Mark Whitecage, 1997: An Interview
Marc Chaloin

Mark Whitecage, © 2021 Michael Wilderman

Saxophonist Mark Whitecage passed on 8 March 2021. Born in 1937, Whitecage belonged to the generation of musicians who integrated the New York avant-garde jazz scene in the late 1960s. A recent archival release by Steve Tintweiss and The Purple Why, MarksTown (Inky Dot Media, 2021), documents Whitecage’s playing during those historical early years. The following interview was conducted by Marc Chaloin on March 27, 1997 in Saint-Ouen, north of Paris. Whitecage was in France to play later that day with Jeanne Lee’s Rainbow Dancing, an all-star band including Mal Waldron and Lester Bowie. The conversation is very much of its time, retrospectively also an historical moment for avant-garde jazz. Signs that the music might not complete its well underway vanishing act were beginning to appear. Just small blips on the international radar, they included the first edition of the Vision Festival, whose roots Whitecage situates in the confidential Stork Music cassette distribution service and the now rarely mentioned Improvisors Collective. This interview was originally published in a French translation in Improjazz (October 1997, 3–11). The original handwritten transcript of the conversation in English was retyped for this publication and lightly edited for flow. Introduction and editing by Pierre Crépon.

Marc Chaloin: Last year, you recorded for CIMP, a new label. You made two records, Free for Once in trio, and Caged No More in quartet. The last time I had heard of you was when you played with Saheb Sarbib, the bass player, in the early 1980s, and I don’t know what has been going on for you between that time and the time you recorded for CIMP?

Mark Whitecage: Ah, it’s a long time, like eighteen years. Basically, I stopped coming to Europe in around 1982. No, in 1986 I came and did a solo tour of Germany. But I have a couple of kids and I had to stay home, there wasn’t any money to come over here. I decided that it was more important to stay home and raise my children, feed them right.

Chaloin: But you kept on playing?

Whitecage: I kept on playing, but I didn’t travel, because nobody offered me enough money to support my family and come over here and play. So, I just stayed on and played around New York, except for that one tour in 1986. I waited until both of my children had graduated from college this year. I’ve had two graduations, everything I did I did right because the children did very well. They graduated from college and now I’m free, now I’m coming back as much as I can, because I don’t need as much money as I did when I was raising my children.

Chaloin: Okay. That group that you have with Dominic Duval and Jay Rosen, how long have you been playing with them?

Whitecage: I have known Dominic for ten, fifteen years. This is the first time that we’ve recorded together, but we’ve played together for a long time. And when I was looking to create a trio... The first record, do you know the album I did called Liquid Time, a quintet?

Chaloin: I don’t know it but I think I saw the title somewhere.

Whitecage: I produced that myself and ...

Chaloin: It’s a record with Dave Douglas?

Whitecage: Dave Douglas and Peter LeMaitre – he died – Joe Fonda, whom I’m still working with, and Michael Stevens.

Chaloin: Is the group with Dominic Duval and Jay Rosen a regular group, have you had a lot of work together?

Whitecage: We rehearsed and worked a few gigs, but not that much. There’s not much work in America, there’s the Knitting Factory, and we went up to Amherst and played a concert.

Chaloin: You played at the Knitting Factory?

Whitecage: Yes, that’s about the only place for me in New York. Of course, there are the things that I do with Jeanne Lee – we played at the Miller Theatre at Columbia University [in 1996] – but with the trio we rehearsed for about a year and we sent a tape up to Bob Rusch, at Cadence. We didn’t even know he had CIMP yet, he hadn’t started it yet. Then he called us and he wanted us to come over to record [Free for Once]. But we rehearsed it for about a year, we got together about once a week for a year to get everything together, and when we went up to the studio at CIMP we didn’t use any of the charts, we didn’t use any of the music we rehearsed. We played mostly free up there. But the rehearsing was important to get us together as a unit.

Chaloin: It’s a fine record, a beautiful record. I knew you, but I had never heard of Dominic Duval and Jay Rosen.

Whitecage: Dominic, well, he did one record way back that he doesn’t like nobody to know about. Last year, he made eight records for CIMP. So, there was the first recording, and all of a sudden, he’s got eight records in one year, and they’re all beautiful. He’s got the trio with Herb Robertson, he’s got duets on there, he’s got a solo CD coming out on Cadence Jazz Records. Dominic brought Jay Rosen in when I was searching for a trio. So, I just met Jay about a year before we recorded.

