'The Complete Prestige Recordings' is a 3CD set that was released on July 25, 2000. The reissue producer was Eric Miller. The original recordings were produced by Prestige Records founder Bob Weinstock and Ira Gitler, they were recorded by Rudy Van Gelder, at his original studio in Hackensack, New Jersey.
Monk recorded for the Prestige label as a leader and sideman between October 1952 (after leaving Blue Note) and December 1954 (before bolting for Riverside).
By the time Monk secured a contract with Prestige, a run-in with the law resulted in the revoking of Monk’s cabaret card, which resulted in a lack of any potential income-generating gigs in New York City. But the Prestige recordings offered him the opportunity to reach wider critical and commercial acceptance.
This era of Monk’s career marks what many Jazz fans refer to as his "genius in development" phase, during which he recorded many of his most popular compositions for the first time. Prestige's initial LPs sliced and diced these sessions, on this release they're in chronological order.
Thanks to the 20-bit K2 Super Coding remastering by Shigeo Miyamoto, the clarity to the piano, bass, and drums is a "knockout".
For the freeload, tell us about a run-in with the law, you had.
As a boy of about 12 (in 1976), i was allowed to camp overnight in a friend's garden for the first time. At night, while my friend's parents were asleep, we set off. We didn't really know what we wanted; it was just exciting. Wandering through the streets, we passed a gumball machine. Suddenly, we had "the idea." We'd break into it, not so much for the few pennies, but more for the gumballs. I don't remember all the things we did to get them. We acted incredibly stupid and were just loud. Suddenly, a police car arrived, and two officers jumped out. We tried to run away, which my friend managed to do, but I couldn't. They took me with them, drove me home, rang my parents' doorbell, and handed me over to their custody. I got a huge beating, was grounded, and received many other punishments. And what was all that for? We didn't get a single gumball. They didn't get my boyfriend, by the way. He disappeared quickly. Neither my parents nor I betrayed him. When I think about it now, it's a funny story to me. Back then, it felt like the end of the world.
ReplyDeleteComedy is tragedy plus time
DeleteSorry, I forgot: Best regards, Mike
ReplyDeleteOne time in the late 60s, I was stopped by two members (old fat guys) of The Pasadena Police Department, who thought I was someone named Susan. I told them I wasn’t Susan, and showed them a New York driver's license, which they told me “wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on”. Then they took my shoulder bag, and put the contents on the hood of their car. One of the items was my bible (and by bible I mean, a hard cover copy of Michael Spivak’s recently published ‘Calculus’), which one of them flicked the pages with his thumb, and found a sheet of acid (100 hits I was “holding for a friend”). The entire sheet had an airbrushed Pegasus (as opposed to a small Pegasus on each “hit”) the clueless cop told me “Nice Hippie bookmark”, and closed the book. A gust of wind made another item in my bag, a tampon roll off the hood land on the sidewalk and kept rolling. I told one of the cops “Hey, I’m going to need that!”, and he chased the tampon down the sidewalk, while the other cop chuckled. I was handed back my tampon, which the cop was holding like it was a dead rat, and told I could go.
ReplyDeleteIncredibly lucky. That could have derailed your whole future.
DeleteIn the early '70s, I was experimenting with grafting hops rootstock onto cannabis plants wondering if I could create a kind of psychedelic hops plant — the two species have remarkably similar biology, and at the time a number of people were playing with this idea I was also growing regular cannabis plants alongside the grafts under GrowLux lamps in our basement in a large container filled with topsoil. Late one Friday night, a sudden rap on the door was followed by an announcement: "Sheriff's Department, open up." Holding the door just ajar, I looked out and saw a couple of squad cars, their lights flashing. One of the cops was saying there'd been complaints of loud music, which was patently bullshit. Being mid-winter, all the windows were closed, and there'd been no loud music that night. I suspected our neighbor may have called the cops because there had been strong vibes of disapproval emanating from his side of the house, especially since my brother's multicolored band van had been parked in our driveway and a procession of touring musicians had filed in and out of the house for showers. The cop then made a show of sniffing the air and announced that he smelled Mary Jane and they were coming in. Ignoring my request to see a search warrant, within a moment, four or five cops made a beeline down the basement stairs to my ganja grow. Soon handcuffed, I sat on the couch, staring at a pan of weed I just ground up, ready to roll some doobies. Somehow the cops had overlooked the freshly ground weed in their haste to see the grow. And amazingly, long after I was hauled away to the Altadena Sheriff's Station, that pan was still sitting on the coffee table, waiting to greet me after I'd been bailed out later that night.
ReplyDeleteThe upshot? I paid some lawyer a few hundred bucks, and asserting an illegal search and seizure, got the case dismissed.
Alls well that ends well.
