REICH COMMUNICATIONS

Remembering Grady Tate

 

I just saw something online that Grady Tate, one of the top drummers in modern jazz, died last week at age 85.

In addition to being one of the most in-demand studio drummers for countless jazz albums in the 1960s and 70s and a longtime member of the Billy Taylor Trio, he was also respected as a jazz vocalist.  I was lucky to be in the studio in 1969 when he recorded his first vocal album, "Windmills of My Mind."

It's a long story, but one I love to retell...

In the late 1960s while in college, I did a weekly jazz show on the college FM radio station.  One of my favorites back then (and now) was pianist and educator Billy Taylor, whose daily program on a local radio station in New York first got me hooked on jazz.  So I knew very well who the other members of the Billy Taylor Trio were -- Grady Tate on drums and Ben Tucker on bass.

When I'd come home on schools breaks, I would make a point of getting into the city to visit the promotion guys at the various record labels to get copies of the latest releases to bring up to school and play on my show.  On one of those visits, someone told me about a new jazz label, so I went up to the label's offices to see what I might be able to get.  Skye Records was in a penthouse of an apartment building on E. 55th Street, just off of Sixth Avenue.

I rang the bell and a well-dressed black guy answered the door.  After I introduced myself, he did the same telling me his name -- Ben Tucker.  I asked him, are you a bass player? When he said yes, I said, are you the Ben Trucker who plays with Billy Taylor?  I think he was so surprised that some skinny white kid knew who he was that he invited me in and we talked for about an hour.  I told him about my radio show, and he told me about the new label, of which he was an A&R and promotion guy.  He played me bits and pieces from the label's debut albums -- stuff by vibes player Gary McFarland (one of the owners of the label), guitarist Gabor Szabo, Latin percussionist Armando Peraza.  He told me they were planning a new album with Grady Tate, which would be his first as a vocalist. 

On my next visit home, I stopped up to see Ben and he told me they were in the middle of recording the new Grady Tate album, "Windmills of my Mind."  He invited me to come to the studio and watch, which of course I did the next night.  There I was sitting in the control room next to Ben Tucker, watching Gary McFarland at the control console and looking through the glass at a who's who of the top jazz musicians of the day -- Snookie Young and Marvin Stamm on trumpet, Urbie Green and Jimmy Cleveland on trombone, Herbie Hancock on organ, Bernard "Pretty Purdie" Purdie on drums, Jerome Richardson on sax, Chuck Rainey on Fender bass, and Grady Tate at the mic... I was in heaven.

I briefly met Grady that night, and I got to spend some time with him, Ben and Billy Taylor a few months later when they sat in live on my radio show, after finishing a concert at another college ten miles down the road. What a thrill, letting the guys pick out songs from the library, play them and talk about the tunes and the musicians playing them.

I stayed in touch with Ben Tucker for a while until he left the label and moved down to Savannah, where he bought a radio station and became a local celebrity, playing at a club every week until he died in an accident a few years ago. I saw Grady Tate at a concert many years ago and I went up afterwards to say hello and remind him how we had met.  He said he remembered.  Maybe he was just being polite, but it was a great thrill for me. 

Sorry to hear that he is gone, but his music lives on.

Here's a link to "Sack Full of Dreams," one of the songs he recorded when I was in the studio in 1969...

 

 

Vinyl

Saturday marked the 10th anniversary of Record Store Day.

If you're a boomer or Gen Xer, you'll know what a record is. 

Records were the source of music for most of us, beyond the radio. They were packaged in cardboard albums with great photos and illustrations, and liner notes with info on the songs and the musicians.  Some of those albums have themselves become collectors' items, worth far more than the original $5.99 to $15.99 cost of albums back in the day.

Tape cassettes and then CDs seemed to spell the end of music on vinyl records.  Record stores that used to be filled with row after row of vinyl record albums began to replace vinyls with CDs, relegating record albums to small areas that carried only the top sellers.  That meant if you were looking for jazz, classical or anything beyond the Top 40 hits, you were probably out of luck.

And then came downloading and streaming, and record stores themselves began to disappear.

