Very informative page on licensing music arrangements.

http://saffordbaker.com/writings/?p=56

Dear Los Angeles Jazz Community,

I just learned from a dear friend in our Los Angeles Jazz community that our local newspaper, the Los Angeles Times, quietly ended jazz coverage from the pages of its entertainment section, Calendar, as part of recent "budget cuts." That means no more reviews, previews, feature stories, or even listings of shows/events.

I grew up reading the Times at home and when I moved, faithfully resubscribed to it in my own abode. However, I'm not sure that I - in good conscience - could continue supporting a publication that turns its back on my first favorite music... Los Angeles is a city too rich in jazz history and people still contributing to the artform for this music to be cut off from coverage in our major city paper.

If you feel as strongly as I do that we - as afficionados, educators and/or creators of jazz music - should have representation in our city's major news publication, the Los Angeles Times, please make your voice heard by writing a polite but passionate piece to Editor Russ Stanton at the address below:

russ.stanton@latimes.com

Thank you for your urgent concern and consideration.

- A. Scott Galloway

Music Editor asgbeat@ca.rr.com

Urban Network



October 27, 2008 — From
By Don Heckman

When I attended the Thelonious Monk Jazz Competition events this past weekend, I ran into many friends from the jazz community. Since the Competition is an international event, there were folks from L.A. , as well as many other parts of the coutnry and the world.

Every one asked me about the diminishing presence of jazz coverage in the Los Angeles Times. Knowing that I have been covering jazz, and other musics, at the paper for more than twenty years — as the principal jazz critic and jazz writer since Leonard Feather died in 1994 — they all expressed concern about whether they would continue to read my commentaries in the LAT.
Today I´ve received a flurry of emails, as well as copies of letters sent to the Times expressing concern over the cutback in jazz coverage. Some have distorted or misunderstood the situation, as I discussed it with my friends and colleagues at the Monk gathering. So I thought it would be useful to simply explain what I know about it.

The reduction in jazz coverage at the Times actually began 7 or 8 years ago when jazz was moved into the Pop Music area. Prior to that I frequently did three or four reviews a week, as well as a Sunday record review column and a Friday Jazz column. Under Pop Music, the coverage was reduced to two reviews a week, the Sundy jazz record review section to once a month, and the Friday column was discontinued.

Several months ago, a new editor took over the reins of the pop music department from the acting editor. I was told, almost immediately, by her that jazz reviews would be reduced in number, and would essentially have to be pitched to her for approval That represented an immediate and significant change, since — as one who is deeply aware of developments in jazz, here and elsewhere — I had generally done my own scheduling of reviews, with oversight from the acting editor. In addition, the Sunday jazz record review spotlight disappeared.
In scheduling my reviews — of both live concerts and recordings — I tried to balance the major name programs with as much coverage as possible for the Southland´s huge array of world class jazz talent. That approach became virtually impossible when the reviews were cut back to one a week. Within a month or two, they were cut to one every ten days. After that it became a matter of submitting events I thought were important, and hoping that coverage would be permitted. It usually wasn´t.

About two or more months ago, I was advised by that the free lance budget for Pop had run out for the year, and that I should contact my editor in late December to consider what could be covered when the new budget came into effect in January. Basically that meant that I could do no reviews for the last 3 1/2 months of the year.
Let me add a little background here. Despite my 22 years and over 5,000 bylined reviews, articles and stories in the LA Times, I am still nominally a free-lancer, since I´ve always refused offers to go on staff. What this means, of course, is that — if there is no free-lance budget — a staff writer could be assigned to cover jazz reviews, despite the fact that there is no one on the staff who is qualified to do so.
Starting about a month ago, I began emailing my editor, pointing out that — if there if only one jazz event could be covered before the end of the year, it should be the Monk Competition event at the Kodak this past weekend. My request was refused several times. I informed the Monk folks of the situation, and they began to contact my editor to urge coverage. Eventually, she apparently agreed to do so, assigning a staff writer to do the review. It will appear in the paper tomorrow.

It may well be that the letters that are being sent to the LAT, expressing concern about the reduction of jazz coverage, will be responded to with some minimal coverage of jazz by staff writers with little knowledge of the music. And tomorrow´s review of the Monk event will no doubt be cited as evidence of the paper´s continuing interest in jazz. This, despite the fact that it will be the first jazz review in the paper since August 1.

But I can only wonder why the Music department seems to have a budget to employ a free-lance reviewer one or two times a week to write about European classical music, while similar funds cannot be allocated to the Pop department to allow me to continue the coverage — however modest in numbers it may have to be — that jazz needs and deserves.
I have no inside source of information at the paper, although it´s apparent to everyone that the problems seem to be multiplying rather than diminishing. My real concern is for the knowledgable representation of the music that is America ´s greatest cultural achievement.

