This is on Elvis ` Island site -
http://www.islandrecords.com/elviscostello/news.las
Elvis Costello & The Iridium Club.
Mr. Costello would like to apologise to all of those who attended the Iridium club date in hope of seeing him perform with Mr. Lee Konitz and Mr. Bill Frisell on the night 25th of November, supposedly to mark Mr. Konitz’s 76th birthday.
Mr. Costello had visited Mr. Konitz’s apartment on the previous Thursday to discuss and rehearse material and had a similar meeting with Mr. Frisell. At the soundcheck it was clear that the drummer, Mr. Matt Wilson, had prepared for a performance of “Someone Took the Words Away” from “North” with great enthusiasm and diligence. The bassist, Mr. Gary Peacock, declined to take the stand.
Even if one were not to regard this action as unprofessional and somewhat disrespectful to Mr. Konitz, as the leader, there can be no doubt that it was not exactly in the spirit of the celebratory nature of the evening. Obviously, a great variety of talented musicians have had no problem performing Mr. Costello’s compositions. However, as Mr. Konitz’s birthday had in fact been six weeks earlier, perhaps Mr. Peacock’s rather narrow view of the musical possibilities could be forgiven.
Far from leaving “in a huff”, as reported in the New York Times (27/11/03), Mr. Costello was scrupulously courteous to Mr Peacock throughout the rehearsal debacle in an attempt to ameliorate the regrettable situation and personally removed his music stand from the stage so as not to obstruct the audience’s view of Mr. Peacock’s technique.
Mr Costello, Mr. Konitz and Mr. Frisell reluctantly agreed that that the arrangements sounded rather like a “three-legged donkey” without credible bass accompaniment and parted in good humour.
Later, there was a frank exchange of views between the Mr Costello and the club over the telephone and it was made quite clear that he would not be appearing. Every opportunity could have been taken to inform incoming patrons of Mr. Costello’s removal from the bill. You may draw your own conclusions about this establishment and their failure to do so.
Subsequently, a call was placed to Mr. Costello's representative in the U.K., offering to fire Mr. Peacock from the gig if Mr. Costello were prepared to return to the engagement. It is unclear how this would have helped the situation, either musically or ideologically. Naturally, no artist or organisation of integrity would countenance such despicable treatment of a fellow musician.
Once again, Elvis Costello would like to apologise to anyone who queued up in the cold and to those who feel they paid an entrance fee unnecessarily but the musicians who were willing to play together were unwilling to compromise the quality of the performance in these most unfortunate circumstances. Mr. Costello hopes that the disappointed patrons enjoyed the rest of the programme and sends Mr. Konitz his most respectful greetings for his birthday…whenever it may fall….
Elvis/ Lee Konitz , 2003
Elvis/ Lee Konitz , 2003
Last edited by johnfoyle on Tue Oct 21, 2008 12:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
I was there and that's not how it went down at all.
When Ashton Kutcher suddenly appeared from behind a flagpole to tell Elvis he had just been 'Punkd', Elvis escaped into a cab with Jessica Simpson and Britney never to be seen again!
When Ashton Kutcher suddenly appeared from behind a flagpole to tell Elvis he had just been 'Punkd', Elvis escaped into a cab with Jessica Simpson and Britney never to be seen again!
Last edited by cbartal on Thu Dec 11, 2003 1:16 am, edited 1 time in total.
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verbal gymnastics
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The one thing I would say is that Elvis is professional and courteous (or does that count as two things?). Anyway what I love is "there was a frank exchange of views between the Mr Costello and the club over the telephone".
I bet there was..
I think whoever wrote this release has swallowed a Thesaurus.
I bet there was..
I think whoever wrote this release has swallowed a Thesaurus.
Who’s this kid with his mumbo jumbo?
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Misha
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I'm with VG here...though I'm loathe to admit it!!! Especially after callin us women difficult!!!
The writer was feeling a bit verbose, and I imagine was trying to fill up a press release page to make it newsworthy.
I'm glad to hear that Elvis is still capable of frank exchanges (Cope--shut up!!) He's tasty when he's feisty.
The writer was feeling a bit verbose, and I imagine was trying to fill up a press release page to make it newsworthy.
I'm glad to hear that Elvis is still capable of frank exchanges (Cope--shut up!!) He's tasty when he's feisty.
Where are the strong?
Who are the trusted?
Who are the trusted?