DeleteDoes US Customs count? For every decent CBP officer there are (at least) 2 complete assholes. You'd think that Canadians were entering the US to foment revolution or something. (We are, of course, but let's keep that between us). The only time that they could have busted me (1973, nickel bag hidden in vehicle) they were too incompetent to locate the contraband. The best and brightest, indeed. As far as law enforcement (i.e. the Po-lice) goes, I've generally been a good boy. But, and I'm sure it is similar most places, response times may differ. As I sit typing and looking out my kitchen window, what do I see 150 metres away? You guessed, the cop shop. In our city they are the world famous Mounties. A couple of years ago, there was a fellow checking every vehicle parked in our block (in broad daylight!). I called to report the "suspicious behaviour" and the Dudley Do-rites sprang into action. About 45 minutes later.
ReplyDeleteIt counts.
DeleteANON RF: All my life I've (1) reminded people of or (2) been mistaken for someone famous by many dozens of strangers and friends alike. (1) It was weird when I was, say, 10 and some kid would say "Who does he look like?" "I dunno, who?" "Cousin Dougie!" "Ohhh yeah, he *totally does*!!" ME: "Uhm. Who's Cousin Dougie?" THEM: "Oh my god, never mind, you don't wanna know... Har har har..." (2) Among the diverse celebs I'm apparently a spitting image of: Paul Newman. Guitarist John Williams (someone bet money on that in a pub). Yankees pitcher Bill "The Spaceman" Lee (ditto). Richard Chamberlain. George Kennedy. Bert Lahr. Lionel Ritchie. Elaine Stritch. FYI I don't look like ANY OF THEM!
ReplyDeleteNow to the point. I was arrested and taken in when I was 16 and sitting on a general store porch because I matched "exactly" the description of someone who had committed some offense someplace against someone sometime earlier. Nice and specific. The guys I was with vouched for me, but as we all had long hair, the fuzz ran me in anyways. I sat in a holding room for two hours while they failed to find the actual guy. I was out of state, so they had to talk to my parents over the phone (thankfully, my parents believed me over the po-leece). Kopz finally released me telling me "You watch yourself, buddy, we got our eyes on you."
Lionel Ritchie!?!? Elaine Stritch!?!? For that matter... Paul Newman!?!?!
Too funny!
DeleteAbout 6-7 months after 9/11, I'm flying from Austin to Chicago for a conference. There is engine trouble and we divert to KC. We wait, new plane comes, and we are being rescreened, the gate agent gets a funny look and starts asking me weird questions about where I've been and where I am going and what I do. I am not entirely dim (you may be about to disagree), and it dawns on me I am wearing a keffiyeh (which in 1975 my mother had gotten for me in Israel). Being a genius, I say, well, I start to say, "if I were a terrorist, do you think I'd be wearing a keffiyeh around my neck?" By the time the word "terrorist" was out of my mouth, there were two armed men on either side of me asking me to come with them. I assume she hit some panic button.
ReplyDeleteMy US customs encounter was coming back from Nicaragua the first time in the winter of 1989 during the Contra War. I was detained at the airport in NOLA and they wanted to photocopy my notes, see my pictures/film, ask me questions. I said no, they disappeared with my stuff for about 2 hours, and I now know did exactly that, brought me back my stuff and sent me on my way. six months later, expecting the same, I had a close friend waiting for me at the airport who is a lawyer in NOLA. He was all prepped and when they asked if I had an attorney I was psyched to say "yes, and he's here." Fuckers didn't even look at me twice.
Then there was the time the effin' Canadians pulled me outta line in Toronto where I was arriving for a conference, haul me to a little room, and put me through it; what am I there for? To give a paper at a conference. About what? revolution. To who? What are their names? Who else am I meeting with...after about 30 minutes, I say, "tell ya what, I'm just gonna wait for the next plane home and leave." "Oh, no, no. You're free to go."
In 1981 in Madrid during the coup attempt (I was lit-er-al-ly there across the street from the Cortes when it went down), the woman I was living with needed to report to the local police station because she had lost her passport. A very nervous police officer with a long gun he did not seem comfortable with told us nervously where to go and we unfortunately went another and then heard the safety click off behind us (the advantages of her being from Pascagoula, Mississippi and me being from BRLA); she put out her hand to stop me and calmly
said in perfect Spanish, "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood, where would you like us to go?" He marched us at gun point to the correct office & kept an eye on us while we waited.
Twice in Nicaragua I was stopped on the tarmac from boarding a little prop plane to fly from Managua to Bluefields, which, fair enough, there was a war on and while they had decided my Spanish was so bad I probably wasn't CIA, can't be too careful. Both times I was "invited" to "visit" with someone from the Ministry of the Interior about exactly what I was doing living there & why & for how long & who had given me permission?
apologies for the novella. OTOH, you can appreciate I didn't belabor my many, uhm, casual encounters with the fine folx of the BRLA and Louisiana State Police in my wanton youth. I was never charged nor held overnight.
DeleteNo apologies necessary.
DeleteYou're very kind, as always.
