Thanks to Rob Adams for confirming that this gig was in 1995.
Some photographs from my second visit to the Nice Jazz Festival (“Grande Parade du Jazz”) at in the Roman ruins at Cimiez, Nice. (Here are my pictures from the previous year, 1976.)
Joe Newman and Clark Terry
Alan Dawson, Jon Faddis and Dick Hyman
George Duvivier and Arnett Cobb
Earl “Fatha” Hines and Eddie Graham
For several years, my father went to the Nice Jazz Festival, set amongst the Roman ruins at Cimiez. In 1976 and 1977, it coincided with our family holiday. I wasn’t much of a jazz fan as a teenager: a week of jazz at Nice was sufficient for a whole year. (It was a few years before I really got gripped.) But I did take quite a few photographs (a habit which has stayed).
Eddie Daniels and Zoot Simms
This was the first time I had seen John Scofield play, in a band featuring Joe Lovano on tenor (the first time I saw him, too), though I don’t appear to have any pictures of him. I think the drummer – seen behind Scofield in a couple of shots – is a young Bill Stweart. This gig was part of Scofield’s tour promoting the very fine “Time on my Hands”. It was a great gig!
(I have posted letters about my trip to India in 1991; but I appear not to have written about the last part of the trip, which took me to Jaipur, Agra and back to Delhi. I shall write it now, referring back to my diary. Let’s see how good my memory really is! Although, of course, I could just make it up, with the help of Lonely Planet.)
I was put up in a hotel at the airport; the Centaur. It was ghastly. I caught my early morning flight down to Jaipur – even then, I felt bad about flying, but it made sense to fly, had I made my connection.
I stayed in a cheap hotel in Jaipur called the Evergreen – full of travellers; if I was by myself, it made sense to be somewhere relatively sociable. I went out and explored the city. I loved Jaipur: it was completely different to Darjeeling. Elephants and camels walked through the streets and there were crowing peacocks in the gardens. It was busy; people talked at me wherever I went. A guy who introduced himself as Ricki got shirty because I didn’t want to stop and have a conversation – he was, like so many others, trying to improve his English; but I was trying to explore.