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    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond
    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond
    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond
    Ebook171 pages2 hours

    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond

    By Mort Weiss and Cary Goldberg

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    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond is an intriguing glimpse into the life and times of "the world's greatest unemployed jazz clarinetist," the 80-year old Mort Weiss. Inspired by Mort's column on the popular website All About Jazz, The Mort Report, Sex and the Jazz Musician features 22 candid, poignant and ribald articles (of the 23 that are featured on the site), which are interspersed with brief pieces that provide context for Weiss' unique and creative narratives. Those tales take readers back in time to Mort's initial exposure to jazz, through his encounters with the famous (Elvis Presley, Steve Allen, Jimi Hendrix) and the infamous, detailing the highs and lows of his more than 60 years in and around the music business. As of December 2015, Mort's pieces on All About Jazz have received nearly 204,000 views.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateMar 1, 2016
    ISBN9781682229583
    Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond

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      Book preview

      Sex and the Jazz Musician - The Hollywood Years and Beyond - Mort Weiss

      on.

      A TASTE

      Oh My God -MY GOD! MY GOD!!!! I don’t know if was she or me -or both of us screaming! at that sensual moment -when ALL reality and pretense is But For the moment, put asunder and as two become one -and in that nascent expanse of time nothing-NOTHING else mattered -for there IS nothing else! Locked in a cumulative embrace -gently touching each other -lightly kissing each other - over all loving- the moment -not wanting to let it go in to the sands of time that devour ALL THINGS equally -the Good ….and the bad

      It had rained the night before in Hollywood - I had spent the night at Marla’s house way up on Beachwood Drive -just below the aging Hollywood sign - the view the other way of Hollywood and Los Angeles - at night was beyond description –let’s just say -t’was a spread of glowing jewels laid out at one’s feet -as far as the eye could see.

      Marla’s husband was on a location shoot and taken their ten year old with him, she had given the housekeeper two days off. That night before was so very enhanced by the roaring fire on the hearth- the brandy was aged - and my cigarette and Marla in my arms -ALL came together to make my world a much more tolerable place.

      My band and I were opening for the group The Three Sounds at a small club on East Sunset Boulevard near Vermont Avenue at the border of Hollywood and L.A. Things were cooking! I was high-But NOT too high-Ya Dig? And somewhere during the set - Our Eyes Met… our eyes met and at that moment---at that VERY moment…well, I felt that I wasn’t alone anymore…at least not for that night - - and so very much more that happened to me (as The Song Says) From that Moment On.

      Ya know, WAY BACK in the day - when breaking wild broncs into rideable horses, occasionally there would one that just wouldn’t comply and go along with the program - and a large heavy log would be tied to the animal and let loose to go about its way (within) the confines of the corral -dragging that heavy log 24/7 if need be-until it gave in to training.

      I seem to be still dragging mine.

      INTERMEZZO 1

      Yes, indeed. Weiss has vivid memories, the kind of recall that most people half his age are worried about losing. He was born in McKeesport, an industrial city in Pennsylvania, but he and his parents moved to Los Angeles when he was a young child, the relocation situating him smack dab in the heart of a time and a place that were as much a perfect match to his temperament as a child as they were an influence on the man he would grow into.

      Things at home were far from perfect, but there were times that Mort and his parents enjoyed time together as a family. We’ll never know exactly why his parents decided to take the preschool-aged Mort to see the movie Reefer Madness – hardly family-friendly fare but in 1936-37, it’s not like they had a theater multiplex from which to choose a screen. But it’s one of the earliest recollections that he’s shared.

      REEFER MADNESS AND ME

      How the above title turned me on to the love of jazz. It was 1939 and I was four years old and my parents took me to my first moving picture show that being the above (I kinda had eyes for Gone with the Wind) and to hear Clark Gable say that filthy word at the end of the movie—but they had other plans—maybe because the title on its release was Tell your Children. It was financed by a church group as was Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space—hmmmm. Whatever, but when it got to the part where this chick had done up about 25 joints and was WILDLY & MADLY playing the piano at some insane tempo—and the brutally vividly mad look in her eyes—well, let me tell you, I completely forgot about Gone with the Wind and the filthy word. Man!! That was it. That was what, and where, and how I wanted to be for the rest of my life. Yes it did lead to some problems during my early years—but that’s another story.

      Fast forward to 1957-1965. I made it! I achieved my wish of years ago and became that person (and all that went with it, from my first movie) Yep, took me some time but I made it. I always was diligent in my pursuits! Oh yeah! Most of you know the Mort Weiss Story by now—if for some strange and sinister reason you don’t—well, go and Google Mort Weiss now. I’ll wait—go ahead—hum de dum da-de da mm la de—O.K. YOU’RE BACK. Onward. This is my first article that I’ve done exclusively for All About Jazz and let me say how happy I am to be here. And as you all know, this is the hippest jazz site in the world. And now a little something about me.

