Word: basses
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DIED. MELVIN FRANKLIN, 52, singer; from a series of seizures; in Los Angeles. Franklin's impossibly deep, stirringly smooth bass line anchored the Temptations-Motown's premiere male ensemble-through a string of Top 10 hits beginning with The Way You Do the Things You Do in 1964. Only one of the original quintet, Otis Williams, remains alive...
...titled after a Geri Allen composition--a rare sign of tribute from Dame Carter, who is widely known as one of the toughest and most critical taskmasters in jazz. Carter's tyrannical ways were amply demonstrated in her own appearance at the Regattabar last year, when she lambasted her bass player on stage for not getting the changes right. Unlike the poor bassist, Allen was not cowed by Carter's aggressiveness. The level of tension during the London concert at which feed the Fire was recorded actually seemed to stoke her creative furnaces. Her solos are a fascinating commentary...
Allen also recorded a trio album for Blue Note last year, Twenty one. On this album, Allen is heard accompanied by--and sometimes struggling with--the deafening racket of grand masters Ron Carter and Tony Williams on bass and drums, respectively. For some reason, the producer of Twenty One, Teo Macero (who produced all of the great Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk albums on Columbia) ,chose to have an incredibly bass-heavy mix, which, coupled with Williams's tooth-rattling cymbal crashes, threatens to drown out the subtleties of Allen's phrasing and unique harmonic conception. It is to Allen...
...dance with this woman. Topping us all in height, her body was a pillar of groove. "This is a funk class, so I want to see you all go crazy. You do what your body wants, but you better do something," she demanded, making herself clearly heard over the bass. Well, she certainly did something with hers. And, amazingly, so did all of us, following the instructor through the pivots, jumps and pelvic thrusts that she incorporated into her set. Everyone jams in her own way, but old timers and novices alike found a place on that dance floor...
Writing Home gives the reader a sporting chance at understanding Bennett; it is as close to an autobiography as this gentleman is likely to vouchsafe. And in its evocations of Bennett's early years, it offers a virtual oratorio of embarrassment. His father, the butcher, played double bass in a jazz band and produced herb beer at home but succeeded at neither. His prim "Mam" made a religion of getting along; eventually she retreated into what Bennett calls "her flat, unmemoried days," like a meeker George III. Young Alan sought glamour in Leeds' double-decker trams, musty mystery...