Posted in Here There & Everywhere: Don Heckman's Blog. Tags: Don Heckman, jazz, jazz coverage, jazz reviews, Los Angeles Times, Monk Competition. No Comments »
Live: The Monk Competition Finals

Seeks Mentors, Support, Endorsements

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School District, San Jacinto USD, Glendale, Alvord USD, Santee USD, Salinas
Union High School District, Kasnsas City USD, North Kansas School District,
Liberty School District, Elgrove School District, and many more.

http://www.allaboutjazz.com/php/article.php?id=21243

By Kenny Drew, Jr.
April 6, 2006

I've decided to add this section to my website as a vehicle to express my views on various topics, musical and otherwise, that have been on my mind lately. You may wonder why I'm talking about popular music in this first installment, since I am generally thought of as a "jazz" musician. However, anyone who knows me knows that my tastes in music are very eclectic (as are those of most jazz musicians, quiet as it's kept). In fact when I started my career as a professional musician, I was not playing jazz. I started out playing in R&B groups and Top-40 bands. We only played jazz if the club was almost empty!
The 60s - 80s was such an incredible time for all styles of popular music, but for the sake of this discussion I will concentrate specifically on black music (or rhythm-and-blues, or funk, or whatever the hell you want to call it). Recently, I've been listening to a lot of my favorite music from that time, and to be honest, I am disgusted and sickened at how far our music has declined in the quality of the music and its message. How the hell did we get from Motown to Death Row; from Earth Wind & Fire to Ludacris; from Luther Vandross to 50Cent? I remember a time in our music when songs had great melodies and chord changes, you actually had to be able to sing or play an instrument to become a musician, and Michael Jackson was black! It's a sad commentary on our culture and society when the biggest thing in popular music is an ex-crack dealer whose claim to fame is being shot nine times, and one of the greatest entertainers in the world was on trial for child molestation. If that's not a sign of the coming Apocalypse, I don't know what is! And if 50Cent was really shot nine times, why couldn't one of those bullets have hit a vital organ? Who the fuck was shooting at him: Stevie Wonder? And as far as all these black rappers getting shot, how about a little equal opportunity violence here? Can't somebody pop a cap in Eminem's white ass?
Another issue in the decline of music today is the stupidity and negativity in the lyrics and the video images that accompany this so-called "music". I recently discovered that there is now a form of rap called "coke rap", in which the lyrics deal mainly with the sale, distribution and use of cocaine and crack. I find it offensive that any record company would try to make a profit from glorifying something that has decimated the black community the way that crack has. I hope that one day while 50Cent is lounging by the pool in his humongous mansion surrounded by beautiful groupies, he might consider how many lives were ruined by the poison he used to sell, and how many more lives will be potentially damaged by the musical poison he's selling now. There's a video by Ludacris that I've seen of a song called "Act a Fool". All I can remember about the video is that there were a lot of shots of him and his boys running from the cops. Don't we have enough young black men running around acting like fools without some idiot rapper encouraging it? (But then again, Ludacris probably makes more money in one month than I'll make in my entire life as a jazz musician. So who's the idiot here? Maybe it's me!)
Remember when the lyrics in our music spoke of love or the loss of love? Who can forget the uplifting messages of peace, hope and spirituality in the lyrics of Earth Wind & Fire? Or the social consciousness and protest messages in the lyrics of Gil Scott-Heron and Marvin Gaye? How the hell did we get from "Just to be Close to You Girl" to "Back That Ass Up Bitch"? How the hell did we get from "What's Goin' On" and "You Haven't Done Nothin' " to "Me So Horny" and "My Hump"?
Last, but not least, it's time to address the musical quality of this bullshit, or more accurately, the lack of it. Way back when, when I first started studying music I was told that music had to consist of three elements: melody, harmony and rhythm. Rap music (an oxymoron similar to "military intelligence "or "jumbo shrimp") has basically discarded the first two elements and is left with nothing but rhythm. Since only one element of music is present in most of this crap it doesn't even justify being called music. Our culture has been dumbed down to the point where your average dumb-ass American can't tell the difference between a truly great musician and somebody who's been studying their instrument for a week. Playing a musical instrument at a high level is no longer a well-respected skill in our society. (I'm not 100% sure that it ever really was.) In fact, to be honest, I think that most of the students in music schools today who are studying jazz and classical music are wasting their fucking time and their parents' money! (Boy, am I gonna get in trouble for saying this!) Why spend all that time mastering an instrument when you can just get a drum machine and a microphone, write some asinine lyrics about bitches, ho's and pimps and make a ton of money? Sometimes I wonder whether I'm wasting my time in this cesspool called the music industry. These days it seems like the only way to make any serious money in music is to produce some bullshit that doesn't even sound like music!
So what's the solution here? Damned if I know! But I did see an encouraging story on the news recently. A billboard advertising 50Cent's new movie was put up in a black neighborhood not far from a school. In the billboard 50Cent is seen with his heavily tattooed back to the camera with his arms outstretched in a crucifix-like pose with a microphone in one hand and a gun in the other. Understandably, the community was outraged. They held protests, got some media coverage, and eventually succeeded in getting the movie company to remove the billboard. I say that we use this as a model nationwide. I propose a nationwide boycott of rap music; perhaps by picketing in front of record company offices and major record store chains. Anybody remember the "Disco Sucks" movement in the 70s? Maybe it's time for a "Rap Sucks" movement now. Who's with me here? (Actually, looking back on the disco era, that music sounds like Beethoven in comparison to the rap garbage that's poisoning our airwaves now!) Maybe we could have a big "Rap Sucks" rally somewhere. (As long as it doesn't escalate into a riot like the "Disco Sucks" one did.)

