After driving 25 minutes to catch a set by a jazz ensemble a couple months ago, I walked out in disgust after ten minutes when the group sleepwalked through stock arrangements of “Misty” and “The Girl From Ipanema.” And I might swear off jazz clubs altogether if I’m subjected to another humdrum rendition of “Summertime” this year. My screed is provoked by the track listing of a new album by a locally based jazz musician. Unless his goal is to obtain bookings from musically unsophisticated venue owners, I don’t understand the point of recording straightforward interpretations of tired warhorses like “Ain’t Misbehavin’”, “Bye Bye Blackbird” and “Route 66.” And let the record show that any person who gets between me and the door the next time a band breaks into “Ain’t No Sunshine” could get hurt.
(Original image by Plastic Sax.)
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