Picks and Pans Review: My Feet Can't Fail Me Now

updated 12/10/1984 AT 01:00 AM EST

originally published 12/10/1984 AT 01:00 AM EST

The Dirty Dozen Brass Band

Down in New Orleans the Dirty Dozen have sparked numerous lively arguments that go something like this. Crusty Old-Timer: They play too wild and too fast; it's not authentic New Orleans jazz. Young Blood: Sure can dance to it, brother. O.T.: I don't like their name. It's too rude. And they don't have enough respect for the way things have always been done. Remember the time they marched back from that funeral playing Charlie Parker's Bongo Beep? Kid Ory must have turned over in his grave. Y.B.: If he did, it was from all the whooping and dancing the dudes were doing marching behind them. O.T.: I'm not saying they can't play their instruments, mind you. That tuba player of theirs, Kirk Joseph, is...Y.B.: ...hotter than chili peppers and slipperier than okra. And I'll tell you something else, Pops. These cats have the real spirit of collective improvisation, which is what New Orleans jazz is all about. You want to hear the blues, all ragged and shaggy? The real thing? Check out Blue Monk on their new record. You want to hear rhythm whipsawing you about three ways at once? Listen to their arrangement of the Duke's Caravan. Talk about blinding precision, get into their Bongo Beep. O.T.: A New Orleans band playing Monk, Ellington and be-bop. What's the world coming to? Y.B.: Its senses, bro. (Concord)

From Our Partners