Through all the changes, however, there's always been small group of music lovers who clung to vinyl. They preferred the fuller sound that vinyl provided, as opposed to the crisp yet somewhat clipped digital sound of CDs.  Some alternative and punk bands put their recordings out on vinyl, perhaps as a way to thumb their noses at the music establishment. 

And then along came the millennials, always looking for something new but, in doing so, often "discovering" for themselves the things of their elders.  And that included music and the format for listening to it.  Vinyl record stores began cropping up in neighborhoods populated by the young generation.

Vinyl records last year hit a 25-year high mark, with more than 13 million units sold -- a 53% jump from sales of 2015.  It was the first year that vinyl record sales outpaced digital downloads, in terms of dollars spent.  And industry experts project vinyl sales to hit 40 million units this year, worth $1 billion.

Even as vinyl sales have been growing for the past ten years, it's still a drop in the bucket from the heyday when, in 1981, a billion vinyl albums were sold with dollar volume exceeding $5 billion.

Today vinyl represents about 6% of the $15 billion recorded music market.

Record Store Day celebrates and promotes the vinyl music format, just as it celebrates record stores themselves. Several hundred record stores have opened throughout the U.S. in the past five years, proving that vinyl is not dead.

For musicians, fans and retailers, that's music to the ears.

 

 

 

from Englewood Cliffs

 

Jazz aficionados know the town Englewood Cliffs.

To non jazz-lovers and most New Yorkers, it's just a town in New Jersey, on the Palisades overlooking the Hudson a bit north of the George Washington Bridge. 

To jazz folks in the know, especially those who bought jazz albums in the 1960s and 70s, many of those albums included this tag in the liner notes --  Recorded at Rudy Van Gelder Studios, Englewood Cliffs, N.J.

Rudy Van Gelder, who died this week at 91, made the sleepy suburban town as important a place in jazz history as legendary venues like The Blue Note, Birdland, The Village Vanguard and The Village Gate in New York and The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach south of L.A.  He engineered albums in his home-made studio, which doubled as his home, for top jazz labels including Blue Note, Prestige, Verve, Impulse and CTI.  His name and sound imprint is on classic jazz discs like John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme," Miles' "Walkin," Horace Silver's "Song for My Father" and Herbie Hancock's "Maiden Voyage."  He engineered most of the albums on CTI including the Wes Montgomery classics of the mid - late 60s. 

He developed his interest in sound technology as a teenager, when he was active in ham radio.

Van Gelder was immortalized in a jazz tune by Duke Pearson from his 1965 album "Sweet Honey Bee."  The tune, "Ready Rudy?" was written as a tribute to legendary sound engineer.

Rudy Van Gelder is now gone, but his soul lives on in countless jazz recordings.  And Englewood Cliffs remains an important part of the jazz legacy.

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

              One of hundreds of jazz LPs recorded by Rudy Van Gelder

A 60's icon fades away

 

I remember as a teen hurrying home from school to check the mail, hoping it would contain a large parcel from the Columbia Record Club.  Inside would be ten or eleven records that had cost me only a penny (plus shipping and handling). What a deal!

And then, every so often, I'd get another package with more records I had bought at discount prices (plus shipping & handling).

It was a fun and exciting way build a music collection. The ads in magazines and Sunday newspaper supplements had dozens of album cover photos (or tape cassettes, as in the ad at the right), and all you had to do was check the ones you wanted.  A whole world of music was right there on the page.  And after you got your free records, you only had to buy a few more at full price (plus shipping & handling) in order to qualify for a free record of your choice.

Part of the fun was the anticipation.  It usually took 7 - 10 days between placing the order by mail and actually receiving the records. I suppose I paid with a check -- I can't recall.  This was before the days of Pay-Pal or online credit card payments.

Members would get a catalogue every few weeks with pictures of all the hot albums of the day.  If you didn't respond by a certain date, you'd automatically get the monthly album pick, along with a bill.  This was called a negative billing option, which ran into some controversy in the 1990s.

Those memories came back to me today as I read that Columbia House (the current name of the old Columbia Record Club) filed for bankruptcy yesterday.  It was formed by CBS Records in 1955 and in its glory days, they probably had a membership in the millions. Today, according to the story in The Wall Street Journal, they are down to about 100,000 members, and they only sell DVDs.  No LPs, cassettes or CDs -- no music downloads.

