The Michigan Daily-Sunday, Mc Page 2-Sunday, March 18, 1979-The Michigan Daily R AJIRLINGS/owen gleiberman HAVING ALWAYS been a snivel- ling coward at heart, it probably wasn't the wisest decision of my life to enter a bathroom in the Times Square subway station at 1:30 a.m. True, I'd heard the horror stories about big city crime, as well as a recent wave of reports about nasty incidents in the New York subway system. But the place was less grungy than I'd expec- ted, it was far from deserted, and the inhabitants all seemed fairly sedate. Besides, I really had to go. So, to the john I went. Little did I know I would be punished for the act. Or, at least, let off with a warning. Seconds after I entered the last stall on the left, a shout from about ten feet away cut into the air: "Make one false move, motherfucker, and you've had it!" I sat there, not making a sound, not moving a muscle, and thanking God I wasn't the poor schmuck who'd been unlucky enough to walk into the paws of some missing link-type. In a moment, however, my silent- observer status was on the verge of disintegrating. A pair of shiny black shoes slowly walked past my stall, did an about-face, and began to pace back and forth before it in true psycho fashion. "Oh, Jesus," I thought to myself, "this is it; that shouting baboon picked you out of everyone else. He knew there was a certified sissy in there, a whiny collegiate vermin who doesn't know a goddamn about Life in the Big City.'' And the frightening thing was, he was right. I didn't know. Only a few weeks ago, I was telling everyone in glowing terms about my upcoming trip to New York, asking about -which restaurants to go to, babbling on about seeing celebrities-the whole starry-eyed Midwestern kids trip. Now, sitting on my precious toilet seat, I'd have been glad to get out of town by sunup had the good Lord whisked me the hell out of that bathroom. Something quite un- pleasant was plainly surfacing: my bourgeois guilt. I'd read about it -in books, seen it in the moves, and now, here I was, trapped in a toilet in Times Square, living out my own little guilt trip. And it was reaching heretofore unimagined heights. "Listen, scum," I said to myself. "Compared to all those starving people in countries with names you can't even pronounce, you live like Croesus. But here you are, you swill, ready to give it all to charity if the nice man outside would kindly put away the switch- blade." Of course, the old b.g. and I weren't strangers. God knows, I've had thoughts of atoning for my economic status by joining a Buddhist sect or, something when I contemplate my Saturday Night Fever wastebasket (shamelessly indulgert), my fancy electric typewriter (with disgusting automatic return), and that the single bona fide unpleasant part of the college life-doing schoolwork-is an activity I rarely engage in. But now my just desserts were standing outside my door. It's one thing to contemplate your economic hyprocrisy as you munch' mounds of junk food and your stereo blasts the Ramones; quite another when you're about to be zapped by the collective underprivileged. DECISION had to be made: would I sit inside like a scared rabbit, or face that pacing creep like an all- American hero? If I took the first op- tion, my self-respect would be on the line. And, even more importantly, I'd have to endure the snoring of the sleeping bum in the next stall. For in- spiration, I searched for an image of a lowly underdog rising up to clobber his oppressor. The only thing that came to mind was Woody Allen in Take the Money and Run, arguing with some rival bank robbers, and getting a pair of smashed glasses out of the deal. But then I listened to a few more snores, and the adrenalin began to flow. Something deep inside told me the best option was to get my ass out of the john. And I realized that I was as innocent of that s'brt of decision-making as a new- born babe. For years I'd watched people take huge chances in the movies, and on some shallow level I'd regarded those chances as virtually routine. But I was so ridiculously insulated from the horrors of life that I felt, now, as if I'd been thrust onto some chaotic bat- tlefield.,Only my foxhole was made of porcelai. And John Wayne wasn't around for advice. I got up suddenly, whipped on my jacket, thrust the door open, and stalked out, not even turning for a glan- ce as my assumed predator. And when I emerged, I was alone. I was still in one piece. Why my hair wasn't even mussed. There were no neanderthal Hell's Angels trying to pretzelize me. But then I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was almost 2:00 in the moirning. I had to get back home. I mean, nobody had stolen my money, and I had to be up early tomorrow to go shopping, get Broadway tickets, see the museum, go out to eat.