Publisher's letter
The late, late show with Sonny Rollins
A COUPLE MORNINGS AGO, AROUND 1:30, UNABLE TO SLEEP, I slid Sonny Rollins: Live in '65 & '68 into my DVD player, then sat back for what soon proved to be an exceptionally enjoyable viewing and listening experience. The disc is one of eight in a handsome boxed set that arrived in the mail a few days earlier. Released jointly by Naxos of America, Inc. and Reelin' in the Years Productions, the boxed set, released in late September, is the third installment in their "Jazz Icons" DVD series.
I was 45 minutes into the disc, reflecting on what an exquisite treat it is to be able to watch this miraculously resurrected footage of Rollins and his talented stage mates perform in Denmark more than four decades ago, when I was startled by a ferocious pounding on my front door.
Wondering if perhaps a wayward friend was dropping by for the last of my gin, I opened the door. I shouldn't have been surprised, but nonetheless, to my surprise, there stood my neighbor Dave, supremely unhappy, as it were, that I was listening to music, even at low-medium volume, at that hour of the morning.
Dave's been my neighbor for two years. He has a beautiful old greyhound dog and he likes cycling. That's mostly all I know about him. Nevertheless, he appears at my door every once in a while at what he considers an ungodly hour, demanding that I lower the volume of either my stereo or guitar amplifier. By now, I'm used to his nocturnal intrusions - as I'd think he'd be used to mine. "Hey, Dave, what's up?" I queried, standing before him in my underwear, cheerful as ever.
"These walls are paper thin!" he steamed. "And that music's not working for me!"
"That's Sonny Rollins, live in Denmark ... 1965," I protested.
As on similar occasions prior, Dave gazed upon me as if I were a madman. Clearly he did not roust himself from bed, dress, and stomp across his lawn to my front door to discover who exactly I was listening to. Seemingly with no other verbiage at his immediate disposal, he once again raged, "It's not working for me!"
"How ‘bout I turn it down," I offered by way of neighborly kindness.
"How ‘bout you do that!" he snapped, finally adding a welcome bit of variety to his vitriol.
Apparently satisfied that he'd adequately conveyed his anger and disdain, he huffed back to his house. I watched him depart, shaking my head in wonder at his sad cheerlessness. Then I shut the door, turned off the DVD player, and repaired to the kitchen for the last of my gin. For the next 30 minutes, I perused the extensive liner notes that accompanied the Rollins' DVD. Jazz critic Ashley Kahn wrote the main essay. It was a fine piece of expository writing.
My roundabout points here are as follows: If, like me, you live in a smallish, provincial town where live jazz is largely an unavailable commodity, and if, like me, you never had the opportunity to see, say, John Coltrane or Nina Simone perform live or in their primes, then these "Jazz Icon" DVDs are seriously for you (and me). Also, if your walls, like mine, are paper thin, you might do well to avoid watching and listening to this stuff during the wee small hours. Trust me, mainstream America has zero tolerance these days for 2 a.m. rumblings of any sort, brilliant or otherwise.
-David Pulizzi
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