Today's teens have no idea what the Columbia Record Club was. Many probably don't know what a record was.  And imagine kids today -- or anyone for that matter -- waiting a week for music.  We're used to getting it immediately, for 99 cents or less.

It was a different world back then.

 

 

 

 

 

Bragging

 

Proud to say my filmmaker son Michael is mentioned in Rolling Stone for a video he just shot for rocker Ryan Adams.  The piece features mistress-of-the-dark Elvira, who Michael said is really sweet.

Here's a link to the article...

 

and here's the video ...   (Give it a moment.  It might take a few seconds or more to load.)

Enjoy.

 

  

"America's Conscience"

 

He was far more than a folksinger.  Pete Seeger has been called America's conscience, speaking out on issues that may not have been popular at the time but are now considered "the right thing."

In an interview several years ago with Charlie Rose, Seeger said it's often easier to say tough things in a song than in simple direct speech.  He often used music to say tough things that needed to be said.

I grew up with his music, but never thought of him as more than a folksinger until I saw a PBS American Masters show about him.  That's when I came to appreciate what he did for us -- not only penning so many memorable songs, but standing up and fighting for so many things we now hold dear.

Pete Seeger died last night at age 94.

 

 

 

 

What we too often take for granted

 

"... the home of the brave and the land of the free."

That final line from our nation's national anthem is something we live with every day, but it's too easy to take the "land of the free" concept for granted.  I was reminded of that earlier today when I saw a piece on "CBS This Morning" profiling jazz trumpeter Arturo Sandoval, who receives the Medal of Freedom from President Obama at the White House today.

I've loved Sandoval's music for years.  I've seen him in concert and I have several of his albums.  But there's a great story behind the music.

Sandoval grew up in Cuba and began playing trumpet as a young boy.  He attended Cuba's top music conservatory, but he knew nothing about jazz.  A visiting journalist first exposed Sandoval to jazz, and the trumpeter never looked back.  But jazz, considered an American art form, was banned from the Cuban airwaves and from music clubs on the island.  Sandoval listened to Voice of America and whatever jazz records he could manage to find.  As a young man, he played jazz at clubs in Havana, but received threats from the Castro regime that if he continued playing jazz, he and his family would be at risk.

He met jazz master Dizzy Gillespie when Dizzy played in Havana in 1977.  He managed to get himself a gig as Dizzy's driver in Cuba, and Dizzy heard Sandoval play.  Neither spoke the other's language, but they connected through the music and Sandoval was invited to the stage to play with Dizzy and his band.  Eventually, Gillespie got him a spot to tour with him as part of the United Nations Orchestra.

Dizzy helped Sandoval defect to the U.S. in 1990.  Sandoval became a U.S. citizen in 1999.

In the CBS interview this morning, Sandoval talked about how much he loves this country for its freedom -- which includes the freedom to express himself through jazz.  When you've lived without freedom, one can appreciate it that much more.

There's a fantastic movie about Sandoval's life, produced by and starring fellow Cubano Andy Garcia --  "For Love or Country," released in 2000.  Sandoval plays in the soundtrack.  It's worth checking out.

And gracias, Arturo, for reminding us of the meaning of freedom.

 

 

 

 

 

On the Record

 

Vinyl is making a comeback

 

How many of you have vinyl record albums?  Do you still listen to them?

For most of us, music on vinyl is a thing of the distant past.

I remember when I got my first CD player back in the early 1980s.  The first CD I had was Fleetwood Mac's "Tango in the Night" and I remember how crystal clear the highs were, playing on my giant old AR4a speakers.  And the lows, coming through those speakers, shook the room.

Even as audiophiles debated the true clarity and "warmth" of CDs vs vinyl LPs, I found CDs to be more convenient.  You could program it to skip tracks you didn't like as much, or you could scramble it so tracks would play in random order, just for variety.  And with a 5-disc changer, you could sit back and relax for hours without having to get up to flip a record over or put another on.  And, you could play them in the car.

