other than through machines. A jazznlibrary is thus a stack of discs or tapes;nthe fact that both Edison and KingnOliver belonged to the same generationnproves that Giarnbattista Vico was rightnabout the metaphysics of history. “Jazznteems with legendary geniuses who . . .nplayed better, than any of the giants,”nremarks Frank Kappler in his introductionnto Bechet, and he adds: “If onlynthey had recorded!” He thereby hasndefined the existential matter of thennew music which could never be conveyednto posterity by the creative artistnhimself, only by technology.nSidney Bechet, a Creole clarinetistnfrom New Orleans, the Bethlehem ofnjazz, played with almost every giant ofnhis era and was abundantly recorded,nbut the image of the supreme greatnessnof Armstrong, Jelly Roll Morton ornBessie Smith eluded him. He was notnthe only one who was unjustly ignored,nthough, and he was much better offnthan, for instance, his close friend andnassociate. Tommy Ladnier, who certainlynwas a trumpet player au pair withnArmstrong in terms of creative originalitynand artistic intensity. But, becausenof his many illnesses, misfortunes,ndrug addiction and early death, he isnknown only to jazz cognoscenti. Ladniernis abundantly featured in thisnalbum, which somehow enhances itsnstature. All in all, Bechet’s life andnachievements receive fair treatment,nand no one who has listened to all sixnsides could doubt for a moment thatnTime-Life Records, thanks to modernn44inChronicles of Cttlturentechnology (the hi-fi quality of thenalbum is flawless), has constructed anlasting monument to one of jazz’s greatest,nmost idiosyncratic and independentngeniuses. The momentousness of jazznis there; the music which has becomenthe outburst of authentic popular substancesnfused into primary and weightynhuman concerns is there. Perhaps thenultimate instrumental blues statementnthis side of Armstrong’s “West EndnBlues” is there. It is entitled “Reallynthe Blues,” and it was recorded at annextraordinary session sponsored bynHugues Panassie, the famed French jazzntheoretician, in 1938 in New YorknCity. Never has the essence of Afro-nAmerican poignancy been more alivenand audible than in the sound andnlament that Bechet put together withnLadnier, Mezz Mezzrow (a white Chicagoan)non the clarinet and Teddy Bunnnon guitar. Sidney Bechet had a full,nbeautiful life: he loved to create musicnand to express in it his pride in being anblack man from New Orleans; he cravednpeople, friends, pleasures and adventurenand he had them all in abundance. Henpursued fame and recognition, and, innthe end, both came to him in more profusionnthan he ever expected.nHolidaynBillie Holiday; The Giants of JazznSeries; Time-Life Records; Alexandria,nVirginia.nThe essence of Billie Holiday’s artnand artistry was her meticulous consistencynof style and perhaps the most nonmelodramaticnpoignancy of delivery evernregistered in the annals of recorded jazz.nThat consistency and poignancy did notnalways work in her favor, however.nSome tried to dismiss her during hernmiserable, even tragic, life; they fussednabout her inflections, affectations andnthe musical gimmickry that could easilynbe associated with the Cafe Society flavornof the big Eastern cities and the fiveo’clock-loungensmartness of the latennn1930’s. In fact, these so-called deficienciesnwere marks of tonal refinementnrarely found in jazz singing. This marvelousnalbum sets everything, straight:nit is not only a technically flawless testimonialnto Billie’s grandeur as perhapsnthe most idiosyncratic diva of jazz, butnalso a lasting documentation of whatncan be termed an elusively sophisticatednNew York recording-session style ofnsmall swing combos just before WorldnWarn.nMr. Melvin Maddocks, a frequentncontributor to Time magazine’s booknsection who usually seems to us vacuouslyneclectic in his critical evaluationsnand uneven in his literary introspections,nhas done an endearing job asnBillie’s biographer and as an interpreternof her music in the brochure enclosednwith the album. It’s obviously a worknof love.nUpdating the BluesnBlues Deluxe; Muddy Waters, KokonTaylor, Willie Dixon et al.; recordednat Navy Pier, Chicago, August 1980.nSuch an update is a sad and unconvincingnundertaking, especially as heardnon this album, recorded at the 1980nChicagofest. For some reason, whichnperhaps could be traced in a more indepthnsurvey, the blues—a musical andnpoetic phenomenon often called America’sngreatest contribution to our epoch’snculture—has fallen victim to the culturalnsleaziness of our time. The greatnessnof the blues, which grew out ofnthe Delta and expanded along the MississippinRiver in every possible directionnto every corner of the American reality,nwas in blending the heritage and experiencenof the American black with onenof the most versatile formal innovationsnin the history of music. That uniquencombination soon gave this art formna universality which transcended thenAfro-American label, and in the last 80oddnyears sadness, melancholy and sorrownhave become most understandablen