• “The Wailing Wall” is the winner of the 48th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest
  • Hecht writes of a life-changing evening at a Roger Kellaway-Red Mitchell performance

     

  • The honored jazz writer Dan Morgenstern’s liner notes to the Pee Wee Russell Memorial Album are published in their entirety…

     

     

     

  • The Trailblazer

    (for Anita O’Day)

    Her name practically scats itself,
    Say it out loud, and you’re on your way,
    It’s a grand stand big band criss-cross delivery,

  • "The Wailing Wall" - a story by Justin Short
  • "The Sober Years" a true jazz story by Bob Hecht
  • Liner Notes: The Pee Wee Russell Memorial Album
  • "The Trailblazer" a poem by Freddington
Features » Masters of Jazz Photography

Masters of Jazz Photography: Susanne Schapowalow

In the 1940’s and 50’s, as her career as a freelance photographer was developing, German-born Susanne Schapowalow took intimate and brilliant photographs of jazz musicians in the hotel lobbies and jazz clubs of Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, Paris and New York, and in concert settings like Jazz at the Philharmonic, German jazz festivals, and during Quincy Jones’ 1960 European tour.

Over thirty of these photographs – all apparently unpublished and featuring artists like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, Nina Simone, Lester Young, and Bud Powell – reside in slide show form on a website devoted to her work, a collection described as a “rediscovered jazz life of a

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Features » In Memoriam

Gary Giddins…on Cecil Taylor

In 2003, as part of the Jerry Jazz Musician “Conversations with Gary Giddins” series, I was fortunate to interview Giddins — his generation’s most esteemed jazz writer — about Cecil Taylor, who died earlier today at age 89.  It is an excellent read for anyone with an interest in Cecil (or Gary). You can access it by

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Literature » Short Fiction

“Plainsong” — a short story by Joyce Becker Lee

     Tansy steps up to the microphone, and the world shifts into slow motion. Behind her, the band pulsates, big brass, booming beat, and howling saxophones like foreplay. Before her, the shadowy movement of caliginous figures, backlit to opacity, a murky mob breathing as though one, daring her to entertain with the melodies stored in her throat and heart, perversely seeking the pleasure to be derived from her anticipated failure to enthrall.

            The mike’s silver orb becomes her focus, its aura a tight dome that pulls at her breath, sucking the notes from her depths, the rushing air inverting her

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