DeleteDamn. I don't want to repeat the police encounter incidents I already posted here, but your 9/11 experience reminded me of another. Shortly after commercial flights resumed, my son (about 11 at the time) and I flew to Oklahoma City (for an ice hockey game of all things - he actually was really good at the sport). I had completely forgotten that OKC had previously had its own experience with terrorism, until we got into the airport and I saw how many military personnel were there, all carrying rifles of various shapes and sizes. We start heading toward the baggage claim when one soldier raises his hand to us signaling we are to stop. At that time, I sported a full beard, somewhat long, shaggy hair and my son was clean cut due to school requirements. Soldier asks for the proverbial papers, starts perusing them and then signals for other militia to join him. I am then told that they are going to separate the two of us for further questioning. I look at my son and I can see just abject fear in his face. I then tell the soldier that I have no other adult that can accompany my son, and that since I am his father, wherever he goes, I am accompanying him, and if that is a problem he needs to say so, so that I can start screaming for help to thwart the abduction of a minor. After about 45 mins of my son and I being held together by one of militia men, and the others about 30' away in a circle discussing what to do and radioing various others, we are finally told to get the hell out of there.
Deletein-fuckin'-excusable. Petty-ass tyranny. And to a kid.
DeleteBack in high school, c.1970, we were cruisin' the highway with a 6 pack of brewsky (surprise, surprise) when we were pulled over for some reason. I was riding shotgun, so I put the beer on the floorboard & covered it with my ridiculously wide bell-bottoms. The cop shined his flashlight all around, but didn't see anything suspicious, so we lived to cruise another day. We wuz bad-ass!
ReplyDeleteYes you wuz.
DeleteFast-forward to the early 2000s. We were at a ranch in the Texas hill country playing music & doing things that make you talk fast & play all night. About 5 AM we decided to head back. I rolled thru a stop sign getting back on the real road, not noticing a cop that was behind me. My buddy didn't want to go to jail, so after topping a hill, he threw his bag-o-weed out the window while the cop was out of sight.
DeleteWe made it home safely, but were out of smoke, so next day we went back to the site & he actually found his stash. The road goes on forever & the party never stopped...
As an appetizer, my name was on the no-fly list after 9/11
ReplyDeleteUh, my name is about as close to John Doe as you could get...
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Doe
Anyways, in the late 90's I got pulled over for speeding in Laguna Beach, CA (PCH) on the way to school (Orange Coast College). The lady cop was pretty tough on me but I pleaded my case to her that a ticket would ruin my life. I would lose my insurance and wouldn't be able to drive to school etc. etc.
So, she goes to her car and I'm pretty sure I'm getting a ticket. She comes back and says "I don't know why I am doing this but you can go"...I said "Thank you! Can I give you a hug?"...and then she said "That won't be necessary"
~ Jon in California
Link
ReplyDeletehttps://workupload.com/file/NTNMXcUCk4B
In 1973, I was attending the University of Southern Mississippi. A friend asked if I'd drive him & his brother home to Jackson. It was a holiday break, I think, and they had partied a little too hardy the previous night. About half way, there was a rest area & the brother said he needed to pee. So he went into the bushes & peed off an embankment. We left the rest area, made it about 100 yards before a FURIOUS state trooper pulled us over. His wipers were on. That embankment was a "bear cave" & it was pretty evident that brother had peed all over the windshield of the patrol car.
ReplyDeleteOops---I hate it when that happens!
DeleteHattiesburg in 1973 musta been a thing...wasn't there a restaurant near there or between there and Jackson--Mendenhall is floating up from what few brain cells I have left--where they put the food out on lazy susans? Maybe the best fried chicken I ever had...also the Mayflower in Jackson?
DeleteFirst, how amusing that, like Eric S., I have a keffiyeh that my mom bought for me in Israel.
ReplyDeleteNext, all my po-lice encounters have not included my arrest for anything. This is a little funny since, in several instances, they've happened when I was chillin' with friends and smoking weed. I guess the most spectacular was in Bel Air, a part of L.A. that is adjacent to Beverly Hills. My dear friend D. and I parked his '66 Mustang on a residential street and sat, smoking from my little wooden pipe and listening to tapes for over an hour...
A cop car pulls up behind us and they flash the lights. We are searched, the officer finds the pipe and small stash in my jacket pocket, and makes "a noise." NOT a "great - busted!!" noise, either. After a look at our CA licenses (which have our "permanent addresses") and bit of a lecture, they completely let us drive away. You see, we both lived reasonably close to where we were parked, and were both back at our respective parents' houses for the Xmas break. So, in a way, neighborhood kids.
Someone had called us in as burglars, casing the mansions in Bel Air. There were seven LAPD cars in various places, making sure the "burglars" didn't escape!
Wherever the criminals were that night, they weren't being bothered by LAPD patrols; we monopolized them.
D in California
1983 or so Turnpike lane North London somehow I sharing a squat with the Grey Organisation who artist freinds of Sade (I I kid thee not) met her with DJ Robert Elms then. Party gets trashed by kids but later police break down door as local supermarket had been raided and champagne stolen and I fitted description (shaved head doc martins skinhead look) I am slammed against fridge and cuffed and then one more perceptive officer pulled up shirt sleeve and said no fucking tatoo it ain't im. Uncuffed and left to to peruse broken front door. Apology there was none.
ReplyDelete