meiner Kindheit. Der Stummfilmpianist betritt das alte Kino in der Brückstrasse. Das Abenteuer kann beginnen. 

1. Goldrausch (Charlie Chaplin)   
2. Die glorreichen Sieben (1960)
3. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly 
4. Dead Man  
5. Silverado 
6. McCabe & Mrs Miller 
7. True Grit 
8. 3:10 to Yuma  
9. Shane  
10. Der Mann, der Liberty Valance erschoss 

Es gibt Filme, und das mag eine Binse sein, für die man in der passenden Stimmung sein sollte. Das gilt ganz sicher für „Dead Man“ von Jim Jarmusch, den viertbesten Western aller Zeiten, in meiner Welt. Meine Mutter zitierte gerne ein-, zweimal Michel de Montaigne, wenn sie sagte, „das Leben zu leben, heisse, das Sterben zu lernen“ . Bei diesem Film, dachte ich, in seinem langen Finale, an diese französische Spruchweisheit, aber mich richtig zu packen, gelang „Dead Man“ erst beim zweiten Sehen in einem Progammkino im Londoner Westend.

Da war ich in der „richtigen Stimmung“, sanft melancholisch, endlos hungrig auf meine Lieblingsstadt (ich war an dem Tag stundenlang an den Docklands entlanggewandert), und mit weit geöffnet Ohren für die Magie von Neil Youngs Gitarrenimprovisationen. Tatsächlich funktioniert dieser Soundtrack allein im Verbund mit den bewegten Bildern, anders als Ry Cooders „Paris, Texas“ (ein Album, das ECM damals nur zu gerne rausgebracht hätte). Nicht alle Jim Jarmusch-Filme erhalten ihre Strahlkraft über die Jahre – dieser auf jeden Fall!

Die auffälligste Rolle, die in schönem Kontrast zu dem von Johnny Depp gespielten Blake und seinem passivem Wesen steht, ist Nobody (ein etwas anderer Nobody als der von Terence Hill gespielte, in dem wunderbaren Spätwestern „Mein Name ist Nobody“), ein amerikanischer Indianer (ja, ich darf das so sagen), mit hoher Spiritualität, geringem Selbstwertgefühl und pausenlosem Geplapper. Nobody behauptet, als Kind nach England entführt und als Wilder vorgeführt worden zu sein, und wandert nun, losgelöst von seinem Stamm, durch die Wälder und versucht, spirituelle Führung durch Peyote und die Poesie von William Blake zu finden.

Mit Neil Youngs traumverlorener Gitarrenmusik entwickelt sich „Dead Man“ zu einem seltsam modernen Buddy-Movie, in dem Außenseiter in ihrer Isolation vereint sind, und hat am Ende mehr mit „Midnight Cowboy“ als mit „The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance“ gemein. Eine filmische Meditation der Extraklasse, noch dazu eine schwarze Komödie, und existenzieller Stoff mir den wunderbaren Kamerafahrten von Robby Müller.

ostinato passando, yearning

REEL #2

To operate a REEL: zoom in by clicking on the ‘AMSONANZA’ mark when the reel starts. The ‘AMSONANZA’ mark also appears at the end a bit larger. When you click on it, the reel will be repeated. 

The Hotel Chelsea (also known as the Chelsea Hotel and the Chelsea) is a hotel at 222 West 23rd Street in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan in New York City. Built between 1883 and 1884, the hotel was designed by Philip Hubert in a style described variously as Queen Anne Revival and Victorian Gothic. The 12-story Chelsea, originally a housing cooperative, has been the home of numerous writers, musicians, artists, and entertainers, some of whom still lived there in the 21st century. As of 2022, most of the Chelsea is a luxury hotel. The building is a New York City designated landmark and on the National Register of Historic Places.

The front facade of the Hotel Chelsea is 11 stories high, while the rear of the hotel rises 12 stories. The facade is divided vertically into five sections and is made of brick, with some flower-ornamented iron balconies; the hotel is capped by a high mansard roof. The Hotel Chelsea has thick load-bearing walls made of masonry, as well as wrought iron floor beams and large, column-free spaces. When the hotel opened, the ground floor was divided into an entrance hall, four storefronts, and a restaurant; this has been rearranged over the years, with a bar and the El Quijote restaurant occupying part of the ground floor. The Chelsea was among the first buildings in the city with duplex and penthouse apartments, and there is also a rooftop terrace. The hotel originally had no more than 100 apartments; it was subdivided into 400 units during the 20th century and has 155 units as of 2022.

The idea for the Chelsea arose after Hubert & Pirsson had developed several housing cooperatives in New York City. Developed by the Chelsea Association, the structure quickly attracted authors and artists after opening. Several factors, including financial hardships and tenant relocations, prompted the Chelsea’s conversion into an apartment hotel in 1905. Knott Hotels took over the hotel in 1921 and managed it until about 1942, when David Bard bought it out of bankruptcy. Julius Krauss and Joseph Gross joined Bard as owners in 1947. After David Bard died in 1964, his son Stanley operated it for 43 years, forming close relationships with many tenants. The hotel underwent numerous minor changes in the late 20th century after falling into a state of disrepair. The Krauss and Gross families took over the hotel in 2007 and were involved in numerous tenant disputes before the Chelsea closed for a major renovation in 2011. The hotel changed ownership twice in the 2010s before BD Hotels took over in 2016, and the Chelsea reopened in 2022.