The only problem was what about the hundreds of vinyl albums I already had collected – especially a really good jazz collection.  I still had my Dual turntable, so I could listen to my vinyl albums.

As the years went by, my amp lost its punch, as did those great speakers.  But by then, I found myself listening to music on CDs on the sound system we bought for the big TV.  The sound system has a CD/DVD player built in, and the surround-sound speakers, small as they may be, somehow pump out a pretty decent sound, buoyed by the sub-woofer sitting on the floor behind the TV.

I gradually stopped listening to my LPs.  In the cabinet are some fantastic albums –  a lot of great rock and all that jazz… stuff by Coltrane, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Oliver Nelson, Billy Taylor and lots more.  Most haven't been listened to in a good ten years… maybe more.

Even as I and most of us ditched vinyl way back, the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America), which tracks music sales with Nielsen SoundScan, says sales of vinyl records jumped by more than 33 percent through the first half of this year, compared to a year ago.  That's still only 2.9 million records, but it represents the continuation of a steady growth trend since 2006.

Ironically, the CDs that knocked vinyl out 30 years ago are being replaced by digital downloads.  People can now buy only the specific songs they want, rather than being forced to pay for an entire album.

A story in Advertising Age notes that some big retailers like Whole Foods are experimenting with vinyl record stores within its grocery stores.  And Amazon says vinyl is its fastest-growing music medium, with sales up by 745 percent in the last five years.  That's from a tiny base, but it's still real growth, even though vinyl now accounts for only 2 percent of total music sales. 

But for something that most had left for dead over the past 30 years, two percent and growing is still something.

Several months ago, I got lonely for some of the jazz I have on vinyl.  Many of the jazz LPs I have just aren't available on CD.  So I tried hooking up the turntable to the TV sound system, but somehow it doesn't work. Maybe the impedence doesn't match, and the best I get is very soft pickup of what's on the album, barely audible even when you crank up the volume. 

But I'll get it figured out one of these weekends.  And once I do, who knows... maybe I'll buy an album on vinyl.

 

 .

 

THE Jazz Teacher

 

LaGuardia High School, originally called the High School of Music & Art, is New York City's public school for young people gifted in the arts.  It was the inspiration for the 1980 hit movie "Fame."

I was at the school last night as they celebrated the 40th anniversary of the school's jazz education program, which when it began in the early 1970s, was the first accredited program of its kind in any secondary school in the U.S.  My friend Justin DiCioccio was the teacher who began that program, and he was honored at last night's gala celebration.

 

Note: The New York Times has a nice profile in the Jan. 30 issue.  Click here to see it.

 

Justin loves jazz and he loves teaching young people.  He still teaches -- now at Manhattan School of Music, where he is the Associate Dean and Director of Jazz Studies.  And he travels literally around the world teaching and giving clinics.  His excellence as a teacher has been recognized many times, including being inducted into the Jazz Educators Hall of Fame in 2001.  His love of jazz is so infectious that he was named last year as the Cultural Jazz Ambassador to Tbilisi, Georgia.  The jazz ambassador program, from the U.S. Dept. of State, uses the arts as a way to bridge gaps and establish connections with other countries.  Georgia, a part of the old Iron Curtain, was one of those places where jazz had been banned under the old regime.

I met Justin back in 1987, when I was hired by a major PR agency to run the McDonald's business.  One of the programs McDonald's sponsored was the high school jazz competition and Justin, working as a consultant, directed the program.  I must admit it was my favorite project for two reasons -- I love jazz, and Justin was such a pleasure to work with.  He brought in name musicians to work with the kids -- Branford Marsalis, Steve Turre, Dave Valentin, Red Rodney and others.  And he gave so much of himself to the program and to the kids.  Much more than he was being paid to do.  I was able to convince the McDonald's people to support and expand the program.

When I left that job to start my own agency, the person who took over for me didn't have the passion for the music, and she let McDonald's drop the program within two years.  I tried to help Justin find a new sponsor, but I just couldn't get it done.  But Justin eventually got the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences -- the Grammy people -- to do a similar program, which to this day is run by Justin.