In diplomacy a "frank exchange of views" usually precedes a war or an assasination.
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
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Mr. Misery
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King of Confidence
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verbal gymnastics
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martinfoyle
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I agree with you, it does remind me of that journal he posted last year. Except that was probaly sub-edited, which certainly did'nt happen with the above piece. Very clunky and verbose and, while well meant, not necessary.King of Confidence wrote:Am I the only the one who thinks that this is Elvis himself writing?
http://www.livejournal.com/users/silvertide/117127.html
silvertide wrote:
@ December 9th, 2003 - 05:51 pm
Tarnished Iridium, or Strutting Peacock, or Elvis—Lost Fellow
It didn't actually turn into a riot two weeks ago at Iridium, but it looked like it might for a few minutes there.
The first indication of trouble came early, though we didn't recognize it as such as the time. My brother Lee and his wife were in town from Stanford. They wanted to see a jazz show while they were here, so we made reservations to see saxophonist Lee Konitz play at Iridium. The evening was part of a week-long stand at Iridium in celebration of Konitz's 76th birthday. (Konitz was playing in Miles Davis's nonet way back in 1949, so it's not a small matter that he's still around and blowing.) Lee and Emily specifically wanted to see the Iridium show because guitarist Bill Frisell was playing with Konitz, and they're both huge Frisell fans. Rounding out the quartet would be Gary Peacock (perhaps best known for his work in Keith Jarrett's old trio) on bass and Paul Motian (who played in the Bill Evans Trio in the '60s) on drums.
However, there was an extra enticement to the Tuesday night shows. The Iridium web site proudly trumpeted that, for one night only, the set would feature SPECIAL GUEST ELVIS COSTELLO. We were quite happy to be able to secure three reservations for the first set of the evening.
Doors would open at 6:30, so I arrived at Broadway and 51st nice and early to queue up to secure a good table. I was fourth in line outside Iridium, in fact. A portly, hale fellow arrived shortly after me, and the line was not much longer when Lee and Emily got there and butted in line with me.
While we caught up, a forest green BMW sedan with smoked-glass windows idled at the curb. Once or twice it drove off, only to return a few minutes later, apparently having circled the block. The guy behind us in line pointed it out and said, "That's Elvis Costello's car."
"How do you know?" asked Lee.
"I'm a huge fan. Been to a *lot* of shows, hung out, you know."
Suddenly Elvis Costello himself was walking from the car to the front door of Iridium. Lee and Emily were looking the wrong way so I tapped their arms and nodded, trying not to be too obvious about the celebrity-spotting. Elvis looked fit in a muted plaid coat and his trademark horn-rims.
He also looked somehow pained, distressed.
He peeked inside the door of the club, looked around, said something -- and then, rather than going inside, closed the door, spoke for a moment to the two women at the head of the line, then got back in his car.
The Beemer disappeared in the chilly night.
The woman said something to the guy ahead of me, who turned around to me and my brother and sister-in-law. "Apparently he's unhappy with the way the show was advertised," said the guy. "He says he was only supposed to do two songs."
I shrugged. I didn't figure Elvis Costello was supposed to be the focus of the set, but I could see why he didn't like the advertising. I passed the word to the guy behind us. The message continued Telephone-like down the queue, which was still less than a dozen people long.
We shivered in the cold for close to forty-five minutes more before being admitted to the club. By then the queue stretched all the way past Ellen's Stardust Diner.
From what happened later that evening, I must surmise that Elvis's message didn't filter back to the newcomers. Hell, even those of us who heard it didn't read the subtext entirely correctly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The doors opened at six-thirty, as promised. After a check of our names on the reservation list, we descended a narrow stair to the basement and were shown to a table with seats right at the corner of the tiny stage. This was a long banquet-style table; three or four had been set up in rows perpendicular to the front of the stage. We were seated right down front. Lee and Emily were on the outside, looking straight onto the stage. I was seated on the inside, so that I had to turn my head or sit sideways to look at even the left side of the stage. I practically had to break my neck to see stage right.
I also practically had to break my legs to get out of my seat to visit the men's room, the patrons were packed so close together down each row. The back part of the club, filled with little round tables, was just a crowded. I doubt Iridium gets that full even on Monday nights when Les Paul plays.
We placed our dinner orders and rubbernecked as Bill Frisell sloped through the crowd on his way to the backstage door, looking relaxed, low-key, and a little befuddled. I sipped a nice Balvenie 12-year double wood with my burger, and was still nursing it when the show began.