-.. JAZZ/ r.j. smith Jazz- from bars to BroadW, 0 sundaYimagazine HfIEBSI~C PLIZZLE BY S TEPHEN J. POZSGA I Copyright 191 I I I -I mmq W 1. P 2 G 3 4 5 SH 6 N 71 'd , "B- 1 w i F 12 K 13 S35 x 36 A X 5 6 I v 19 P 20 -207742 T 22 0 mammemmmp - I e F 251 A 26 i 271X R 291v 30 S U 47 148 H49 "-i B 511W 52 E 331 T 3 Q 33 Y, 34 53 I T 55 E 56 1) 5' 78F 79 91 T R; 101 s 102 M 103 104 H 10' 37 s 3 41 '- - - -r i' T 65 s 43 Z 4 58 ;1 6010 6 1E 621 IN ( 66 i R 72 V 731 B 7410 75 2J 761E ??IS i --i i -i--i I 0 96 S 120 H 121 0 142 F 165 P 97 C 122 .~ 143 98 X 123 J 144 i i i A 99 dloo' Iv 12 9 30 94 ,05 9 1o6 S129 I 130 S 83 A 125 H 127 'J 90 R. N 128 H 67 E 68J 69 'i91 v 92 K 43 108 B 109 J 132 G 153 154 D178 A 110 111 F 112 114 J 115 L 116' W 138 i3 F136xi R 19 1'T 139i c 1451W 1461K 14; 0 151 015a156 1 157 '19 A 80 P 18T {192 0 158r I 193 M 159 1N W 16i T 162 4. i - 4.-4 . .4 4 1661B 167 E 168 S 169 M 170IL 171 8 1721T 184 R 185 P 1861 173F i i i i i i 188 R 190N N191U 192 T 19310 1941C 195 K 19E 201 202 203 P 204 2V 2061 K 217 W 201 -moii I - I - I - L 71 INSTRUCTIONS Guess the words defined at the V 95 left and write them in over their numbered dashes. Then, B 119 transfer each letter to the cor- H 141 responding numbered square in the grid above. The letters 3 E printed in the upper-right-hand corners of the squares indi- cate from what clue-word a particular square's letter 210 comes from. The grid, when filled in, should read as a quotation from a published work. The darkened squares are the spaces between words. Some words may carry over to the next line. Meanwhile, the first letter of each guessed word at the left, reading down, forms an acrostic, giving the author's name and the title of the work from which the quote is extracted. As words and 166 12 1 phrases begin to form in the grid, you can work back and 157 forth from clues to grid until the puzzle is complete. ALTHOUGH so much of the flotsam and jetsam of the popular arts has fled New York City in recent years, gurglinig westward to California and the irrationally attractive Los Angeles, it ain't all gone. And I'm glad for what has remained east. Clearly, the publishing industry will always be rooted there (God forbid that anybody should read much of anything nowadays). And although something died within me the day Johnny Carson packed up and left, as long as guys like Frank Stella and Joey Ramone call it home it will remain the creative nexus of the country to me. Jazz emerged almost simultaneously in many American locales, but it'had nothing to do with New York at first. It was not until years after migrating nor- thward and connecting with urban kineticism - the rhythms of big city life - that it took root in New York. A jazz scene was generated, eventually establishing a microcosm for all of jazz. Many cities have a distinctive jazz sound, but the only sound indigenous to New York is that which has bled from other cities. How can there be regionalism in a city of eight million? Of course, New York has spawned numerous musical movements and in- dividualistic performers for all its con- fusing eclecticism - be-bop exploded there, as did so much of the avante- garde music of the sixties. But they radiated immediately. In lieu of any art especially peculiar to New York, the city has acted as a divining source for rising young talent, offering many chances to cut ones' teeth before en- tering the spotlight. Its magnetism also draws record companies, entertain- ment industry people, and out-of-town listeners. But most important of all, it is a place large and varied enough to support its musicians. There are countless bars and clubs, entrepreneurs' concert programs, government-funded projec- ts, and concerts on street corners and at Carnegie Hall. Today, New York is where the gigs are, where musicians can most assuredly find employment. "You live in Ann Arbor, you can't get a real picture of jazz in a little bitty town, a college town like that," clarinetist and saxophonist Russell Procope told me, while resting in bet- ween sets of a recent show in a tiny club on Broadway. "You can't get a picture of the world there, either!" Where else besides New York could a musician like Procope survive by playing only to live audiences? Procope is a veteran of the Duke Ellington Or- chestra, having played with the group for 29 years. He is a first-generation swing musician who performs pipe- and-slippers jazz: soothing, though not cathartic, thoughtful, but not especially thought-provoking. Leading his own small groups since Ellington died, Procope thrives in the dim pubs and clubs around the city. The night I saw him, he was playing at the West End, the sort of club where the performers call the buspersons by their first names, and where the familiars sit in the front, howling out loud at anything well-played. The group, a seasoned quintet from which the 40-ish drummer's face stuck out like a child's, played nothing but Ellington music the whole evening.