Chaloin: It’s very surprising to me when I realize there are a lot of musicians playing, working or trying to work, and who are completely unknown outside of New York, or even in New York maybe.

Whitecage: The thing in New York is they went conservative. There was Wynton Marsalis, who started playing all neo-fifties music like Miles Davis and stuff. And us, people that kept growing and kept learning new things about our own music and developing our own thing, we were just totally left out. There’s no money for us, no gigs. But I always insisted on playing my own music my own way. So, I worked very little, I toured very little, but I practiced every day, I played every day. I have a studio at home and I make sculptures, sound sculptures. I learned how to play cello and all these things because I wasn’t working. I could develop in my own way. I wouldn’t just play standards for people, because that’s all they wanted us to play. If you get a jazz gig in New York, you’re expected to play “Night in Tunisia,” “My Funny Valentine,” stuff like that, and I just didn’t want to do that anymore.

Chaloin: Back in the seventies, there was sort of an alternative scene in New York, which was sometimes called the “loft scene.” You were a part of that?

Whitecage: Yeah, we had Environ, we had [Studio] Rivbea ...

Chaloin: Was it easier back then, easier than now?

Whitecage: Oh yeah, much easier, because ... Back when I came to New York, which was in 1967, you could go out and rent a loft for maybe three or four hundred dollars a month, and put on concerts in the loft. That’s how Rivbea started, and The Brook, Charles Tyler’s place. There were a lot of lofts because it was just very inexpensive, we played for the rent basically, we opened the doors, advertised ... But then the rents went up and up and up, and we couldn’t afford it anymore, we all got kicked out of New York, basically.

Chaloin: Did you have a loft?

Whitecage: I had a loft down on Duane Street, downtown New York, down below Canal Street. I had a nice loft there, I paid very little rent, a hundred eighty dollars a month. I didn’t put up concerts there, I rehearsed and played there, I lived there.

Chaloin: It seems like all that loft scene now, it has been negated, it’s almost completely forgotten.

Whitecage: Ignored is the word.

Chaloin: Yes, but I think the music keeps on ... People keep on playing that sort of music but it’s not documented, almost nobody writes about it. It even seems like the younger generation of musicians who play jazz, following Wynton Marsalis, these people seem to use the term "avant-garde" as a sort of a segregation device. I don’t know if you understand what I mean?

Whitecage: They don’t understand it. Wynton came to New York later, he’s very young. He wasn’t there in the sixties, when we were developing this music. If he keeps going on as an honest musician, maybe in ten, fifteen years he will understand what we’re doing. But right now, he doesn’t, so he ignores it. They made him an expert, like Wynton is the expert on jazz, he is the guy they ask what jazz is. And he tells them that jazz is what Miles did in the fifties. Straight-ahead, chord changes, New Orleans, he knows. What he knows is the only thing he can be an expert about, and he just doesn’t have a clue about what we’re doing, he’s just ignorant. I don’t mean that in a bad sense, I mean he just doesn’t know, I don’t think it is perversely ... Well, he probably doesn’t want to ... He can’t play our music so he can’t be an expert, he can’t even acknowledge that we exist. So that leaves us like in a void, because he controls a lot of the business, a lot of the industry. The Lincoln Center and the only good paying gigs in New York, the Blue Note ... The clubs at the same time did the same thing, they just kept pushing the old stars. It used to be the old stars who brought the young guys in, like Miles was bringing in Jack DeJohnette and the younger people. If you played with Miles, then you’d get your introduction that way. So, he introduces people that he knows, but he just doesn’t know, it’s as simple as that, he hasn’t got an idea. So, the people aren’t exposed to the music. Everybody who hears this music, everybody who comes to the concerts, everybody is moved. I used to play at the Knitting Factory and maybe two or three people would show up. Now there are people coming, just because of these two CIMP records I made. Now I’m getting some people down there. It takes so much time for people to notice, but when they hear ... If we were exposed, then people would appreciate it, they like it. The music, when it’s pure, from the heart, it’s universal, everybody knows when you’re playing and when you’re not, there’s no way to fake it, especially in free music. It is art that is naked. A lot of musicians are very uptight about that, they want to have all of the compositions the way ... You saw an example this afternoon, we had a rehearsal yesterday but Hamiet [Bluiett] and Lester Bowie weren’t there. They came in today and everything just ... What we learned yesterday, we put it together today, but those Lincoln Center guys couldn’t do that, they would be scared to death to do that.