Lee Konitz at 76 is a portly fireplug who looks a little like Colonel Sanders cast as a Fisher-Price toy. He plays with his alto extended to the limit of its leash, in front of his stomach. Bill Frisell, 52 (whose face I practically had to look straight up to see), is fuzz-haired, bespectacled, and mild-looking, and seems awkward even as he cranks out his strangely angular and distinctive electric licks. Gary Peacock, 68, is gaunt, wiry, and weathered; put a cowboy hat on his head and he wouldn't look out of place in his hometown of Burley, Idaho. His eyes are so hooded that when he closes them while he plays you're hard-pressed to tell he isn't blind. Sitting in for Paul Motian (who, Konitz mentioned in the space between the set's two long improvisations, was out getting his "metronome" adjusted) was avant-garde drummer Matt Wilson, 39, who wouldn't look out of place behind the kit for a jam band like String Cheese Incident.
The set was jazz in a defiantly free mode. Konitz and Frisell didn't play leads so much as trade cryptic lines, as if taking turns talking to each other about two entirely different subjects. Two or three times I recognized a snippet of some standard melody in Konitz's parts, as if in the course of throwing shirts out of his closet he occasionally came across one emblazoned with a commercial logo. As much as I enjoyed the set, I felt myself drifting sometimes, particularly during the first half, and I sort of halfway understood what they were doing onstage, and had even come expecting it. I had the sense that large portions of the audience were simply baffled.
The second half of the set meandered around before settling into a startlingly funky (if low-key) groove that Peacock and Wilson somehow plucked out of the swirling oil-and-water tones of the lead instruments. The rhythm section's joy was palpable; Peacock in particular looked like one of the Happy Haunts from Disneyland's Haunted Mansion. The mother was having one hell of a good time.
At last the jam came in for a landing (as did the Chimay that followed up my whisky), and the musicians accepted their applause and filed through the backstage door. The lights came up, and we kept applauding, all anticipating the band's return accompanied by Elvis Costello.
Minutes went by. The band didn't return. The crowd murmured.
We gradually became aware of an escalating commotion at one of the first round tables, near the middle of the club. Someone yelled something sharp and angry. We turned our heads, thinking some table had gotten a little carried away with their joking.
No. It was obviously club management, flanked by some muscle, trying to calm down a table of angry patrons. "That's not what was advertised!" yelled one man. "You *knew* he wasn't going on, and you didn't say anything before the show!"
More yelling, back and forth, as the crowd's murmur turned ugly. Granted, I'm quick to jump to the conclusion that a situation like that one is going to turn violent, but that's how the atmosphere felt. I was acutely conscious that I had a brother and his three-months-pregnant wife under my care (as my out-of-town guests, you know). I was trying to figure out what the best exit would be (answer: none, as I had already determined when scouting the fire exits as we first took our seats) when the yelling man stalked his way to the front exit.
"Demand your money back!" he adjured the crowd as he crossed the room. "They knew he wasn't performing and they didn't say a word!"
Then the room dissolved in cacophony. Everyone was trying to attract his waitperson to get the music charge removed from his bill. At our table, everyone near us was asking each other whether they were here to see Lee Konitz or Elvis Costello, as if to reassure ourselves of our superior jazz cred. It looked to me as if most of the rest of the room had trucked themselves in from Jersey on the promise of an intimate club gig with Declan MacManus himself. They weren't happy to have been rooked.
People were moving around in places where they didn't need to be. Over my sister-in-law's shoulder I watched some guy with a droopy black mustache and long black hair shouting down into Lee Konitz's face. "You tell that motherfucker he'll never play in this town again!" he shouted, punctuating his words with finger jabs in the old man's chest.
"Tell him yourself. The door's right there," said Konitz calmly.
"I just will!" shouted the man, and tore through the backstage door.
I thought he was referring to Elvis Costello, but my brother Lee heard more of the exchange and reports that they were talking about Gary Peacock.
Similar confrontations seemed to be taking place around the room, though none came to blows. While the three of us dithered about whether or not to pay our bill, whether or not to stick around or just get out, the manager finally made an announcement about how people could see their waitperson to get the music charge removed from their bills, and how there would be passes available at the exit which would be good for free admission to any show Tuesdays through Thursdays. He didn't apologize for the advertising, nor for the lack of a pre-show announcement.