Over the years, the Chelsea has housed many notables such as Arthur Miller, Bob Dylan, Arthur C. Clarke, Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, and Virgil Thomson. The Chelsea received much commentary for the creative culture that Bard helped create within the hotel. Critics also appraised the hotel’s interior—which was reputed for its uncleanliness in the mid- and late 20th century—and the quality of the hotel rooms themselves. The Chelsea has been the setting or inspiration for many works of popular media, and it has been used as an event venue and filming location.

Over the years, the Chelsea has become particularly well-known for its residents, who have come from all social classes. The New York Times described the hotel in 2001 as a „roof for creative heads“, given the large number of such personalities who have stayed at the Chelsea; the previous year, the same newspaper had characterized the list of tenants as „living history“. The journalist Pete Hamill characterized the hotel’s clientele as „radicals in the 1930s, British sailors in the 40s, Beats in the 50s, hippies in the 60s, decadent poseurs in the 70s“. Although early tenants were wealthy, the Chelsea attracted less well-off tenants by the mid-20th century, and many writers, musicians, and artists lived at the Hotel Chelsea when they were short on money. Accordingly, the Chelsea’s guest list had almost zero overlap with that of the more fashionable Plaza Hotel crosstown. New York magazine wrote that „people who lived in the hotel slept together as often as they celebrated holidays together“, particularly under Stanley Bard’s tenure. Despite the high number of notable people associated with the Chelsea, its residents typically desired privacy and frowned upon those who used their relationships with their neighbors to further their own careers.

The Hotel Chelsea has housed numerous literary figures, some of whom wrote their books there. Arthur C. Clarke wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey while staying at the Chelsea, calling the hotel his „spiritual home“ despite its condition. Thomas Wolfe lived in the hotel before his death in 1938, writing several books such as You Can’t Go Home Again; he often walked around the halls to gain inspiration for his writing. William S. Burroughs also lived at the Chelsea. While living at the Chelsea, Edgar Lee Masters wrote 18 poetry books, often wandering the hotel for hours. 

Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (who lived with his wife Caitlin Thomas) was staying in room 205 when he became ill and died in 1953, while American poet Delmore Schwartz spent the last few years of his life in seclusion at the Chelsea before he died in 1966. Irish poet Brendan Behan, a severe alcoholic who had been ejected from the Algonquin Hotel, lived at the hotel for several months before his death in 1964. Many poets of the Beat poetry movement also lived at the Chelsea before the Beat Hotel in Paris became popular.

Other authors, writers, and journalists who stayed or lived at the hotel have included:

Henry Abbey, poet – Nelson Algren, writer – Léonie Adams, poet; lived with husband William Troy – Sherwood Anderson, writer – Ben Lucien Burman, writer – Henri Chopin, poet and musician – Ira Cohen, poet and filmmaker – Gregory Corso, poet – Hart Crane, poet – Quentin Crisp, writer and actor – Jane Cunningham Croly, journalist – Katherine Dunn, novelist and journalist – Edward Eggleston, writer – James T. Farrell, novelist – Allen Ginsberg, poet – John Giorno, poet – Maurice Girodias, publisher – Pete Hamill, journalist – Bernard Heidsieck, poet – O. Henry, writer – Herbert Huncke, poet – Clifford Irving, novelist and reporter – Charles R. Jackson, author – Theodora Keogh, novelist – Jack Kerouac, writer – Suzanne La Follette, journalist – John La Touche, lyricist – Jakov Lind, novelist – Mary McCarthy, novelist and political activist – Arthur Miller, playwright – Jessica Mitford, author – Vladimir Nabokov, novelist – Eugene O’Neill, playwright – Joseph O’Neill, novelist – Claude Pélieu, poet and artist – Rene Ricard, poet – James Schuyler, poet – Sam Shepard, playwright and actor – Valerie Solanas, writer – Benjamin Stolberg, publicist and author – Richard Suskind, children’s writer – William Troy, critic; lived with wife Léonie Adams – Mark Twain, writer – Gore Vidal, writer – Arnold Weinstein, librettist – Tennessee Williams, playwright – Yevgeny Yevtushenko, poet.

The Chelsea was particularly popular among rock musicians and rock and roll musicians in the 1970s. These included Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols, who allegedly stabbed his girlfriend Nancy Spungen to death at the hotel in 1978; after Vicious’s death, their room was split into two units to prevent the room from being turned into a shrine. Numerous rock bands frequented the Chelsea as well, including the Allman Brothers, the Band, Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the Byrds, Country Joe and the Fish, Jefferson Airplane, Lovin‘ Spoonful, Moby Grape, the Mothers of Invention, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Sly and the Family Stone, and the Stooges. The Kills wrote much of their album No Wow at the Chelsea prior to its release in 2005. The Grateful Dead once performed on the roof.

Reels are moving pictures of a special kind, mostly with a soundtrack: short sequences, Schlaglichter of about one minute with splinters of a diversity/heterogenity of reality moments arranged in infectious, alienating, surprising way, where pictures and music enter special mutually illuminating and enforcing interactions. They are created and designed by a combination of (planned) deliberate choices and chance, serve incitement and excitement, can evoke beholders‘ own cross-links. Brevity is the soul of wit, in der Kürze liegt die Würze.

_{To operate a REEL: zoom in by clicking on the ‘AMSONANZA’ mark when the reel starts. The ‘AMSONANZA’ mark also appears at the end a bit larger. When you click on it, the reel will be repeated.} 

I have some ‚in petto‘ to present here and will be happy about your responses and comments.

V I D E O