The Mort Report

THE MORT REPORT

My Final Report

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I stood there at graveside in the cold morning mist, collar of my dark blue, (but not too warm coat) turned up-in an effort to--ahh hell, I don't know--I saw it in a film noir flick once--let's just say--that it looked appropriate for the occasion--"the occasion"? The laying to rest of my mother-my mother of soul-of laughs-of tears (the very same that I'm drowning in as I write this bit of text about my mother who I never thought that I had the mother that I now know that bequeathed to me the key to all the doors where the ...

THE MORT REPORT

Septuagenarian is Not a Sexual Proclivity!

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Backstage at a concert I was doing a few years back, I heard the house announcer getting ready to bring me on, doing his thing. As I'm checking to see if my fly was zipped I heard the words (not in any particular order): jazz, clarinet, septuagenarian and Mort Weiss. I remember thinking--what the f**k? OK, I was asked to write something about a now-well-known little break I took from the scene for 40 years, and that upon returning in 2001 led Scott Yanow, critic, reviewer and internationally acclaimed writer and jazz historian to proclaim that ...

THE MORT REPORT

WOW! Bird and Bach: Them two cats really could play!

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O.K. Now that I've got your attention, what should I write about? The many articles here at AAJ have damn near covered each and every aspect on the topic of jazz and its place (albeit) always in flux and change with each and every up and coming generation of players. Where is jazz in the scheme of worldly import and does its relationship to the here and now pay proper respect to all the cats that came before, laying each foundation brick on the yet to be house of pain--sorrow--love--happiness--hopes and dreams of the artists who were destined to dwell ...

THE MORT REPORT

Love... Sorrow... Jazz... and Death

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When we think of an art form, the tendency is to look in every and all directions except inward--wherein all answers lie, although shielded and hidden from one's self and any that choose to be within your sphere of understanding and passion. Why must it take years of self- study and searching the myriad avenues and paths that lead directly to one's innermost feelings of hope, love, fear and despair? And reaching that destination, only to find that every hope and dream that you dare dream is not enough--not enough to quench the thirst of your passions that any & ...

THE MORT REPORT

A Brief History of Ragtime to 3/4 aka A Waltz Through the Cosmic Thought Process

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Opening!Screaming through the quagmire of being, I see--nay, feel--justification of the heat of singularity of thought. Yearning of (and for) all energies spinning--not only in the dance of Shiva, but in the fulfillment of a manifest destiny of understanding and love that gives forth its eternal fires of hope and the many tomorrows that can & will exist in the immutable paradigms of reception and order, thus bringing together the complete schism of an entity of pre- and/or post-existence on the plains of destiny thereof. Enabling the existence of the mere act of existing itself, to be put ...

THE MORT REPORT

I Hear a Clock ... Ticking

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Hello, once again. Still above ground and taking nourishment while most any of my contemporaries who haven't left the building as of yet are listening to smooth jazz, taking their Lithium and writing with crayons. Having shared that thought with you, last month I had my 78th birthday--another strange custom (why do people celebrate one's arriving at a year closer to their death?).But I digress, having said that, I guess I could be thought of as an elder statesman of jazz (yes, I said statesman). For any of you reading this who would like to know more about ...

THE MORT REPORT

I Was Too Stoned to Perform: A Love Story, Kinda

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It was some time in the early 1960s and this story finds me, still Mort Wise, and my band--still named the Wisemen--having just signed a contract with World Artist Management services, a very happening company whose roster had names like Red Skelton, Ray Charles, Jacqueline Fontaine and many others. I would be one of the many others to begin with, at the time, after working the toilets and rough and tumble out of the way places like the Bank Club in Ely, Nevada, where the world's largest open face copper mine just happened to be, giving employment to multitudes of ...



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