The crowd members who were through with their waiters began struggling toward the exit, many of them grumbling about how passes for a free jazz show were worthless to them. Lee and Emily and I paid our full bill and joined the queue that was forming to talk to the manager and (we thought) get our free passes.
The manager, a 20-some Brit with a shiny pale suit and suspect good looks, was hearing petitions right next to the exit to the stairs up to the street. When our turn was almost up, a livid Gary Peacock suddenly appeared from the stairwell, pushing himself up in the manager's face.
I don't recall a lot of what was said, but it included Peacock inviting the manager out to the alley behind the club to settle this right now.
"Look, mate, I'm dealing with a lot of angry customers right now, thank you very much," said the manager. "When that's taken care of, fuck yeah, any time, any place, I'll meet you."
I thought Peacock was going to pop the manager one right there, but another club employee appeared to usher him toward the bar, not without some resistance.
When our turn with the manager came, we asked for our passes. "I'm just reversing credit card charges here," said the manager. "You can get the passes upstairs as you leave. We've got a lot of good shows coming up. Ahmad Jamal. McCoy Tyner. Jack-o Pastorius. Plenty."
"Jaco?" I said incredulously. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I wondered if the manager were deliberately fucking with me, to see whether I was a real jazz aficianado or just philistine VH1-addicted clubtrash.
"Yeah, Jack-o."
"You mean, the dead musician," said my brother Lee.
"It's a tribute band," said the manager, sneering like we'd soiled his spats.
"All right, whatever," I said, and we headed up the stairs.
Sadly, Lee and I had to go back down in the melee to retrieve our coats from the coat check. And then Lee had to go down again to look for a lost glove. Which he found. But we all made it out alive -- no thanks to Iridium, who advertised the show so crassly, nor to the bulk of the audience, who were too ignorant even to reason out what the words "Special Guest" mean in the context of a jazz show.
Turns out, as I learned later that week from the New York Times, Elvis Costello was supposed to bring out a birthday cake for Lee Konitz at set's end and sing "Someone Took the Words Away" from his new album North. Apparently Gary Peacock didn't want to play backup for that and an argument during soundcheck resulted in Elvis walking out.
If he'd just come out and told us that in the first place. Jesus, these sensitive artist types.
silvertide wrote:
@ December 9th, 2003 - 05:51 pm
Tarnished Iridium, or Strutting Peacock, or Elvis—Lost Fellow
It didn't actually turn into a riot two weeks ago at Iridium, but it looked like it might for a few minutes there.
The first indication of trouble came early, though we didn't recognize it as such as the time. My brother Lee and his wife were in town from Stanford. They wanted to see a jazz show while they were here, so we made reservations to see saxophonist Lee Konitz play at Iridium. The evening was part of a week-long stand at Iridium in celebration of Konitz's 76th birthday. (Konitz was playing in Miles Davis's nonet way back in 1949, so it's not a small matter that he's still around and blowing.) Lee and Emily specifically wanted to see the Iridium show because guitarist Bill Frisell was playing with Konitz, and they're both huge Frisell fans. Rounding out the quartet would be Gary Peacock (perhaps best known for his work in Keith Jarrett's old trio) on bass and Paul Motian (who played in the Bill Evans Trio in the '60s) on drums.
However, there was an extra enticement to the Tuesday night shows. The Iridium web site proudly trumpeted that, for one night only, the set would feature SPECIAL GUEST ELVIS COSTELLO. We were quite happy to be able to secure three reservations for the first set of the evening.
Doors would open at 6:30, so I arrived at Broadway and 51st nice and early to queue up to secure a good table. I was fourth in line outside Iridium, in fact. A portly, hale fellow arrived shortly after me, and the line was not much longer when Lee and Emily got there and butted in line with me.
While we caught up, a forest green BMW sedan with smoked-glass windows idled at the curb. Once or twice it drove off, only to return a few minutes later, apparently having circled the block. The guy behind us in line pointed it out and said, "That's Elvis Costello's car."
"How do you know?" asked Lee.
"I'm a huge fan. Been to a *lot* of shows, hung out, you know."
Suddenly Elvis Costello himself was walking from the car to the front door of Iridium. Lee and Emily were looking the wrong way so I tapped their arms and nodded, trying not to be too obvious about the celebrity-spotting. Elvis looked fit in a muted plaid coat and his trademark horn-rims.
