Clarke's bass a bridge between jazz, fusion and funk

Happy 59th birthday to bassist Stanley Clarke.

He's got the background. Played with guys like Art Blakey, Horace Silver, Gil Evans and Stan Getz, was probably best know for his work for Return To Forever, Chick Corea's band. Playboy Magazine chose him as top jazz bassist 10 years in a row. He helped bridge the gap between jazz and fusion, along with all the genres that sprung from there.

That slap-and-pop technique, really more a funk sound than a jazz sound, is something that Victor Wooten, that killer bassist with Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, does so well. 

Here's another vid, with Clarke sharing bass time with Wooten and Marcus Miller. It's interesting hearing the bass take a lead guitar role here. So kick the bass up and rip the knobs off:

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Everyone needs some Rahsaan in their lives

Something from one of the greatest, all-time:



That's Rahsaan Roland Kirk on tenor sax, manzello, stritch, flute, nose flute, siren, and who knows what else he has in his pockets.

You'd think a blind guy who plays this kind of style must be more novelty than anything else, until you listen. That's when you realize he was the real deal. Rahsaan was the total musical package.

This clip is from a concert in Bologna, Italy in 1973. He's doing the songs "Three For The Festival" and "Volunteered Slavery." In the first cut he's also playing a passage from "One Mind/Seasons."

Did solve a mystery here. The clip ends with the intro to "Passion Dance," and I recognize it. That version shows up on Kirk's "Dog Years In The Fourth Ring," and a guy named Kenny Rogers (no, not the same one) was playing baritone sax there. And he kicks butt.

Anyway, enjoy! Had to spread a little Rahsaan into people's lives.

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More Rahsaan:

At 82, groundbreaking Konitz still holds his own

Not long ago, through an NPR music site, I downloaded a Lee Konitz concert recorded earlier this year, and just about wore out my headphones listening to it.

What's amazing is that Konitz is 82 years old now, playing with guys in their 20s and -- well, if he's pacing himself more, he's showing no real shortage of ideas. But Konitz's entree in the jazz world was always in his ability to think on his feet.

Konitz, who plays alto sax, was a contemporary of some of the real giants -- Charlie "Bird" Parker in particular, but while Parker went toward the fast, harmonically challenging genre of bebop, Konitz was clearly in the early "cool jazz" camp. Their instruments were identical, but while Parker went for a full-throated sound, Konitz' tone was a lot thinner and more exacting. More surgical. In a time when every altoist in the world tried to sound like Bird, Konitz didn't even try. But both were amazing improvisers.

On the opening track of this one-hour, 10-minute set, you can almost see the ideas shifting around in Konitz' brain. Admittedly he's a little slower on the musical uptake, and he started a little tentatively to 28-year-old pianist Dan Toepfer's "Green Dolphin Street" intro. His lip isn't as strong as it once was. But by the end of the first song he showed he still has enough gas -- and ideas -- in the tank.

Out-there musical ideas were his calling card. Although he was one of the nine-piece band Miles Davis fielded for "Birth Of The Cool," Konitz is probably best known for his association with pianist Lennie Tristano, one of the great thinkers in jazz. Tristano and his crew played really cerebral stuff, even headier than anything Dave Brubeck ever played. And it was in the late 1940s that Tristano and a few friends decided to try what was probably the most audacious experiment of 'em all.

They decided to make something out of nothing.

I've known musicians who can pick up on a few notes from a bass -- or even a drum pattern -- and improvise on the fly, and build something new from the head arrangement on up. I've been able to do this a couple of times, including an unforgettable set with the late guitarist Chuck Bigbee, where we totally made stuff up for about 45 minutes. I can't think of anything more exciting than coming up with something off the top of your head in a musical context. But even those moments, rare as they are, come about almost accidentally, in the excitement and energy of the moment. But the Tristano/Konitz session was deliberate.

In 1960, Ornette Coleman put together a double quartet, two full bands on opposite sides of the room, and recorded the 36-minute-long "Free Jazz." Nearly all of this was composed on the spot; about the only pre-written parts were some of the transitions between each section. This stuff was so out there -- at the time, anyway -- that trumpeter Freddie Hubbard sounded lost. Coleman's album was one of those that no one was neutral about; it was either a bunch of disconnected skronks on vinyl, or a revelation.

Of course I have "Free Jazz" on CD. It's packaged with an earlier take, one that's kind of a rough draft. The first take was half the length of the released version, and there are plenty of differences between the two. Bass clarinetist Eric Dolphy in particular approached each version as a tabula rasa; it's intriguing to listen to both and hear Dolphy playing two completely different sets of ideas on the same theme.