Chaloin: I mean, it’s pretty vicious because they say it’s avant-garde, it’s something else, it’s not jazz. When I hear your record, I can hear a lot of the jazz tradition in your music.

Whitecage: I think we’re playing modern jazz... I just did another record for CIMP with Dominic [Duval’s String Ensemble, State of the Art]. It was Dominic Duval, Jason Hwang playing the violin and Tomas Ulrich the cello, and it’s like a string quartet except I’m playing viola parts on alto clarinet. Sometimes it’s jazz, sometimes it’s like European free music, which isn’t all jazz. Free improvised music doesn’t have to be jazz, we can play jazz as part of what we do, but we can play so much more.

Chaloin: Yes, but you have that jazz background.

Whitecage: Oh, yes. I started playing when I was six, I had a union card when I was twelve, and I was out playing with bands and stuff.

Chaloin: Where were you living at that time?

Whitecage: I started in Connecticut. Greenfield, Connecticut. I was born in Litchfield, Connecticut. My father was a musician, so he taught me how to play, gave me lessons. He gave me a saxophone, a little curved soprano when I was six years old.

Chaloin: You started playing jazz, or something else?

Whitecage: My father was in a hurry, he wanted a band. So instead of scales and exercises, he had a teacher giving me Count Basie and Duke Ellington and Stan Kenton big band charts. So, I basically learned big band music in jazz.

Chaloin: So, you did play in big bands when you were young?

Whitecage: When I was young, yes. When I started, I played mostly tenor. I played alto, but when I was twelve there was a job in a big band that needed a tenor player, so I got a tenor and took the job. I played tenor too in the big bands, I liked tenor players.

Chaloin: Were those big bands known?

Whitecage: No, we played proms, weddings, high school graduations, stuff like that. It was dance music.

Chaloin: How did you get from that to playing more open forms of music? How did you get attracted to it? I know that you have an Eric Dolphy episode in your life but I don’t know precisely what it was.

Whitecage: I was in El Paso, Texas. I was in the army and we thought that we were at the end of the world, because we wanted to be in New York. I was playing jazz, I was in an army band and there were a lot of good musicians there. That’s when I really started studying, that was like college for me. We were way out in the middle of the desert, we got together with a radio station and we raised money and put on a festival [the Pass of the North Jazz Festival, held on November 6-8, 1959 (1)]. We brought Chico Hamilton, and Chico Hamilton brought Eric Dolphy. There was Maynard Ferguson and Lambert, Hendricks & Ross, the group backed them. So, we got Eric Dolphy down there. Chico tripped coming down the stage and broke Eric’s bass clarinet. When I first heard them, I had never heard of Eric Dolphy. It was not like he was famous and I was looking for him, but he took me right away. All of a sudden, he changed my life. Just with his first note. At the time we were playing in a coffee shop, so after the guys played the festival, we brought them down there and just played all night. There was a backroom, Dolphy liked to drink tea, so I just made him tea while he worked and tried to fix his clarinet. We spent three days with him, basically, and he was just talking to me, he told me things. I was just torn away by his music, I loved the way Eric Dolphy played and from there ... He told me “seek out your own voice, don’t copy.” At the time I could copy anybody. I was playing mostly tenor because the clubs wanted tenors, they didn’t want the alto sax, it was too piercing for them. They were demanding something more mellow, like Stan Getz, Lester Young, that kind of sound. So, at the time I could play almost any style, I could play like Coleman Hawkins, I could play like Lester Young, I didn’t have anything of my own. When I met Eric, he got me seeking out who I was. Then, people stopped hiring me because I played strange. Eric changed my life, he was the main guy who made me what I am now, steered me in this direction.

Chaloin: And Charlie Parker?

Whitecage: I had his book and all his records. Charlie Parker and Lee Konitz, I got every record. I had asked the local record store to give any record they would make. This was mostly Jazz at the Philharmonic. I never saw Charlie Parker in person, the only time he came to Hartford ... He was supposed to come to Hartford, there was a place called the Bushnell Auditorium, I was in high school and I missed him because he didn’t show up. (2) I was there but he wasn’t, I guess there were a lot of concerts he didn’t show up to. That was my only chance to hear him live, but I had all his records.

