Mike O'Connell

This past weekend I had the pleasure of seeing Monty Alexander at Keystone Korner in Baltimore. To say Monty is still bringing it at age 78 is the understatement of the century. The man brings it like no other, and seeing him play live is kind of like a religious experience. I mean an experience like an early Dead show, no Electric Kool-Aid necessary.

I’ve written before about Keystone Korner, the only legit old-school jazz club in the DMV. Seeing anyone there is a treat; seeing the best is, well… the best. I’d seen Mr. Alexander there before, a year and a half ago, and you can listen to my review here. Saturday’s show was similar, but like all great performers, it’s never exactly the same. One highlight: an impromptu audience sing-along, encouraged by the man himself, as Monty and his trio launched into an instrumental version of Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.” Yeah, an instrumental version of Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.” If you can make that work, you’re worth seeing.

And Monty Alexander is the greatest performer I’ve ever seen. There. I wanted that documented. There’s a reason Sinatra went to see this guy play, and a reason Frank told his club-owning buddy, Jilly Rizzo, to hire him.

Born in Jamaica, Alexander came to the United States as a young man and has played everywhere with everyone. A lifetime of making music. Among other things he played with the what I consider the greatest jazz band of all time, Count Basie Orchestra. Like, played the piano for them, in the Count’s seat after he passed away. This is like sitting in for God.

At the risk of spouting more cliches, Monty Alexander transcends “jazz,” bringing the intensity of a rock concert and the joy of a pop concert to the world of uneven eighths. There’s a “ta-da!” finish to every tune, brought out with the flourish and flair of a symphony conductor. It’s got the glitz of late-period Elvis, but not in a bad or tacky way.

And if Elvis had gone to Julliard.

Go out and buy every Monty Alexander record you can, though it won’t be the same as seeing him live. Like a Phish studio album it only scratches the surface.

Just counting the days until he’s back at the Korner. I’ll be there.

The last two weeks on Math and Musings I’ve discussed Jim Boeheim and Patrick Ewing, legendary basketball men now reduced to playing golf, I suppose, or whatever one does when no longer coaching.

Yup, I’m the new Sports Illustrated cover jinx, with Boeheim and Ewing let go from Syracuse and Georgetown respectively days after their profiles on MAM.

I considered testing the jinx today with an episode describing how I never win the lottery or get a letter from Hogwarts, but decided to go with a chronicle of St. Patrick’s Day instead.

Don’t think they’re going to get rid of that one any time soon, but you never know.

Oscar winners announced on the same night as NCAA Tournament selections? What a delicious juxtaposition.

Other than Top Gun: Maverick I hadn’t seen a single Oscar-winning film, but then, I hadn’t seen a million college basketball games this year either.

But in the next three weeks, I’m going to watch 67.

And zero Oscar-winning films.

It’s not often I get to watch my alma mater play on TV (is it still called “TV”?), but last night I had the opportunity to do just that.

It was fun for about five minutes.

I probably should have expected a thrashing, but I often go into these things like a wide-eyed college kid.

Vermont 79, Binghamton 57.

Honestly it wasn’t even that close.

Luckily for me I’ve got some good TV these days courtesy of the ageless Mel Brooks. To some a hero and to others a mere legend (so he says in the show’s opening), Mel’s still doing his thing at 96. And more than 40 years after he made us laugh with History of the World, Part I, there is now–you guessed it–History of the World, Part II. Streaming on Hulu, it’s basically a 30-minute episode of SNL, which I suppose has always been a 90-minute episode of Mel Brooks. Most of the sketches (can I use that term?) are low-hanging fruit, but hey, it’s Mel Brooks, and he’s got some of the biggest names in the business spouting these corny lines.

Don’t we all deserve to laugh these days, when there’s so much turmoil and bad basketball in the world?

Sandwiched between the worst day I ever experienced (March 2, 2006) and the finest moment I ever experienced (March 5 a few years later) there is this date: March 3. Three-three, if you will. This time of year is always worthy of a little reminiscing.

Today on Math and Musings you’ll hear the tale of my first ever college basketball game, February 17, 1990, a simpler time no doubt, but filled with drama on the court.