He also looked somehow pained, distressed.
He peeked inside the door of the club, looked around, said something -- and then, rather than going inside, closed the door, spoke for a moment to the two women at the head of the line, then got back in his car.
The Beemer disappeared in the chilly night.
The woman said something to the guy ahead of me, who turned around to me and my brother and sister-in-law. "Apparently he's unhappy with the way the show was advertised," said the guy. "He says he was only supposed to do two songs."
I shrugged. I didn't figure Elvis Costello was supposed to be the focus of the set, but I could see why he didn't like the advertising. I passed the word to the guy behind us. The message continued Telephone-like down the queue, which was still less than a dozen people long.
We shivered in the cold for close to forty-five minutes more before being admitted to the club. By then the queue stretched all the way past Ellen's Stardust Diner.
From what happened later that evening, I must surmise that Elvis's message didn't filter back to the newcomers. Hell, even those of us who heard it didn't read the subtext entirely correctly.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The doors opened at six-thirty, as promised. After a check of our names on the reservation list, we descended a narrow stair to the basement and were shown to a table with seats right at the corner of the tiny stage. This was a long banquet-style table; three or four had been set up in rows perpendicular to the front of the stage. We were seated right down front. Lee and Emily were on the outside, looking straight onto the stage. I was seated on the inside, so that I had to turn my head or sit sideways to look at even the left side of the stage. I practically had to break my neck to see stage right.
I also practically had to break my legs to get out of my seat to visit the men's room, the patrons were packed so close together down each row. The back part of the club, filled with little round tables, was just a crowded. I doubt Iridium gets that full even on Monday nights when Les Paul plays.
We placed our dinner orders and rubbernecked as Bill Frisell sloped through the crowd on his way to the backstage door, looking relaxed, low-key, and a little befuddled. I sipped a nice Balvenie 12-year double wood with my burger, and was still nursing it when the show began.
Lee Konitz at 76 is a portly fireplug who looks a little like Colonel Sanders cast as a Fisher-Price toy. He plays with his alto extended to the limit of its leash, in front of his stomach. Bill Frisell, 52 (whose face I practically had to look straight up to see), is fuzz-haired, bespectacled, and mild-looking, and seems awkward even as he cranks out his strangely angular and distinctive electric licks. Gary Peacock, 68, is gaunt, wiry, and weathered; put a cowboy hat on his head and he wouldn't look out of place in his hometown of Burley, Idaho. His eyes are so hooded that when he closes them while he plays you're hard-pressed to tell he isn't blind. Sitting in for Paul Motian (who, Konitz mentioned in the space between the set's two long improvisations, was out getting his "metronome" adjusted) was avant-garde drummer Matt Wilson, 39, who wouldn't look out of place behind the kit for a jam band like String Cheese Incident.
The set was jazz in a defiantly free mode. Konitz and Frisell didn't play leads so much as trade cryptic lines, as if taking turns talking to each other about two entirely different subjects. Two or three times I recognized a snippet of some standard melody in Konitz's parts, as if in the course of throwing shirts out of his closet he occasionally came across one emblazoned with a commercial logo. As much as I enjoyed the set, I felt myself drifting sometimes, particularly during the first half, and I sort of halfway understood what they were doing onstage, and had even come expecting it. I had the sense that large portions of the audience were simply baffled.
The second half of the set meandered around before settling into a startlingly funky (if low-key) groove that Peacock and Wilson somehow plucked out of the swirling oil-and-water tones of the lead instruments. The rhythm section's joy was palpable; Peacock in particular looked like one of the Happy Haunts from Disneyland's Haunted Mansion. The mother was having one hell of a good time.
At last the jam came in for a landing (as did the Chimay that followed up my whisky), and the musicians accepted their applause and filed through the backstage door. The lights came up, and we kept applauding, all anticipating the band's return accompanied by Elvis Costello.
Minutes went by. The band didn't return. The crowd murmured.
We gradually became aware of an escalating commotion at one of the first round tables, near the middle of the club. Someone yelled something sharp and angry. We turned our heads, thinking some table had gotten a little carried away with their joking.
No. It was obviously club management, flanked by some muscle, trying to calm down a table of angry patrons. "That's not what was advertised!" yelled one man. "You *knew* he wasn't going on, and you didn't say anything before the show!"