      I really don’t care much for jazz. The playing of it-listening to it or the writing about it. But then again it’s hard to turn ones back on all the BIG BUCKS that doing it offers. It’s also very hard to think and write with ones tongue firmly planted in ones cheek. Since this is primarily a get acquainted article I would like to point out that AAJ has been running and archiving some of my previously published articles from another very hip site Something Else Reviews the last week or so. If you read nothing else that I’ve written I hope that you would read my article entitled The State of Jazz, Coltrane Clones, and the Noose of Technology. No chuckles in this one—but it strongly expresses my musical core values being one that has been there-done that and has taken pictures. I don’t just talk and write about it—I DO IT! If that sounds attitudinal, it probably is. By now you’re possibly aware that I’m not a writer, no, I’m a storyteller and a JAZZ CLARINET PLAYER bop, post-bop. At this time I must thank my editors here at AAJ for cutting me the slack in telling my stories in the rhythm and parlance from whence they came. I’m used to telling my tales through my AX.

      It would bode well for the reader (that is a serious listener of the music) that if I use words—slang or mention names that you’re not familiar with regarding the music—to do a Wikipedia on said things and persons. It would and WILL greatly enhance your enjoyment in your adventure on your journey in and through the world of jazz.

      Back in 2006 the very astute and talented R.J. DeLuke and I did a phone interview together called Mort Weiss Sets Sail on Jazz—or something like that (during my 40 year hiatus I became heavily involved in racing sail boats off of Newport Beach California in local waters and internationally.) But that too is another story. I can talk, and it’s been said that I have a weird sense of the absurd and during the interview with R.J. I said to him that I had spent time in a Punitentiary. Well when I read the interview, in referring to my drug and alcohol problems that yes WEISS had indeed spent time in a PENITENTIARY well what the hell I thought. It was one of those (THEY SPELLED MY NAME RIGHT) things, and I never mentioned it till now. When I looked at it the other day I was happy to see that it had over a thousand recommendations! Hey R.J., let’s do lunch someday soon. No, never was in a penitentiary—but arrested and thrown in jail many a time mostly for D & D fighting telling the wrong person to fuck off! Playing bebop in a hospital zone and one that I’m kinda proud of—and that is—stalking smooth jazz players grabbing them and tying them up and making them sit and listen for hours to Bud—Bird-ALL of the SONNYS-Miles-and Clifford and others. When brought to trial and a jury of my peers was impaneled well of course I was found not guilty of doing any wrong—and it was even suggested that I be given some sort of a medal or some other award from the city in that I had contributed in making Los Angeles and the world a more desirable place to live, work and play. Ah yes, those were the days my friend—we thought they’d never end—THANK GOD THEY DID!!!

      This coming August I’ll be going to L.A. (for those of you in Bensonhurst, LOS ANGELES) to record a new album (not CD).

      Number ten since my return to the scene—one might even say ten years after. Hmmm... There’s a name there. Where is Joe Gooch now? I’m very much looking forward to doing these articles for All About Jazz and I’m flattered that they’ve asked me to share some of my experiences and stories with you. I’ve lived a life of many varied experiences and worn many different hats, but it has always been about the music always. I wish you all nothing but the best in life.

      I remain, Mort Weiss.

      Sex and the Jazz Musician: The Brutal Truth!

      The following is taken from the chronicles of a gold panel Committee of select persons from the international confines of various state institutions that hold such findings sacred—the long-term commitment of these individuals that have given rant to their multitudinous ravings on this highly personal topic.

      In my course of dumpster diving for salvation, I found these discarded records from the Harding administration that are the most revealing about these ubiquitous and reoccurring problems.

      And Now the Brutal Truth!

      I actually don’t know much about the sex life of a jazz musician even though I am one. Based on the knowledge that I have at hand, it seems to me that it would be a very short story indeed, even leaving delusions of grandeur out of it.

      So, what the f**k was that all about? Well, I’ll tell ya. If you’ve read this far, very cool—you’re my kind of person and I thank you very much. Here’s the main reason for this article—and it’s been about a half a year since my last one. We here at All About Jazz corporate are, for the most part, housed in very comfortable surroundings and treated very well. But, as I stated, I’ve really not turned out much in the way of work re: articles and such for a long time, and when passing each other in the hall (that being Mr. Ricci and Mr. Kelman), I find myself avoiding eye contact with either of these gentlemen. When in close proximity of ether of the two, one feels this source of formidable power and a mindset that bespeaks of industry and exploration as in ad astra—to the stars. OK, stay with me now! Here at corporate, a lot of thought is given to the read count that we writers generate on our respective works that we contribute to the site. So for those of you in Bakersfield—since I ain’t done much around here except making and throwing paper airplanes at the time clock—well that puts me into a negative position in the asking and or demanding of certain, shall we say, privileges, ya dig?

      All right! Onward. I’m sure that many of you reading this, work in a multilayered corporate environment and understand the goings on of the water cooler politics and such. Is there a thing as steno pools anymore? Stenographer; hmm, must look that up—might as well look up water coolers too. In every lifetime the powers that be deem to throw one a nice big, fat, slow ball pitch right down the middle of the strike zone, and all one has to do is swing the bat for that bases—loaded, peak moment, to blossom forth and travel beyond the pale.

      OK. A little wordy but this isn’t cheer leading 101 we’re talking about, man—this is f*@#cking life! A serendipitous (for me) event has very recently occurred here at corporate, in that musicologist (in residence), Dr. Gregory Gumpharter either fell or was pushed out of the window of his corner office on the 23rd floor of the Tristano Tower building (Mr. Ricci’s suite on the 28th floor encompasses the entire sq. footage of said floor, giving him a full, panoramic view of both oceans). Now—now do you see what I’m getting at? The title of an article with sex and jazz in it, I know, if people are like

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