http://articles.latimes.com/2005/jun/09/news/wk-cover9

L.A.´s jazz scene is as sprawling — and as tenacious — as the region itself.
By Lynell George, Times Staff Writer

It's a typical early-in-the-run night at the Jazz Bakery — not quite bleak, but possibly tipped there.
Nights like this make Ruth Price, the proprietor of the Culver City venue, more than a touch nervous. At the moment, eyes heavenward, she's scanning the seating plan — a clear plexiglass sheet situated above the ticket booth that patrons scan to handpick their seats. As each ticket is purchased, Price, or one of her staffers, X's out a spot, allowing a visitor a preview of how full (or not) the evening might be.
More than a decade into this, the tension of worrying over the house still puts Price on edge.
The first set is supposed to start at 8 p.m., but there aren't many grease-penciled Xs. Price waits as long as she can, given there's the second set to think about. At 8:15-ish, the lobby lights start flashing, indicating that the doors to the performance space will be opening shortly. Businessmen with loosened ties catch the last bit of light outdoors and stub out their cigarettes. A group of women in broomstick skirts and long exotic earrings, clustered in the high-ceilinged cafe, toss out their pie plates and then take their seats inside. The green plastic patio chairs are set up in straight rows like pews. In this simple, bare-bones arrangement, the room looks even emptier than the seating grid.
By the time the lights have dimmed and Price has given her trademark peppy intro, singer Andy Bey squints out into the crowd. He makes a visor of his left hand, cupping it above his brow and peers out into the shadows: "So nice having a packed house," he laughs into his microphone. "Oh, but they're on their way." Bey smiles a knowing smile and then, seating himself at the piano, everything falls away. He promptly saunters into "Paper Moon"; next, an otherworldly version of "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?"
Bey continues to toss out an unusual set of tunes — like laying out a surprising playing-hand. Then he starts in on some not so unusual ones: Kurt Weill's "Speak Low" and an achingly out-of-time version of "Midnight Sun." He pulls something out of the center of his being, in a voice that is all ache in the middle but only slightly frayed at the edges — he sings these with conviction and controlled force — as if it were an SRO crowd, as if he were alone.
When it comes to jazz in this city, most die-hard fans know this abstract truth: There is the "jazz romance" — the packed, hushed rooms, the heady rush of brilliance; and there is the "jazz reality" — back-to-back sets played by journeymen and masters in odd or even incongruous spaces. And with any luck, on any given night here in Southern California, you can find something that falls somewhere neatly in between.
You just have to know where to look — or that you should even try.
Contrary to popular grousing, there is jazz to be had in Los Angeles — and we're not just talking about high-profile clubs such as the Jazz Bakery or this weekend's Playboy Jazz Festival. The experience may come wrapped in a way we're not accustomed to, or it might take some seeking.
The bad rap about L.A., from performers to listeners, is this: "People don't come out." Or, "It's too over their heads." But the jazz issue is deeper and more complex: It's an issue of sprawl, of competing distractions.
"It's a matter of infrastructure," says Ken Moore, who, for a hot minute in 2000-01, ran Howling Monk Coffee Bar in Inglewood. Some nights 100 people or more would crowd into his modest space, which offered pastry, coffee and tunes. They'd drive in from the San Gabriel Valley or just bump into the music as they were walking down the street. "It was like a big void we were filling. We didn't serve alcohol. And the artists really enjoyed it because people were there for the music. There wasn't anything ulterior to it," says Moore, who kept doing it until he simply ran out of money. "What was I gonna do? Have a 10-tea minimum?"
His dilemma raises the question: What do we think about when we think about jazz?
Experiencing jazz comes ready-fitted with clichés that are hard to shake: that it happens in dark (perhaps basement) rooms; that there is a two-drink minimum; that, to be authentic, the music has to be obtuse.
But the region is full of surprises and, as a rule, breaks with convention. The music may not happen one flight down as it does in Chicago or New York. Here it might transpire at a musty old Elks Lodge or in the back of a sandwich shop.
But that is part of the appeal.
There are rooms where the big names sail into town and play five-night stands. The Bakery is one, Hollywood's Catalina Bar & Grill the other. Between those two rooms — as different as day and night — L.A. has seen jazz's royalty: Elvin Jones, Carmen McRae, Max Roach, Buddy Collette, Jimmy Scott, Kenny Burrell, Wynton Marsalis, Dizzy Gillespie.
And while UCLA Live and the Walt Disney Concert Hall have been hosting jazz, what people don't often know about is what happens in the pockets on any given night in some hidden corner of the Southland.
The working musician's life means hotel gigs at the Biltmore downtown and the Westin and the Crowne Plaza at the Los Angeles airport, playing in bars or echo-y lobbies. There, too, is a collection of rooms in the San Fernando Valley and Glendale and Pasadena; or the music that happens at the new 5th Street Dick's in Leimert Park and across the street at the World Stage. There's jazz at Steamers in Fullerton or the LACMA courtyard Friday nights or the speak-easy elegance of the Vic in Santa Monica.