More yelling, back and forth, as the crowd's murmur turned ugly. Granted, I'm quick to jump to the conclusion that a situation like that one is going to turn violent, but that's how the atmosphere felt. I was acutely conscious that I had a brother and his three-months-pregnant wife under my care (as my out-of-town guests, you know). I was trying to figure out what the best exit would be (answer: none, as I had already determined when scouting the fire exits as we first took our seats) when the yelling man stalked his way to the front exit.
"Demand your money back!" he adjured the crowd as he crossed the room. "They knew he wasn't performing and they didn't say a word!"
Then the room dissolved in cacophony. Everyone was trying to attract his waitperson to get the music charge removed from his bill. At our table, everyone near us was asking each other whether they were here to see Lee Konitz or Elvis Costello, as if to reassure ourselves of our superior jazz cred. It looked to me as if most of the rest of the room had trucked themselves in from Jersey on the promise of an intimate club gig with Declan MacManus himself. They weren't happy to have been rooked.
People were moving around in places where they didn't need to be. Over my sister-in-law's shoulder I watched some guy with a droopy black mustache and long black hair shouting down into Lee Konitz's face. "You tell that motherfucker he'll never play in this town again!" he shouted, punctuating his words with finger jabs in the old man's chest.
"Tell him yourself. The door's right there," said Konitz calmly.
"I just will!" shouted the man, and tore through the backstage door.
I thought he was referring to Elvis Costello, but my brother Lee heard more of the exchange and reports that they were talking about Gary Peacock.
Similar confrontations seemed to be taking place around the room, though none came to blows. While the three of us dithered about whether or not to pay our bill, whether or not to stick around or just get out, the manager finally made an announcement about how people could see their waitperson to get the music charge removed from their bills, and how there would be passes available at the exit which would be good for free admission to any show Tuesdays through Thursdays. He didn't apologize for the advertising, nor for the lack of a pre-show announcement.
The crowd members who were through with their waiters began struggling toward the exit, many of them grumbling about how passes for a free jazz show were worthless to them. Lee and Emily and I paid our full bill and joined the queue that was forming to talk to the manager and (we thought) get our free passes.
The manager, a 20-some Brit with a shiny pale suit and suspect good looks, was hearing petitions right next to the exit to the stairs up to the street. When our turn was almost up, a livid Gary Peacock suddenly appeared from the stairwell, pushing himself up in the manager's face.
I don't recall a lot of what was said, but it included Peacock inviting the manager out to the alley behind the club to settle this right now.
"Look, mate, I'm dealing with a lot of angry customers right now, thank you very much," said the manager. "When that's taken care of, fuck yeah, any time, any place, I'll meet you."
I thought Peacock was going to pop the manager one right there, but another club employee appeared to usher him toward the bar, not without some resistance.
When our turn with the manager came, we asked for our passes. "I'm just reversing credit card charges here," said the manager. "You can get the passes upstairs as you leave. We've got a lot of good shows coming up. Ahmad Jamal. McCoy Tyner. Jack-o Pastorius. Plenty."
"Jaco?" I said incredulously. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. I wondered if the manager were deliberately fucking with me, to see whether I was a real jazz aficianado or just philistine VH1-addicted clubtrash.
"Yeah, Jack-o."
"You mean, the dead musician," said my brother Lee.
"It's a tribute band," said the manager, sneering like we'd soiled his spats.
"All right, whatever," I said, and we headed up the stairs.
Sadly, Lee and I had to go back down in the melee to retrieve our coats from the coat check. And then Lee had to go down again to look for a lost glove. Which he found. But we all made it out alive -- no thanks to Iridium, who advertised the show so crassly, nor to the bulk of the audience, who were too ignorant even to reason out what the words "Special Guest" mean in the context of a jazz show.
Turns out, as I learned later that week from the New York Times, Elvis Costello was supposed to bring out a birthday cake for Lee Konitz at set's end and sing "Someone Took the Words Away" from his new album North. Apparently Gary Peacock didn't want to play backup for that and an argument during soundcheck resulted in Elvis walking out.
If he'd just come out and told us that in the first place. Jesus, these sensitive artist types.
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bambooneedle
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I'd been thinking, who would have been authorized by EC to write that crap on his behalf? ... I reckon it had to have been EC. Why the long detailed explanation confounds me. So the 68yr old Peacock was getting ready to fight the twenty-something yr old manager? That might explain it.King of Confidence wrote:Am I the only the one who thinks that this is Elvis himself writing?