Chaloin: And so, when you came to New York in 1967, who did you meet first?

Whitecage: Well, it was Steve Tintweiss. You know Steve Tintweiss? He played with Albert Ayler, the last concerts ...

Chaloin: I know, I met him last year because I’m trying to write a book on Albert Ayler.

Whitecage: He doesn’t play much but he does two or three concerts a year, with Lou Grassi, the drummer. Lou is a musician, he plays all the time, but Steve only plays two or three times a year, uptown, in Queens or something. They do a festival. So, I met Steve, he had a group called The Purple Why.

Chaloin: At that time?

Whitecage: When I came in, yeah. I was just sitting in Tompkins Square Park with my horn, waiting for somebody, and he came along. “Oh, you play?” And he took me, we went to play and I met Laurence Cook, I met Bill Dixon ... Bill Dixon had a big orchestra in a place called the Seventh Street Settlement [The University of the Streets], and he had people like Jacques Coursil ...

Chaloin: You know Jacques Coursil?

Whitecage: Yeah, do you know what happened to him? He disappeared.

Chaloin: We just talked about him with my friend, the photographer who was at the sound check this afternoon [Thierry Trombert].

Whitecage: Is he still alive?

Chaloin: Yes, I think he is. He told me that he came back to France in the late sixties or early seventies and he became a teacher. I think he doesn’t play anymore.

Whitecage: Yes, I imagine that. Bill Dixon had a band with Sonny Simmons, Sam Rivers. He had Marzette Watts. God, everybody. Barbara Donald ... He had nine trumpets in that orchestra.

Chaloin: You played with this band?

Whitecage: It was a rehearsal orchestra. I made maybe four or five rehearsals, and then Bill Dixon left town, that was the last. But he introduced me to everybody. Everybody was in that orchestra at that time. Noah Howard, I think he was in there, and Burton Greene was in there, Byard Lancaster, all the people from the sixties. It was a very open scene, we all played in Tompkins Square Park, they gave concerts. And we did a couple of concerts at Town Hall ... So, I met everybody.

Chaloin: And Perry Robinson?

Whitecage: Perry Robinson was one of the first guys. I met him at a party. I remember the first time I heard him, it was with David Izenzon and Randy Kaye. Yeah, David Izenzon and Perry had something called the Uni Trio. They were playing in a place called St. Mark’s Church [in the Bowery] [probably in June 1966]. I remember I didn’t have any money, I couldn’t get in, but they were playing out in the back, there was an outside lawn, so I got to hear them anyway. That was the first time I heard Perry, and then I met him at a party. He had a recorder, like a German recorder, he put his clarinet mouthpiece on it and used to play that. I was just sitting with him at the party, I’d never known him before. He handed me the thing, I started playing, and we got to know each other.

Chaloin: You started playing together from that time?

Whitecage: We started playing together in 1967. He is probably the first guy ... He had a place on Nineteenth Street, he loved to put people together, to match people. He had parties at his Nineteenth Street place that might go on for days. We’d go there. And I’ve been playing with Perry ever since. He was my neighbor until ... I just got evicted from my place, but I lived in one place for twenty years and Perry was downstairs from me. He just moved too, but we’re still close, we still play.

Chaloin: Was it in Hoboken?

Whitecage: In Hoboken [New Jersey]. He lives in Jersey City now, just a couple of miles away. We had to move, he had to move. I’m still there, but I’m in the process of moving now.

Chaloin: I was wondering if there was a kind of Hoboken connection, if there are a lot of musicians living in that area, playing together?

Whitecage: There was Trevor Koehler, he played baritone sax. He played with Gil Evans. He had his own band [The Insect Trust], they did a record called Hoboken Saturday Night [in 1970]. It was a pop record, like Jefferson Airplane or something. And then Laurence Cook was living in Hoboken. I used to come to Laurence’s house and play. When my children were born, I needed a place, so Laurence found me a place and I moved to Hoboken in 1975 to get my kids out of the city. I raised them there, I’ve been in Hoboken since then. Laurence Cook is back up in Boston now. The surroundings were beautiful, it’s close to the city and very inexpensive, much easier to live, less noisy.

Chaloin: And so, eventually you had a group together with Perry Robinson? Was there not a group called Licorice Factory or something?

