One thing I don't record very often on here is my Jazz adventuring in the pubs and clubs of Newcastle. They've been going on here for fifteen years since I arrived in this incomparable city, my home from home.
There's a great scene here, some great players and characters. All playing for the sheer joy of it mostly. Still paying their dues. To a higher calling and a better way of looking at things. To Oscar Peterson. To Sonny Rollins. To Miles. Or Sarah Vaughan.
They don't get any better than Sarah. I know. I played a record of hers yesterday morning before I started teaching and it set me up for work good and proper. It was like having the honour of spending thirty five minutes in the company of the classiest woman you've ever had the pleasure of making acquaintance with and can't quite understand why she'd be willing to be seen with you. Pure silk, but deceptive with it. Like all the best women, no little steel too.
I posted my appreciation of Sarah and everything about her on social media. Shortly afterwards a very nice fellow called Russell, one of the mainstays of the scene replied, pointing me in the direction of Samara Joy. Russel's a man to pay attention to if he directs you somewhere, so I went to Samara's latest record Linger Awhile.
Within a few seconds I knew exactly why he'd directed me this way. Samara is under Sarah's spell, like so many of us and does a wondrous job of paying her own dues. Generally I don't follow the Jazz scene in terms of new records, especially those that are grounded in what I'd say is its golden period, the forties to the sixties. We don't speak to each other like that anymore, or listen to each other, at least nit as much as we should. These wonderful things are best appreciated in the live setting.
But I'll make an exception in the case of Samara, who gloriously is only twenty three and hails from The Bronx. On the cover of Linger Awhile she has the most enchanting face, large splendid earrings and her hair in bunches. She sports a broad sly, pleased with herself smile. Like the cat who stole the cream. No wonder. She's class and so is the record. Thanks Russell, See you round town.
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