But the Tristano/Konitz effort, part of which was released on an album called "Intuition," predated "Free Jazz" by nearly 15 years.

Tristano's been dead for years now, and their bassist, Arnold Fishkin, wasn't exactly a household name. But back when I was in college, a local guy named Mac McReynolds had a big band that played World War II vintage stuff, with an Air Force motif. McReynolds' band was called the Planes Of Fame band, and his bassist was named Arnold Fishkin. I wasn't aware of the Tristano/Konitz connection back then so I didn't ask the obvious question, but there can't be two guys with a name like Fishkin.

But Konitz today, he may have lost a lot off his fastball by now, but it's hard to tell from listening.

If you've got the time and want to hear some good playing from an old guy, hop on over to the NPR site and grab the concert. It's free, and it's a treat. The old guy can still bring it.

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Kristofferson concert wasn't slick, but done honestly

Those who check out Kris Kristofferson's latest concert circuit may notice what's missing: No fancy lighting, no top-of-the-line equipment, no gorillas in security outfits. Shoot, not even a band. It's just Kris.

And it was this minimalist, for-real aspect that helped Kris connect with the audience. He was up there on the empty stage of the North Charleston Performing Arts Center, standing in the circle of light with two monitors at his feet, a microphone stand, and a music stand next to him. Just him, with a nothing-special acoustic guitar, occasional harmonica on the neck rack, and his songs. Take away the usual venue trappings and it could have been him playing in a coffee shop, some smoky tavern someplace, or your living room.

He's 73 now, and he's lived some hard miles. A songwriter in the 1960s and 1970s. A few albums on his own. Time as an acclaimed actor. Some tours with The Highwaymen, a country supergroup (with Waylon, Willie, and the Man In Black). A drinking habit that would have pickled anyone else's innards. I understand he's clean now.

Friday night, perhaps a form of redemption. It was just Kris Kristofferson, songwriter, warts and all, delivered in a personal manner you don't see on the concert circuit. And the crowd at the Performing Arts Center, mostly baby boomers who remember him more for his songs than for that bathtub scene with Barbra Streisand (A Star Is Born), was appreciative and often helpful.

You can't say he'd lost much off his voice over the years because, honestly, he never had that much of a voice anyway. His rhythm was sometimes off, and there were a couple of times where he forgot words or guitar phrases. But he'd already connected so solidly with the audience, so that really didn't matter.

Pastor Sonny, who accompanied me to the concert, knows something about this aspect. Sonny's a baby boomer in good standing, and makes his living speaking in front of audiences. He knows his music, too -- he's a fine rhythm guitarist, and it's always a pleasure throwing down some songs with him. He suggested the smaller venue and being up there alone, without the protection of a band and all the usual concert trappings, is really doing it the hard way.

Kris started slowly, apparently wasn't feeling too well for this show, but started to catch his stride with "Me And Bobby McGee." Janis Joplin made that song famous, it's pure Kristofferson. He noticed the audience response, and offered an apology. "When you're trying to sing along and we're not together, it's not your fault."

For this show, he just didn't seem to take this stardom business all that seriously. Or himself. "Don't try to clap along," he told the audience at one point, explaining his own sense of rhythm isn't all that great. "Don't even try." And on "Duvalier's Dream," he agan interjected, "don't try."

Between songs he'd occasionally check his set list on the music stand. "I already did that song," he said at one point, almost to himself. "Can't do this song, because then we'd be done."

But he broke out his songwriter's reportoire -- "For The Good Times," "To Beat The Devil," "Here Comes That Rainbow," "Sky King" (a ribald military chopper pilot's story that had Pastor Sonny, the Southern Baptist minister, rolling in his seat), "Best Of All Possible Worlds" (a shaggy-dog tale about spending a drunken night in jail, something Kris can probably sing about with authority). And my own favorites -- "Why Me Lord" and "Sunday Morning Comin' Down." A strong show, in all.

Those who are expecting a slick, prepackaged performer doing his songs just like they were on the album would probably be disappointed. Which is OK; there are plenty of musical acts that can cater to just that need.

This was just Kris, being honest.

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As a working musician, I got a couple of takeaways from this performance:

• Even if you're not at your best, connecting with the audience overcomes all.
• Keep things simple and straightforward. Sonny noticed Kris seldom strayed from the key of D.
• Like my old mandolin player Wil St. John (an incurable Bob Dylan fan) liked to say, the whole thing is just to deliver a song.

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Kris Kristofferson on Amazon

Kris Kristofferson on allmusic.com

From The Boot: What he's doing lately