For those who prefer their music outside of the box, there's the "line space line," the new and improvised music series at Selah Artistic Giving Center in downtown L.A., as well as a series that drummer Alex Cline has been booking for years, the Open Gate Theater, which stages shows at Eagle Rock's Center for the Arts the first Sunday of the month.
Just about anywhere you can think of, there's someone sweating out his soul, possibly playing for nothing but giving his all. Jazz isn't dead. But when it's not shape-changing, it's in a stealth mode.
There will always be the crony, some long-timer at the end of the bar, who, without prompting, wants to roll out those glory years stories — the Central Avenue scene, West Coast cool — just to make you jealous about all the historic rooms and sounds that could simply be happened upon ... once upon a time.
And, yes, the landscape has changed. But that doesn't take into account what still happens every night here.
Jazz violinist Jeff Gauthier has usurped the dance floor of a Culver City Salvadoran restaurant, Club Tropical, on Thursday nights to host a series he's dubbed CryptoNight — an extension of his label Cryptogramophone, which pays homage to creative improvised music in L.A. and beyond. "They aren't playing standards," Gauthier says. "They won't be booked at the Bakery or Catalina or Steamers. But these are artists who have taken their cues from people who have been doing innovative music here for decades — Bobby Bradford, Vinny Golia."
Just after 8 p.m. on a recent Thursday, pianist Thollem McDonas and drummer Rick Rivera sit beneath the dance floor's disco balls. The audience — art school types in rectangle glasses, musicians in shorts and flip-flops — are seated on short stools that ring the stage, while a family of four works through a plate of pupusas. Another family peeks in, the son transfixed by the bright sounds — all angles and odd meters.
Tonight's attendance is sparse. But restaurant owner Carlos Rodriguez knows the ups and downs of this; he hosts music just about every night, including another jazz night on Mondays and a Brazilian choro ensemble on Wednesdays. He's become aware of the city's odd ebbs and flows, musicians and their followings: "When people like Nels and Alex Cline come here, the line is out the door."
Across town a few nights later, McCoy Tyner has landed back in L.A. for another week of shows at the Catalina Bar & Grill. Catalina is the city's bid for the classic example of the jazz club experience. And Tyner is one of the classic examples of straight-ahead jazz, once part of what was arguably one of the most famous ensembles in jazz history, the John Coltrane Quartet. Midweek, mid-run, even on his second pass through in three months, the room is lively, though just about half full.
As Tyner makes his way between the blush-colored tabletops, one woman murmurs, "Ah, déjà vu all over again."
His gait is a bit unsteady, but his bearing is elegant. He strolls by slowly, as if the evening has no end or limits. He seats himself on the piano bench. His drummer, Eric Gravatt, has already taken off his jacket and draped it on the joint where one of his cymbals hangs, vertically like a gong — to prepare for what is to come.
Tyner raises his hands, then digs in. And in those hands one can hear the history of jazz — from ragtime to stride to bebop and beyond.
First round, second round. First set, second set. Waiters sailing in like clockwork, the check arriving just as the musicians settle in for the encore: There is something soothing and ritualistic about the club: People return for the comforts of those rhythms while catching a glimpse of jazz history passing by.
Impresario Rocco Somazzi is wearing yet another hat — or rather, at the moment, another apron. He sails out of the kitchen of Cafe Metropol, deep in the industrial section of downtown L.A., with three plates — two endive salads and a cheese plate — for a table of women who look as if they're just coming off work. He pivots toward another table and pulls out a pad. A mother and daughter, who looks to be about 7, gaze up at him: "You guys want some pizza? It's very, very good."
The music is just starting up; the Kathleen Grace Band begins working through its first set: "My Ship," "La Mer," "Sunrise, Sunset." The energy of the room — the music competing with dinner conversation and the unpredictable rhythms of a Friday evening — is a night-and-day situation for Somazzi, who for a couple of years ran one of the more adventurous destination jazz spots in the city, one that was as quiet as a temple.
For those hard-cores on the scene, Somazzi's name was (and is) synonymous with creative, assertive jazz. In 1998, he opened a room, Rocco's, high on a hill in Bel-Air and started booking some of the most adventurous acts he could lure.
"I was after music that was interactive. Music that was bold and not complacent. Something that was pure energy." Word of mouth brought him audiences and, some nights, a line outside.
Somazzi couldn't quite manage the overhead, and finally bailed. Soon after, he started booking shows at a theater on Santa Monica Boulevard's theater row — late-night sets, favored by musicians, that began after 10, after the theater crowd had cleared out.