~ The show bubbled with enthusiasm and ,loose playfulness; between songs they would joke quietly, or guffaw about a lick someone had played in a previous num- ber, or just dodder around a bit before announcing the next tune. Procope played alto saxophone the whole evening - although he gained fame as Ellington's clarinet player, forced to largely because Johnny Hodges was the alto in the Ellington ambiguities, and the years have left not wrinkles on his face, but the living equivalent of a looming question mark. The sparse audience present at the end of the evening might indicate that it's hard to present the music of Ellington to a large young audience. But not in Procope's opinion. "No, I don't see why anyone would think that," he says. "It's just like symphony music, or anything else. It's not tough." Playing only Ellington music nearly exclusively since the Duke died in 1974, did he sometimes feel morose when he thought of the years with Ellington? "Oh no, no. What's behind is behind." fisted, good-tim hand played blo blues figure, wl melodies. He wE of swing music much to be liste comedian, and varied jazz clas Perhaps su ungarish homa Ain't Misbehav formance, fron sets (really, ju ,the stage, witho only a table an show), to the e which amounts occasional spo part of Waller' more singing ar that, exactly a one doesn't nee piano to have g The fivesome is awesomely musical follo' characters exp defined, existi fines offered b away as soon a is to the cast characterizatic and sketchy, bi for instance, e exuberant high tually all the g fers in his sing laugh. Nell C raucous, bawd reveals her in gestures and fa voice Carter h piercing wail c although alwa: effective as on Rose." But, of cours is the star. A I did everythin blues romps to his music, lyric throughout Ain Both Walle associated wit are distinct ar' symbolize a ce New York jazz came from else heard in New simple, howeve a jazz mecca. that New York Russell Proco and humor in ti no scene can b accommodate want a piece of ficient artistic' the performer. With New musicians mus velocity of the that has eaten alive. One ma per-and-pipe r facing the inte Charlie Parker pipe. So there is sc ambiguous bor' ts of the city, a the least of nivorousness. ceness which music. A. Great of monstrous beast B. Tentative procedure; trial C. Engaged in contemplation; meditative 0. TV canine star (3 words) E. Common European finch F. Unyokes; lets go 0. Musical interval embracing an ctove and a second H. "Asye_-ye rep."(3words) 1. Summons; calls forth J. Applied science K. Brutish; ruffian-like 1. Type of college (2 words) M. Inability or failure to accomplish ' 26 80 14 99 110 134 152 180 9 51 167 62 74 83 106 109 119 126 5 66 122 39 145 203 195 179 37 21 57 61 70 125 135 158 178 53 56 68 77 87 89 108 118 140 148 168 164 25 40 16 64 79 112 136 165 174 3 194 200 133 153 24 6 11 67 105 121 127 144 49 172 17 84 130 183 44 27 8 76 45 90 100 115 132 144 156 69 13 93 147 117 196 199 86 207 18 171 71 10 41 116 177 209 190 12 22 50 34 103 111 159 170 210 182 176 59 N. Educate; upbringing; food 0. Oosis (2 words) P. Restrict too much Q. Middleman between the form and the city (2 words) R. Deponent S. Determined automatically T. Unfolding; growth U. Queer; drunkard V. Form poison W. Checks; dampens X. Swear to; manifest 7 160 63 175 191 150 128 23 155 75 96 85 142 151 48 188 19 2 20 97 113 186 181 204 197 201 4 33 46 81 98 104 114 143 154 1 29 35 189 91 205 185 72 38 54 31 43 78 88 94 102 107 1 32 55 65 82 139 162 173 202 193 192 163 47 58 187 19 30 60 73 92 95 124 206 131 1 1 138 208 52 161 146 36 15 28 137 123 42 AIN'T * MISBmEHiAVPIN9 saxophone section. The quintet also in- cluded bassist Peck Morrison, who played with the Duke during the fifties and sixties. No matter how many times these men play Ellington compositions E AST OF the West End and just off of Broadway, in quite a different way, jazz is being presented. to coun- tless many who have never heard of a musician like Procope, and who would 20 169 01 149 Answer to Previous Puzzle: "In the experience of initia- tion through which shaman passes, the mythic images woven into a society's fabric suddenly become not only apparent but often enacted and made boldly visible and relevant for all. " (Joan) Halifax, Shamanic Voices 'Waler and Procope symbolize a certain element common to New York jazz musicians-their music came from else- where, but can only be heard in New York.' (for instance, they used "Jeep's Biues'". three times as a set closer), it seems impossible that they could ever fail to sound relaxedly fresh. The Ellingtonia flowed freely ("Warm Valley," "Take The A Train," "In A Mellow Tone," "Yesterdays"), and although tenor saxophonist George Kelley sounded a bit out of place with his hotter, cutting- session approach, it never failed to click. . Erocpe'S ind contains:numerOs. never set foot in a place like the West End. And yet for all its mass appeal, it too is exclusively of New York. As it says in the Playbill for the award-winning musical Ain't Misbehavin' Fats Waller was a man who "never slowed down through all the years of one-night stands, big-time radio, triumphant concert tours of Europe and Hollywood films." Waller, born in 1904, refined and advanced the stride style of pino. playing - a two- 09 R. J. Smith is co-editor of the" WMMMENNPN ,Daily A rts page. a ai. i... s..# i