Whitecage: I remember we did something with John Fischer, then after that, Gunter Hampel wanted to make a New York band. That’s when I first started coming to Europe. Gunter put a band together [the Galaxie Dream Band] and I came over to Europe for the first time with Gunter, probably in 1972. For ten years, I came every spring and every fall with Gunter, but I didn’t have enough ambition to make my own connections, to make my own band. I was still learning.

Chaloin: Was Jeanne Lee with Gunter?

Whitecage: Jeanne Lee, that was my main attraction. Gunter was not the attraction, Jeanne was. I saw her at a church in New York, Laurence Cook was playing and it was with Gunter’s band. There was Jack Gregg and his wife Maxine Gregg. Maxine was Dexter Gordon’s manager later. She played cello, Laurence Cook played drums. They sat down and started playing, and then all around us started all this rustle, and dancers stepped in. They all had film strips stuck to their arms, they started moving and rustling their stuff, and they came right on. Jeanne Lee was sitting right behind, and I looked at her. I was mesmerized because everybody else was dancing and Jeanne was dancing too. But then she danced up to the microphone and started singing. I never forgot that, it was as important to me as Eric Dolphy was, when I met Jeanne, like a next step for me. And I’m still with Jeanne, I love Jeanne.

Chaloin: You often work with her? This group that plays tonight, is it a regular unit or is it only for the festival?

Whitecage: No, no, this is for the festival. This is Jeanne’s dream band, she wanted Hamiet, Lester, Ed [Schuller], and especially Mal [Waldron]. This is the first time I’m playing with Mal, I’m truly excited about this. He is an absolutely beautiful man, beautiful player, a master piano player. We played with Jeanne in New York, like at the Miller Theatre, but she used Amina Claudine Myers. Paul Broadnax sometimes plays the piano with her. Sometimes, she uses Leo Smith, it moves around, it changes. She’s living in The Hague now, living and teaching. She’s talking about buying a house so she might be in Europe. You people will be lucky. I might come too, now that I am free, I have to set up my daughter, she’s getting out of school. I’m getting her a new apartment, and once I do that, I’m free. I’m hoping to work with the trio and with the quartet, and do what I can over here. Because there’s much more activity for my kind of music here than there is in America.

Chaloin: Well, yes but not that much more, I think. It’s not so easy!

Whitecage: It isn’t, it isn’t easy. We’re playing, but there’s very little money.

Chaloin: Maybe in Germany it’s better for your kind of music. Germany is better than France. France is pretty conservative.

Whitecage: Yes, but they like the Art Ensemble [of Chicago].

Chaloin: Yes, but the Art Ensemble is like ... It belongs to history. Musicians who are less well-known, it’s not so easy for them. You know, Sonny Simmons, he lives in France now, and it’s difficult for him, he doesn’t get much work.

Whitecage: Sonny, and John Betsch. John plays with Steve Lacy and he’s very happy, everybody ...

Chaloin: Yes, John Betsch works, yes. But it’s not always easy for American musicians.

Whitecage: I know, there are very few gigs like what we do today.

Chaloin: Yes. Of course, there are a few large festivals like this one. What about that festival in New York last year, when I saw you, the Vision for the 21st Century Festival [the first edition of the Vision Festival, in 1996]. Was it important for you?

Whitecage: It was the first time I worked with the quartet, I put Tomas [Ulrich] in the band and it was just beautiful. I love Tomas, he is a classical musician, not a jazz musician, and he adds so much. Part of my education is jazz and big bands, I didn’t listen to Schuman and Ravel and all the classical people like I should have. Tomas has it all in his being. When he improvises with us, he brings a totally new element to the quartet. To me it’s all exciting because it’s all new. I’m learning the classics from him just by improvising with him, he’s bringing a part of my education that was neglected, he’s filling in the empty spaces for me. So, to me, the ultimate is the quartet, the way it follows that trio record [Free for Once]. We did the quartet and I really love it. We sent the tape up to Bob Rusch, and we went up and recorded the quartet because he understood that we had to [Caged No More]. About a month ago we did the quartet at the Knitting Factory. So, I have the trio, the quartet, and I have a totally other band called Glass House, where I use my sound sculptures that I made and that thing called the bowl-trumpet, the silver bowl, and stuff like that. In that band Rozanne Levine plays clarinet and Joe Fonda plays bass. You probably heard him, he’s been over here a few times with Anthony Braxton. Sabir Mateen plays alto, tenor, clarinet, flute, and ... Oh, Perry Robinson! Perry Robinson is in that band too. We play more free, more like European free music in that band. I hope to live basically between the trio, the quartet and the Glass House. Glass House is my more experimental band. There’s so much that could be done if we had a little more support. I have millions of ideas for bands. I want to do another quintet like Liquid Time. I did that five years ago, so we’re quite more developed now, but it gives you an idea of my compositions since it has all my tunes on it.