After a disastrous booking with the famously unpredictable trumpeter Freddie Hubbard — "There were about 50 people, not 300" — Somazzi had to sell not just his car but his baby grand piano. He shuttered the business and took a step back to reconsider. In the last couple of months, he's been booking shows out of Barnsdall Park at the Gallery Theater and now at Cafe Metropol on 3rd Street (where he's the night manager). "Little by little I began to see the potential in the room."
Lighting the space and arranging the room is simple: "The single most difficult thing? Connecting the right audience with that atmosphere."
People from the neighborhood and friends of the band wander in, but the din has quieted some as the 10 o'clock hour advances. Since people live close by, instead of gearing up for a 10 or 11 p.m. start, Somazzi has to focus on winding down by midnight. "So it's always something."
In an odd twist of fate, Rocco's Bel-Air experiment has become Herb Alpert's pet project, Vibrato. And if Rocco's room became a citadel for serious jazz, in its current incarnation the music takes a back seat to after-work cocktails, expansive dinner chatter and an impressive date destination — with tasty steaks, chops and fish to boot. This doesn't mean that the music isn't sublime. It is. (Bobby Hutcherson and Toots Thielemans have played there; Dave Brubeck is scheduled.) It just has to compete with so much else. And for anyone who loves jazz, it's painful.
On a recent night, the room's artistic director, bassist Pat Senatore, was paired with pianist Larry Fuller, and the two men competed with the noise and constant movement. In the first two sets, they soldiered on over the distractions and despite the dearth of applause. And when they offered up Antonio Carlos Jobim's bittersweet "How Insensitive," it was hard not to reflect on the double meaning.
"It's been getting a lot better," says Senatore. "We're starting to get an audience who understands the quality of the musicianship. But it's been a battle for me, especially in the first few months. If it is a musician's first time, they may not know how to work the room, and they might be playing for themselves. That's not going to work. If I feel we're losing the room, I may play something in 3/4 or a bossa nova to bring them back in. As a leader you have to be aware of that," he says, adding: "Herb put a beautiful note in the green room saying he understands what the situation is ... and that his hope is that this will make this audience aware of jazz. And educate them. And I'm committed for the music."
Some nights, going to hear jazz live in L.A., you do feel like you are in some outmoded secret society, one that better start trolling for members — or else.
Nonetheless, there are some traditions that stubbornly persist — no matter what's in or out of fashion.
Toward the end of the second set, late Saturday night at Charlie O's in the Valley, is when you can begin to see the seams. Not the band's. They're still fresh, just getting warmed up, really — though they are squeezed into a tiny space behind the piano bar.
It's the crowd that is starting to show the wear and tear.
You begin to see who is going home with whom. Who is not going home with whom. Who's getting — albeit discreetly — bounced. And who is simply high on the music.
As the quartet plays, a foursome works through a platter of ribs and slaw on red paper placemats against the long wall, facing the piano. The club — well, bar really — is a perfect shotgun, and although it's nearly 11 p.m., almost every stool of the long bar is filled, the room lit up by tiny colored Christmas lights.
Between sets, saxophonist Plas Johnson, the evening's guest headliner, joins the band, the John Heard Trio — Heard on bass, Roy McCurdy on drums and Gildo Mahones on piano. They cluster around one of the tall tables testifying in a "Well, you know this town" sort of tone. "Yeah, I was up at that club up on the hill the other night. You know that expensive place where people go to eat...."
They are catching up — about the whereabouts of this one or that. Giving leads to the others about work. Drummer and local band leader Frank Capp walks in with his wife, Mina. They stop and chat. Bassist Jennifer Leitham, who makes the circuit around town, is also on hand, trading stories — road stories, studio stories, old days stories.
They've all weighed in on the indignities: the rooms that ask you not to "play too loud" during the dinner hour, the bookers who punish you for playing for the competition. But they are not so much complaining as testifying. There are few places left where a player can just really play and the audience can just listen — no cover, no minimum.
As the third set gets going, the band is just easing into a really thick, down-home groove, Red Callender's "Dolphin Street Blues," when one of the patrons sitting at the bar shouts out, "Get that grease off the stage!" The ice machine works furiously in the background, occasionally offering its own free-form solo. The crowd is a mismatched mix of the region — some Hollywood/Silver Lake types slumming, suit- and cocktail-dress-attired middle-aged couples clearly out for a special occasion, and a fair number of men alone ringing the piano bar, staring into their scotch, their beer, their bourbon — all on various points of the emotion scale.
It's music to heal to, to flirt to, to groove to. Once the lights dim and the audience has walked around the edges of a melody and decided to move in, it doesn't matter if you're sitting on plastic chairs or in a $50-a-seat club. All you need is a leader who is aware, who nudges you in.
"Some new people came in," says Johnson, who is as starched-and-pressed and elegant as when the evening began so many hours ago, "so I would like to take this time to introduce you to the band...."

