Eine der vielen casualties… habe Briancons Buch noch immer nicht gelesen, obwohls schon länger hier rumliegt… aber anderswo wurde kürzlich das hier erwähnt:
Earl Anderza and I were cell mates in San Francisco City Prison in July of 1970. As I was the only other person in there who loved jazz & knew musicians and since we were probably the only two guys in that cell block with IQs higher than the temperature of the over-crowded air, we became friends, At that time, even though I had been a denizen of Jazz clubs in San Francisco (from the Blackhawk where I saw Horace Silver for the first time in 1960 or 61, when I was 16, from behind the screen that segregated people under 21 from those who were old enough to drink; to the 181 Club after hours; Jack’s on Sutter for Sunday Morning Jams) , in LA (Shelly’s MannHole where I came every night for a week each to hear Mose Allison & Bill Evans play two sets); in New York (Thanks to a beautiful woman who had flown me from California to hear Bobby Short in the Village) and Chicago (for blues at Mr. Kelly’s),.. I had never heard Earl Anderza play.
In the three weeks we spent locked down together, we talked about a wide-world of subjects, of course, we spoke about music, books and our lives in the life, while we awaited transportation to different prisons; he to the State and me to the Feds. Earl spoke about music with the sort of authority that — when I got out many months later and bought my first vinyl copy of „Outa Sight“ — I wasn’t the least bit surprised that his musicianship was amazing or that his lyrical sense was fully formed. I have been delighted by these cuts for more than 35 years; each time I go back to them they re-delight me.
After about three weeks, I got carted off to Lompoc FCI and I never saw Earl Anderza again. Since Earl never re-emerged into the first-rank of musicians with new music, I have assumed that he was lost in that labyrinth. I did hear about him once, from an inmate who transferred into Federal prison from the State. This guy told a story about how Earl Anderza was sitting alone on Xmas eve locked in his cell pouring his soul into his sax, when the sweet/sad sounds that floated down the tiers ignited a full-blown riot — inmates screamed and threw burning clothes and mattresses onto the tiers until Folsom Prison had do be locked down, to silence the alto-sound of Earl Anderza’s mournfully incarcerated-soul.
It’s hard to research things that go on in the belly of that beast, so that is about what I know. If I were researching Earl’s life after he went „Outa Sight,“ I’d begin with California’s Department of Corrections. If anyone wanted to interview me to validate these recollections, I’d gladly make myself available. Earl Anderza should be remembered not because he was a good guy lost in a dark world; rather because his music is unforgettably elegant. Listen to these cuts and you will know all that can be known about Earl. It will blow your mind that someone, who you have never heard of, could have made such a profound sound with so much virtuosity. Enjoy…jt
<<< Joey Tranchina, M.A. ps. I can be contacted via my office in Redwood City, California USA or at my home in Sete, France... Sein Pacific Jazz Album scheint das einzige zu sein, was es von ihm gibt, und es ist sehr empfehlenswert. Aufgenommen wurde es 1962 mit Jack Wilson (p, cembalo), George Morrow bzw. Jimmy Bond (b) und Donald Dean (d). Es erschien 1998 auf CD in der West Coast Classics Reihe von Blue Note (vermutlich auch auf LP, jedenfalls hab ich Curtis Amys "Katanga!" auf CD und auf LP, beides West Coast Classics Veröffentlichungen).
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"Don't play what the public want. You play what you want and let the public pick up on what you doin' -- even if it take them fifteen, twenty years." (Thelonious Monk) | Meine Sendungen auf Radio StoneFM: gypsy goes jazz, #165: Johnny Dyani (1945–1986) - 9.9., 22:00 | Slow Drive to South Africa, #8: tba | No Problem Saloon, #30: tba