Chaloin: Your records have always been very difficult to find.

Whitecage: I had no distribution for that. That, I produced myself. You can get it through Cadence and that’s about it.

Chaloin: And there’s that ... I don’t know if it still exists, Stork Music?

Whitecage: Yes, we had cassettes. I had one Glass House release on that [Watching Paint Dry]. That was William Parker. William Parker had put that together and we were trying to ... The people who couldn’t get into CD, we made cassettes, we were selling cassettes through mail order. We sold a few cassettes but not enough to keep going.

Chaloin: It’s over, now?

Whitecage: Yeah, William Parker doesn’t have time. Basically, William Parker was doing all the ... We just gave him the cassettes and he was filling the orders and sending them out. But he gets busy, he has to earn his own living too.

Chaloin: Do you know him well, William Parker? Are you close to him?

Whitecage: Oh yes, he came into town in the seventies or so. [tape cuts] Stork started all this thing, got us together. Then the concerts you heard last year, Vision for the 21st Century, that was the same, William and Patricia [Nicholson] put that together. That all basically developed from Stork, we all reunited and started to do our own concerts. We did something like twenty-seven concerts over there at Context Studios, everybody did a concert. We all participated, we put in some money for advertisement, and then we did concerts once a week for a whole season, everybody. And then we got the whole group together. The people that you saw at that festival, you probably don’t know many of the names.

Chaloin: No, I didn’t. Now I know because I’ve seen them and heard them, and I was very surprised to hear all these musicians I had never heard about.

Whitecage: I was surprised too, I met them all when we got together with this ... [Improvisors Collective]

Chaloin: It’s terrible that nobody speaks about all these people.

Whitecage: The only way we can get any kind of thing going is to get together and produce our own festivals, because nobody else will do it for us.

Chaloin: Yes, but it seems to be more and more difficult to do so.

Whitecage: It is more and more difficult. Every year advertising is more and more expensive, the venues are more expensive, everything. We really don’t bring in what we put out, but we make the music. The music is important, that’s what I live for, that’s why I’m living. And in-between, I try to get enough so I can go and play the next one.

Chaloin: Can you make a living out of playing music, or do you have to take other jobs, maybe teaching music?

Whitecage: Oh, I’ve done everything. I was driving taxis, playing weddings, club dates, and stuff. I do a little bit of everything to keep things together.

Chaloin: Are you teaching? Do you have students?

Whitecage: I’m going to have to ... I haven’t taught because I’ve been learning. I’ll be sixty this year and I’m still learning. I can’t put myself out as an expert and teach somebody, I don’t want to.

Chaloin: Well, at least you can teach how to play the saxophone, I guess you can.

Whitecage: Probably. I can’t sit there and play exercises. I never did like it. I get upset, so I don’t do it. But I’m working on a course about improvising, and I’ll see if I can teach more advanced students how to get loose and get creative with their thing. That’s in the future. Right now, it’s hard for me to teach because I still have so much to learn. I’m a student, I’ll be a student forever. To me, that’s a way of staying young. To me, somebody like Wynton, who has to be an expert – he studied four years and he has to know everything – he’s dead, he can’t grow. He can’t admit that he doesn’t know something, so he can’t learn anything more. He’s stopped right there, he’s ossified, paralyzed. I never wanted that, I never wanted to be an expert on anything. So, I always ask the questions rather than answer them. That way, even if I’m not making money out of music, at least my spirit is still alive.


Notes :

(1)  The other artists on the bill at the Pass of the North Jazz Festival were Dave Brubeck and Chris Connor. Chico Hamilton played the opening night and was described as a “way out on another planet” proponent of “West Coast progressivism” in the El Paso Herald-Post, November 7, 1959, 8.

(2)  Parker was among the musicians announced for a JATP presentation at Bushnell Memorial on September 15, 1950 in the Hartford Courant, September 14, 1950, 8. Parker did appear in Hartford the year before.


© 2021 Marc Chaloin

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