http://www.ele-mental.org/~ecc/exo/exotica/baxterremembered.html

by David Goodman

1) When did you first meet Les Baxter?

I believe the year was 1992. At that time I was working with the Los Angeles Composers Guild as a pianist and conductor. The Guild was started in 1991 by composer and entrepreneur, Gloria Ching, and was a composer consortium that sponsored monthly recording sessions for composers to make low-cost orchestral demo tapes with a first-string studio orchestra. In 1992, LACG was in its early stages and we had everything from neophyte composers whose music preparation looked like ancient Greek to seasoned pros like Les Baxter whose music prep sometimes looked like modern Greek.

Les was scoring a "student" film for someone working in the graduate program at the UCLA Film School. I assume that the filmmaker, whose name I cannot recall, had heard of Les and had somehow managed to corral him into scoring the film, probably by picking up the recording costs. At that time, I had never heard of Les Baxter although I was probably familiar with some of his better-known music by way of media osmosis. He arrived on the podium at Ground Control Studios in Burbank on that Sunday morning looking a little like a sophisticated and less near-sighted replica of Mr. Magoo. Someone had done his music prep using a computer notation program and there were many errors which infuriated Les. The feature cue had a piano solo with a vaguely sketched hand-written chart that in some places simply said(in Les's handwriting) "play pretty chords". It was strikingly similar to Unchained Melody and this was indeed one of Les's ways of recycling his best material to serve the moment. I remember his conducting being efficient and detached, much like Boulez since he didn't use a baton. Yet he had a warmth about his style that showed the depth of a veteran whose heart and ears were still very much in contact with the muses.

2) Were you familiar with his works before you had met.

As I mentioned earlier I probably knew some of his more famous music but was unfamiliar with the man and his legacy.

3) What kind of person was he to work with?

At first glance Les was more like a Prussian General than the gentle pussycat that was beneath the surface. This was probably due in part to years of working with producers and film industry power- mongers who could easily destroy a composer's score with the bat of an eyelash. Les always knew what he wanted but was not always a world-class diplomat in getting the final results. I did manage to earn his respect and admiration early on when he heard me sailing through the Prelude to Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin at our first LACG session. He was a card-carrying Francophile and would purr on command at the sound of anything by Ravel or Debussy. These two composers were obviously a strong influence on his music if not for their exoticism than for their lush harmony and sumptuous orchestration. Les himself would even play snippets of the opening of Ravel's Jeux d'eau but would stop at once when he reached the second page or so.

As I got to know Les better over the next few years he always treated me with great respect and admiration even though in public he would sometimes condescend as if I were simply another talented protege or at times even his personal valet. He knew, however, that if I were doing his music prep or was in charge of putting the library together for a session, there would be absolutely no mistakes.

4) Did he ever relate to you his feelings on the Music Industry in general or his thoughts about composing for films.

Les was the consummate iconoclast and as a result hated authority with a passion. I think this probably had something to do with his great talent being overlooked while other lesser composers were getting the big feature films. I remember him arguing adamantly with a director and eventually getting his way with a certain cue. He would also often speak of the days when he was at the top of his film composing career and had a big house in Bel Air complete with chef and chauffeur. In a sense he was still living that dream during his last years in Palm Springs although at that point most of his money had dried up.

5) You mentioned that you had worked together on Les Baxter's "Last" film entitled "Lighting In A Bottle". Could you elaborate a little more about this film and why no one has heard of it.

Well, my friend, remember that since you're living in Central Ohio there are many things out here that never make it over the Sierra Madres let alone the Rockies or Mississippi River. No offense -- I lived in Northeastern Ohio for the first twenty-one years of my life which is perhaps why I hadn't heard of Les Baxter until 1992. Les lacked a publicist so unless you were watching late night cable this film would have been easy to miss.

Lightening In A Bottle was produced in 1993 by Matovich Productions and eventually aired a couple of times on Lifetime. Mitch Matovich was a producer/entrepreneur who had worked for many years at NASA as an engineer. After leaving NASA Mitch started his own production company up in Valencia(just north of LA) and in collaboration with his wife Patte Dee were producing "family-oriented" movies. Patte had been a professional costume designer in the industry for many years and knew Les from previous projects. Lightening In A Bottle starred Linda Carter, Dee Wallace Stone, Mark Kove, and Matt McCoy and was the story of a drunk driver(Linda Carter) who kills three people in a car accident, mistakenly escapes prosecution, and then spends most of the movie gathering her recollections of what really happened on the night of the accident. Linda Carter sang the end title song, Somehow I'll Go On, which featured Plas Johnson(of Pink Panther fame) on Tenor Sax. This film was sort of like Les Baxter as Norma Desmond, a once famous veteran returning to score a film after living in semi-retirement.

The score to Lightening In A Bottle is simply gorgeous and while the handful of music cues are spread sparsely throughout the film, Les managed to unify the entire score beautifully by using the head(five notes of a descending scale) of the theme song as a filmic leitmotiv throughout. The orchestration was simple but lush and used only strings, harp, piano, drum set, and tenor sax(used only in the end title theme). There were also two other songs in the film, both of which were Country Western type tunes with words and music by Les Baxter(A Country Mile from a Broken Heart and Lightening In A Bottle).