I'm far from the only person who admires Justin for his lifetime of dedication to jazz.  At last night's celebration, 30 of the top names in jazz came together to perform in honor of my friend.  Names like LaGuardia H.S. alumni (and former students of Justin's) Marcus Miller, Kenny Washington, Arturo O'Farrill, Don Byron and others who may not be as well known, but whose names can be seen on countless recordings.  And others who weren't taught by Justin, but have worked with him -- Latin jazz master Paquito D'Rivera, guitarist John Pizzarelli and trumpeter Jimmy Owens, who graduated LaGuardia before Justin had arrived. 

It was a great night and a fitting way to salute THE jazz teacher, with so many of his students and friends playing for him.  I'm proud to call Justin my friend and I was thrilled to be part of the crowd gathered in his honor.  And I'll see him again tonight, as he goes back to his role as teacher, conducting the Manhattan School of Music big band as they debut student compositions.

 

Justin with former student, drummer Kenny Washington

 

 

 

 

Radio loss

 

Quality radio lost a real pioneer yesterday. Pete Fornatale, who was one of the innovative leaders in the early days of FM rock radio, died at 66 after suffering a brain hemorrhage two weeks ago. 

Listeners in the New York area have known him for more than 40  years on Fordham University's WFUV and on WNEW-FM back in the late 60's and early 70s when that station was breaking new ground in radio and in music.  More recently, we'd see him hosting on TV when PBS stations would run classic rock concerts during their fundraising periods.

I remember hearing Pete soon after he started on WFUV.  I was in college in the late 60s and I got involved with the college FM radio station, first playing soft pop (we'd call it elevator music today) and then a twice-weekly jazz show.  There were two stations at my school -- the AM rock station that played only in the dorm, and the FM station that, with its 10-watt signal, made it into the town and, on a good day if the wind was blowing right, got as far as the Canadian border 20 miles north.  I gravitated to the FM station, since the AM was programmed in the style of the fast-talking, screaming rock DJs that were popular at the time.  I was never glib in front of the microphone, so the slower-paced FM format better suited me.

I remember coming home on breaks and tuning to college stations in the area, to hear what others were doing.  WFUV stood out like a beacon, and the calm and intelligent conversational-style DJs like Pete Fornatale were a welcome change.  And on FM, especially college stations that were mostly commercial-free, the DJs could play longer album cuts -- even entire albums -- without interruption.

Pete Fornatale went on to commercial success on WNEW-FM in New York, which was the radio beacon for album rock -- what we then called alternative rock.  He was on with other low-key DJs like Jonathan Schwartz (still heard these days playing and talking about Sinatra-era music on local radio here and also nationally on satellite radio), Alison "The Nightbird" Steele and Meg Griffin.  These DJs didn't shout silly slogans at us.  It was almost like they were guests in our living room, bringing some great records to play on our turntable and sitting across the room chatting with us about the music and the musicians.  It was a novel concept back then, and Pete Fornatale was a master at it.

Thinking about Pete makes me recall the earlier days of radio 40 years ago.  As someone who was on the air back then, it was a great time.  The DJs pretty much played what they liked, with little or no interference from station management.  These days, at most commercial stations the DJs are tightly confined to a list of what to play and when to play it -- often computer-generated from one of the major radio programming companies in Texas and elsewhere in the heartland.  And half the time, no one bothers to say what songs you just heard or who performed them. It's like radio has lost its soul.

Radio used to be personal and local.  Now it's largely automated and syndicated, with the local DJs doing little more than sequeing between music and ads.  In many markets local radio news and public affairs programming is minimal or nonexistant, since the FCC 20 years ago lifted the requirement that broadcasters using the public airwaves devote some of that time to public service and news.

Thinking of Pete Fornatale brings back many memories of great radio listening.  And luckily for me, it brings back personal memories of the fun I had sharing good music on the radio with unseen listeners.

Thanks, Pete, for helping keep radio's soul alive all these years.

 

...

Looking for an illustration for this post, I stumbled across some silent footage taken at my college radio station back when I was in school.  This isn't me in the pictures, but this is the studio where I used to do my shows.  Thanks to Ted Perkins for the video.

  

WTSC 1968 & 1972(?) Unedited footage from Ted Perkins on Vimeo.