Book Review: Alive at the Village Vanguard: My Life in and Out of Jazz by Lorraine Gordon - Page 2

"They don't owe you a penny," I said. I was so mad. I let him have it! That was not the greeting I expected. First words out of his mouth. Not nice. I thought, Who would know better than I, motherfucker? Since I wrote the checks.This moment in Alive at the Village Vanguard is key because it firmly establishes that Gordon is no-nonsense. She loves jazz, and she loves being in and around that scene, as the previous 70-plus pages firmly establish. If that world, or someone in it, thinks they can walk over her because she's a woman or "the boss's wife," they have another thing coming.

Gordon has a similar story from her time running the Village Vanguard, a position she's held since Max Gordon's death in 1989. In the chapter "The Mrs. Takes Charge," Gordon writes, "Sonny Rollins also played the Vanguard plenty in the sixties and seventies. You think I could get him back today? Never. Sonny wouldn't consider anything so lowly. I've stopped asking. Let him go play on a bridge."

Never mind that Sonny Rollins is one of the living legends of jazz. Forget that he's as influential to the genre as anyone that's picked up a saxophone. He disrespected Lorraine Gordon, and in Lorraine Gordon's jazz world, that's simply not allowed.

The self-respect she reflects throughout the book is awe-inspiring, especially as it applies to someone involved in the music and entertainment industries. There's no ass-kissing, no concessions being made to satisfy some diva requests, just Lorraine Gordon's rules of how to conduct oneself in polite jazz society. There are no problems as long as you show her the respect she commands and, indeed, demands.

Alive at the Village Vanguard is full of great stories and observations about musicians and jazz, but what's most remarkable about the book is how breezy and conversational it is. On the cover of the book there is an "As Told To" credit under Gordon's name. The person she recounted her life to is Barry Singer, but it could easily have been you, me, or John Doe walking down the street.

Article Author: Dante A. Ciampaglia

Dante A. Ciampaglia is a freelance writer who recently completed a masters program in arts journalism at Syracuse University.

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