I remember getting a call from Les in February of 1993 summoning me to a recording studio in Hollywood to play for "a singer" who was doing the end title for the film. Gloria Ching was slated to be the Music Supervisor for the project and I would eventually be brought in to help with orchestration, music prep and to play piano on the session. I arrived at the studio which turned out to be total dump. Les was late as usual and was accompanied by Mitch Matovich who was dressed in one of those black film industry baseball jackets, jeans and black Florsheim zip-up boots. Les was cordial but aloof and handed me a lead sheet written in purple bic pen on xeroxed Passantino manuscript paper. I went into the studio only to find a piece-of-junk parlor grand that needed tuning and dismal lighting that must have been leftover from one of those Vincent Price movies that Les had scored. Eventually the "singer" showed up and without introducing herself we began rehearsing. I didn't recognize her at first but she looked strikingly familiar with deep dark eyes, dark hair and a knock-out body. We laid down several tracks and as she became more comfortable with the song we went to multi-track so that the piano could be separated out and her voice part put on top of the string bed which would be recorded later on at Capitol.

At the end of the session I stupidly asked the singer, "So, do you do mostly studio work , jingles, or what?" "No," she responded curtly, "I'm an actress." After she left the studio with Mitch and Les for lunch(I wasn't invited) it hit me over the head like a lead balloon that the "singer" was in fact Linda Carter of Wonder Woman fame. I was very embarrassed to say the least.

The orchestral session took place later that winter at Capitol -- the original Capitol near Hollywood and Vine where Sinatra, Nat King Cole and numerous other greats had recorded. Les had done a good deal of recording there as well in the sixties so in a sense this was like Norma Desmond returning to the sound stage at Paramount in Sunset Boulevard. The session went right ahead with great efficiency and Les conducted with elegance and authority. At one point he felt compelled to stop the players and walk over to the piano to "demonstrate" how I should voice a certain chord(Db13#11). I surrendered my piano stool to him and he proceeded to play the same exact voicing and descending series of chords that I had just played in the previous take. The players were amused but I was gracious enough to recognize that this moment was nothing more than a spoiled child looking for attention. Plas Johnson arrived fashionably late which meant that the entire orchestra was sitting there for at least forty-five minutes while the meter ticked. Linda Carter's vocal was sent to the players headsets along with my original "dummy" piano track and we all somehow managed to play in sync while Les conducted. This, of course, was backwards from the way it is normally done where the orchestral song bed is laid down first and the vocalist recording on top of it in a subsequent take. We all felt as did Les that the session was a huge success even though the film has never made it past a few airings on cable TV.

6) Do you have any fond memories of working with Les that you would like to share?

A while after the Capitol session Les invited Gloria Ching and me out to his place in Palm Springs on several occasions. The first was during Easter of 1994 which was before Les had his stroke. He had moved there from his place in Newport Beach and had one of those ranch/desert style places with three bedrooms, a pool, and a beautiful garden. I remember that Les loved flowers and had the interior decorated with lots of imitation Rococo art and soft colors. He had an antique baby grand piano that was hopelessly out of tune. As usual I played Ravel and Debussy which pleased him to no end.

It must have been about 105 degrees outside and as we sat around the pool it seemed like the obvious impulse to jump in the water and cool off. Gloria Ching was quite exotic looking to say the least and somewhat eccentric in her own wonderful way. I think that subliminally she reminded Les of Yma Sumac, with whom he had worked on many projects as a composer/arranger. Since Gloria didn't know how to swim and thus hadn't brought a bathing suit Les blurted out, "It's O.K. honey. You can just take off your clothes and skinny-dip if you want." Gloria, of course, modestly declined but Les was obviously buoyed by the thought.

As I mentioned earlier, Les's money was beginning to dry up at this point so whenever we went out for dinner, usually to some expensive French restaurant, Gloria and I usually ended up picking up the tab. I remember when we took the tram near Palm Springs up to the top of Mt. San Jacinto and how he managed skirt paying for his own ticket but still managed to get the senior discount. Les always liked a good deal, especially if it meant "my treat, you pay." Nonetheless, he was a most gracious host in his own home and I have nothing but the fondest memories of our weekends in Palm Springs.

7) You mentioned that Les's last concert appearance was on July 24th, 1994 with the Los Angeles Composers Guild. Could you elaborate more on this momentous occasion. Were you a part of this concert?

At least once a year Gloria Ching and the Los Angeles Composers Guild would produce a concert at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art as part of the "Sundays At Four" series. These events were co-sponsored by the Los Angeles Cultural Affairs Department and were broadcast live from the Leo S. Bing Theater at 4:00 each Sunday on KUSC, FM, LA's main classical radio station. The LACG concerts always had at least a forty-piece orchestra and featured LACG members as well as one or two "celebrity" composers. The concert on July 24, 1994 had some heavy hitters, among them David Benoit, Bruce Broughton, and of course Les Baxter. I'm sure that Les felt that he was the only real celebrity on the program, a point which no one disputed since he alone had been invited to participate free of charge. I was involved as both a pianist and conductor and also ended up serving as Les's personal "valet"(at least from his point of view) since he had to rent a tux and couldn't seem to carry it and all of his parts by himself. The concert was standing room only and he conducted two of his works on the second half of the program to great ovations.