Great story telling by silvertide, particularly enjoyed the character descriptions.
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scielle
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Interesting thread on this topic at the allaboutjazz.com forum
Last edited by scielle on Sun Jul 10, 2005 2:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Who Shot Sam?
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bambooneedle
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If you think these guys are bad jazz snobs, you should meet my friend Mark Shapiro. I played him "Almost Blue" and he admitted that it was, in fact, an attempt at a jazz-pop standard. He also opined that it was a crap song.
It's fun to see him go all apoplectic when I state that songwriters like Costello, Lennon/McCartney, Smokey Robinson, the Brill Building gang, etc. are more or less on the same level as the Gershwins, Porter, Berlin, et al.
We both have agreed that, when he finally gets to be a dj on his own show, the only appropriate title is "Jazz Jihad".
It's fun to see him go all apoplectic when I state that songwriters like Costello, Lennon/McCartney, Smokey Robinson, the Brill Building gang, etc. are more or less on the same level as the Gershwins, Porter, Berlin, et al.
We both have agreed that, when he finally gets to be a dj on his own show, the only appropriate title is "Jazz Jihad".
http://www.forwardtoyesterday.com -- Where "hopelessly dated" is a compliment!
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martinfoyle
- Posts: 2502
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- Location: Dublin, Ireland
- Contact:
This should give us all an idea what Elvis missed
http://www.dimeadozen.org/torrents-details.php?id=82349
http://www.dimeadozen.org/torrents-details.php?id=82349
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martinfoyle
- Posts: 2502
- Joined: Tue Jun 03, 2003 5:24 pm
- Location: Dublin, Ireland
- Contact:
Lee Konitz was back at the Iridium last night, I'm sure Elvis would have let bygones be bygones and be glad to be in the audience if he had been in town. Thanks to the wonders of torrents we all can hear it now.
http://www.dimeadozen.org/torrents-deta ... ?id=162538
http://www.dimeadozen.org/torrents-deta ... ?id=162538
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always dancing
- Posts: 138
- Joined: Sat Jan 12, 2008 9:02 pm
- Location: Philadlephia
Re: Elvis comments on happenings at recent jazz show, Dec. 03
John how do you find this stuff?
Re: Elvis comments on happenings at recent jazz show, Dec. 03
Bookmark these and you too can , at a click, access Elvis' every single move ( well, almost)-
http://news.google.ie/news?hl=en&tab=wn ... &scoring=n
http://blogsearch.google.ie/blogsearch? ... &scoring=d
http://news.google.ie/news?hl=en&tab=wn ... &scoring=n
http://blogsearch.google.ie/blogsearch? ... &scoring=d
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verbal gymnastics
- Posts: 13645
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- Location: Magic lantern land
Re: Elvis comments on happenings at recent jazz show, Dec. 03
Don't give away your secrets john!
If I did this then I would have no reason to hold you in awe.
If I did this then I would have no reason to hold you in awe.
Who’s this kid with his mumbo jumbo?
Re: Elvis comments on happenings at recent jazz show, Dec. 03
Elvis comments again , in a liner note for a Bill Frisell album -
http://www.elviscostellofans.com/phpBB2 ... 08#p124408
(extract)
Bill's good humor and tact almost managed to save an appallingly badly organized birthday concert for Lee Konitz, held in a shoddy little New York dive.
I had been invited to take part but after one of the musicians felt it was beneath him to share a stage with me, I decided departure was the better part of valor.
Unfortunately, the management still saw an opportunity to bilk patrons out of their cash on the basis of my "appearance."
A black comedy ensued, as fist-fights broke out between members of the audience and the management, while Lee and Bill blew wild and free with little reference to the proposed setlist.
Only a man of Bill's calm could come through such a debacle unscathed.
http://www.elviscostellofans.com/phpBB2 ... 08#p124408
(extract)
Bill's good humor and tact almost managed to save an appallingly badly organized birthday concert for Lee Konitz, held in a shoddy little New York dive.
I had been invited to take part but after one of the musicians felt it was beneath him to share a stage with me, I decided departure was the better part of valor.
Unfortunately, the management still saw an opportunity to bilk patrons out of their cash on the basis of my "appearance."
A black comedy ensued, as fist-fights broke out between members of the audience and the management, while Lee and Bill blew wild and free with little reference to the proposed setlist.
Only a man of Bill's calm could come through such a debacle unscathed.