Crosby’s minstrel heritage is intriguing,nand he is illuminating on the similaritiesnand differences in the piano styles of JellynRoll Morton and Professor Longhair. Hisncomments on the symbiotic relationshipnbetween Jewish songwriters and blacknjazz musicians in the first half of this centurynare thought-provoking.n”The blue note is endemic in jazz,nblues, and gospel,” he writes, “and hasnsettled in every corner of Americannmusic, from Tin Pan Alley to Nashvillenand from symphonies to New Wavenrock. Yet it is invisible in Western musicology;na micro tone—a wavering pitchnbetween, say, a third and a flat third—ncan’t be notated.” So, using the title ofnDuke Ellington’s “Riding on a BluenNote” as the umbrella for this collectionnof reviews and essays, Giddins finds then”illusory blue note” linking such disparatenartists as Elvis Presley, Cecil Taylor,nBing Crosby, Sonny Rollins, EthelnWaters, and Dutch modernist WillemnBreuker. Along the way he offers usefulninsights: in the chapter on the singernBobby Blue Bland, for instance, we findnGiddins’s perception of the differencenbetween expectations of the jazz audiencen(progress and innovation) and thenhunger of the jazz audience (satisfactionnof the tradition), and of why Bland is anchampion at delivering what blues fansnwant:nHe is not an intuitive singer, but anmaster at employing a cache of techniquesnfor the optimum expression ofna song’s lyrics. … he does not takenovert chances; to do so might implynthat his mastery of the tried and truenis less than sufficient.nGiddins is convincing in his explanationnof why the music of the iconoclasticnOrnette Coleman can be effectively interpretednby other players and why thatnof the more tradition-oriented CharlesnMingus has not been. He is less convincingnwhen he introduces into his jazz pantheonnBetty Carter, a singer whosenabihdes have been obscured in a cloud ofnmannerisms. And he is occasionally justn4()inChronicles of Calturenwrong in some of his assessments. To callnthe self-renewing and unclassifiablenpianist Don Ewell a “thumping stridentickler with few original ideas” evincesnhis unfamiliarity with the artist’s worknor, worse, closed-mindedness. There arentimes when Giddens assxmies too muchnknowledge on the part of the reader, asnwhen he describes Frank Sinatra’s style asnincluding “Dorsey-like vowels” and failsnto mention that Charlie Parker’s instmmentnwas the alto saxophone. But hisnevaluation of the contradictions innSinatra is perfect: “it’s difficult to listennto the singer without hearing the clatternof the man,” and his Parker scholarship isnbased in creative listening. Giddins hasndiscovered that Parker’s celebratednopening phrases in his “EmbraceablenYou” solo are a quote from a deservedlynobscure 1930’s pop song, “A Table InnThe Corner.” And he claims correctlynthat the quote is an example of Parker’sngenius for transcending and improvingnhis musical raw materials. He properlynexcoriates Warner Brothers Records fornignorance and carelessness in includingnthe wrong takes of several Parker performancesnin its supposedly definitivenreissue of his best work from the old Dialnlabel. He raises penetrating and importantnquestions about the music industry,nparticularly its commercializadon of thenbrilliant guitarist Wes Montgomery,nwho became a financial success by using anhighly stylized but minor part of hisntalent.nGiddins sometimes falls short in attemptingnto match words to his ideas andnfails—like most prose writers—to approximatenin words the sounds of music,nas in this effort to catch the essence of annntrumpet style: “The best of the teasersnwas Harry Edison, whose solos came innthree basic flavors: beep beep beep, beepnbeeeep beep, and b’beem’m b’beep.”nBut he often succeeds in evoking thenmusic: “[Trombonist Jack] Teagarden’snlazy time, the casual triplets percolatingnunexpectedly from his warming Texasnblues riffs …” Passages like thatndemonstrate his “professional fan’s” appreciationnof excellence. His toughnreview of portions of the 1979 Kool JazznFestival in New York reveals him as andiscerning, occasionally acidulous critic:n”[Mel Torme’s] arrangement on ‘BluesnIn The Night’ was the inspired idea of anmedioae musician—it changed temponand style every eight measures, and wasnas arty as designer clothes.” “Over thencheering, she finishes the song by sobbingnthe refrain, an extremely uncharacteristicnaesthetic mistake. [Sarah]nVaughan is no more an actress than JoannSutherland, and her crying is not onlynmusically inept but false to the lyric’snirony and her own message of strength.”nAnd Giddins has a flair for physicalndescription; on violinist Joe Venud, fornexample: “Vcnuti was built like a cementnmixer. Whenatrest,hisjowlswerecrepepapernhangings, and his mouth foldedninto a quizzical, placid smile. When henlaughed he roared, and he talked like annextortionist.” In fact, Giddins’s style isnmost engaging in his essays and sketchesnon individual artists. He is spellbindingnin his recounting of the adventures ofnCharlie Parker’s old sidekick—societynbandleader, con artist, and born-againntrumpeter Red Rodney. In his portrait ofnthe late saxophonist Art Pepper he treatsnthe sociology, mythology, and politicaln