The first piece, entitled Movement, was a new piece that had a driving eighth-note rhythm throughout with parallel seventh and ninth chords that were constantly changing from bar to bar. If anything, this piece could have been Les's ascent(or descent!) to minimalism although I think he was thinking more of Honegger and Stravinsky than Steve Reich or Philip Glass and probably would have deplored any such comparison to a particular "ism". I remember distinctly that he conducted with such minute gestures in the pianissimo passages that the players were forced to follow his every nuance. By contrast, the less experienced composer/conductors relentlessly sawed the air with batons the size of riding crops. Les and I were the only ones who didn't use batons and I think the players found that this created a more intimate musical environment. I attribute my own predilection for this technique to the years that I spent observing Pierre Boulez conduct the Cleveland Orchestra while I was growing up in Ohio.

The second piece, Poem, was something from an earlier era that I think had already been "recycled" once before. The players' parts(quite yellowed from age) had at least two different titles that had been crossed out with different pens before the current title, Poem, was penned in. It had that sixties, lush pop/ballad sound that Les was so famous for. I remember how disappointed he was at the end when the entire audience was not on their feet. This he attributed to the radio announcer's request that the "audience limit their applause so as to keep the continuity of the radio program moving along." I think that he was actually quite upset and felt that his moment of glory had somehow been cut short.

After the concert Gloria and I had planned to take Les and Mitch and Patte Matovich up to Adriano's, a wonderful Italian restaurant up in Bel Air near the Mulholland summit. Les had run into an old friend from Beverly Hills and after handing me his tux announced that he had other plans. Apparently he had a pretty good offer for dinner but this didn't prevent him from asking Gloria for $20 to get enough gas so that his vintage Cadillac could make it back to Palm Springs. This, sadly, was the last time that we saw Les before he had the debilitating stroke that eventually sent him to his grave.

8) Did you ever meet Skip Heller? He had befriended Les also shortly before he passed away.

No, but he may have been one of the people that Les worked with out in Palm Springs.

9) Did Les have any unrealized projects that he mentioned to you and do you have any special memories you would care to share with your relationship to Les.

Not that I know of, although after his stroke Gloria and I paid him a visit. I believe this was the spring of 1995. Les looked horrible. He was having to go in for kidney dialysis at least three times a week and seemed to have lost most of the razor-edged mental acuity that we were all so accustomed to. He could still get around but we were horrified at how he had deteriorated since the 1994 LACG concert. The garden and pool had become an absolute disaster and Gloria and I spent time trying to clean things up while Les sunned himself in a lawn chair. Our last meal together was at a great French restaurant called "Le Valouris". We were accompanied by a rather flamboyant older gentleman whom Les referred to as "the Count" and who was apparently from Swedish royalty. All of that aside, we gladly picked up the tab at the end of the meal as we knew this might likely be our "last supper".

During this last visit to Palm Springs I went in the garage and discovered shelf upon shelf of Les Baxter's original scores, parts and other music. This was probably his entire archive which unfortunately was left to the elements even though it had a roof overhead. That Sunday afternoon while we all sunned around the pool I took several interesting looking scores out to Les. He seemed not to remember any of the titles until I would sing to him what seemed to be the salient parts of each score. At that point, he would snap to as if he were immediately transported back in time. All of that music was deep in his heart despite his inability to read or recognize the titles.

I spoke with Les at some length about what would happen to all of this music when he passed away. He didn't seem terribly concerned especially since there was probably very little money to be made for his estate. Were I to have had stronger musicological ambitions and instincts at that time I would have certainly insisted on taking up the task of cataloging and documenting his entire body of work. I assume that at this point someone has perhaps bought up the entire catalog although I would imagine that his daughter Leslie would know for sure.

In January of 1996 Gloria received a call from Leslie telling us that Les had passed away a month earlier. We were devastated and very disappointed to have not been able to arrange for some of his music to be performed at a memorial service. We had indeed lost a great friend and artist who, if nothing else, can be remembered vividly through our own recollections and through his beautiful and prolific musical legacy.

David Goodman
Los Angeles, California
February 8, 1998

© 1998 David Goodman



DAVID GOODMAN

Biography

David Goodman-- composer, pianist and conductor-- has composed works for orchestra, chorus, jazz ensemble, brass choir, electronic media, theater and film and has received awards from The American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, ASCAP, the National Orchestral Association, and Who's Who in America. His Canto de esperanza has received critical acclaim throughout the United States, Europe and Latin America and is currently available on compact disc. The PBS documentary, Reina de la selva, for which he scored the music has been broadcast nationally and in Europe and received first prize at the Houston International Film Festival. In addition to his diverse activities as a composer he appears regularly in concert performances as a pianist and conductor and has worked with such artists as Quincy Jones, David Benoit, Les Baxter and Michael Kamen.

After receiving his Bachelor of Music degree from Oberlin College in 1975 he went on to receive his M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University of California, Berkeley and has taught in the music departments at Pomona College and UCLA. Since 1991 he has served as the resident conductor and pianist for the critically acclaimed Los Angeles Composers Guild and most recently scored the music for the PBS documentary Darkness Into Light. He is currently a Professor of Music Composition, Theory , and Music Technology at Santa Monica College.