My Opa was a collector. When he passed away, he left behind him a collection of over 3,000 vinyl records. I've moved into the room where they are all stored, have bought and set up a record player, and have proceeded to make my way through as many of the records as I can.
This is Henry DuFlon's record collection, with as many details as I can muster.
Get the .rar digital album HERE
1. Hog Callin’ Blues (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 7:26)
2. Devil Woman (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 9:38)
3. Wham Bam Thank You Ma’am (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 4:41)
1. Ecclusiastics (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 6:55)
2. Oh Lord Don’t Let Them Drop That Atomic Bomb On Me (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 5:38)
3. Eat That Chicken (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 4:36)
4. Passions of a Man (By Charlie Mingus; Jazz Workshop, BMI. Time: 4:52)
Back cover info by Nat Hentoff
Occasionally I answer my phone and hear only the sound of a piano. The absence of “Hello” or any other preface means it’s Mingus. Usually, he’s playing a new piece he’s finished working out on the piano, which has always been an essential companion wherever he’s lived. Mingus always composes on the piano, and gradually in the past couple of years, he’s begun to play the instrument in clubs and at concerts. This album represents the first time in his protean career that Mingus has recorded an entire set on which he plays only piano.
This is also the first album on which Mingus sings. On several of his previously recorded chapters of the moral history of our time, there have indeed been fragments of Mingus shouts, roars, mumblings, falsetto keening and other vocal eruptions he felt necessary to the overall texture of a work; but this time, he sings directly into the microphone, and yet another area of Mingus’s expressivity has become illuminated.
This unrelenting need to express himself as fully as possible at any given moment is at the core of Mingus and off the stand. He has almost completed, for example, a huge book which is both a stunningly candid autobiography and a compendium of his views on all of us. As could be expected, the book resembles his music not only in its explosive honesty but in its insistent focus on trying to find a personal morality. For years he has been obsessed by what he considers the constricting pressures of “the system.” As he said recently, “It’s not a question of color any more, it’s above that. I mean it’s getting more and more difficult for man to just love. And fewer men are making a real effort to find exactly who they are and to build on that knowledge. Most people are forced to do things they don’t want to all the time, and they get to the point where they feel they no longer have any choice. We create our own slavery, but I’m going to get through and find out the kind of man I am – or die.”
This album is another stage in that self-discovery, and in many respects, it reaches emotional depths in Mingus that are more revelatory of the marrow of his struggle than anything he’s yet recorded. What turns this raw introspection into art is that Mingus is also a singularly creative composer-leader. He has hammered out an unmistakably personal language through which he stimulates, disturbs, and re-energizes his listeners more consistently than most contemporary musicians in or out of jazz. “Bird,” Mingus says, “sometimes could make the whole room feel like he did.” And that exactly is what Mingus so often and so overwhelmingly is able to do.
*More back cover information on it’s way!