When the Recording Academy announced last spring that it was reducing the number of Grammy Award categories by almost a third, the first thought that came to mind was "it’s about time," followed rapidly by, "was it enough?"

This year’s 78 categories — down from 109 in 2010 — still represent a helluvalot of awards to sift through, and I don’t know of any other awards organization that comes close to that number, unless you count the Creative Arts Emmys, which don’t command the public attention the Grammys do.

It was the regional and ethnic music categories suffered the most, while the top-selling artists were left largely unscathed; kind of like the nation’s top one-percent earners still being granted the largest number of loopholes despite the country’s massive deficit.

And it’s those top-heavy categories that are the real head-scratchers (and don’t get me started about who SHOULD HAVE BEEN nominated). For example, you have Rock Performance and Rock Song: what’s the difference? OK, somebody wrote the song (or more often than not, a platoon). But if it wasn’t written, how could it be performed? These chicken-vs-the-egg distinctions basically make the Foo Fighters eligible for three different rock categories, NOT including Album of the Year, for which they were also nominated.

And what is Best Pop Vocal Album, versus Album of the Year, other than an opportunity to have multiple nominations for Adele, Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars and Rihanna? Does anybody really think that Adele would have gotten a single nomination for reasons other than her voice?

"Record of the Year" vs "Song of the Year" begs the same question: What’s the diff? (OK, one goes to producers and one goes to songwriters, but in the case of "Rolling in the Deep," it’s the same people who benefit. At the very least we might suggest calling the song category "Best Pop Lyrics of the Year" or some such thing.)

Even the Recording Academy’s reduced jazz categories are open to scrutiny, even given my own sympathy for a genre whose album market share (roughly 3%) stands way out of proportion to its cultural significance. We now have four categories, with "best improvised jazz solo" as a separate entry. But isn’t all jazz, by definition, largely improvised? As a result you have Chick Corea, Sonny Rollins and Fred Hersch double-nominated for essentially the same work.

Sure, Grammy might be sporting a svelte figure compared to years past, but there’s quite a bit of fat that could be trimmed from those bones.

Just some thoughts on the geniuses in the Academy's music branch who felt only two entries deserved to be nominated in the music category. Our resident movie music expert Jon Burlingame had something in today’s paper about the same thing. I can’t say there’s a song out there that I’m passionate about, although I did hear the Elton John/Lady Gaga song when publicist Jeff Sanderson sent a link and thought it was one of the best things Elton has done in decades.

But in my opinion, the biggest Oscar music oversight of recent times was Eddie Vedder’s music for “Into the Wild,” either because the Academy eliminated the “song score” category or didn’t feel the music advanced the drama enough. In fact, the soundtrack was better than the movie, which was maybe part of the problem.

I think the Academy should simply vote for the best use of music period – whether it’s adapted from other sources or not – i.e. Carter Burwell’s use of traditional music in “True Grit,” Clint Mansell’s Tchaikovsky-inspired score for “Black Swan” or Howard Shore’s Wagneresque score for “A Dangerous Method.” In all three cases, the composers beautifully underscore the drama with unique orchestrations and tonalities that only they could pull off.

Was the soundtrack for “West Side Story” the best of its year? Absolutely! Did it win an Oscar? Deservedly yes. Would it win today? No, because it wasn’t “original.”      

Sure to be buried by all the empty hoopla of the Oscar nominations on Tuesday, Jan. 24 will be the re-issue of the Doors’ 1971 album "L.A. Woman," as strong a swan song as has ever been recorded in rock history. Part of that has to do with Jim Morrison having been in his prime as a singer, no matter how dissolute and undisciplined at the time, with the recording sessions having occurred just months before his death in Paris.

Witness the startlingly poignant baritone on "Hyacinth House," with its hint of disillusionment by the wild-card frontman and his impending departure from L.A.’s rat race. "I need a brand new friend who doesn’t trouble me."

But the beauty of "L.A. Woman" upon re-examination is the loose, relaxed quality of the Doors’ most bluesy album. "Fuck the errors," recalled drummer John Densmore about the making of the album to the L.A. Weekly recently. "Let’s be passionate and quick. Back to the garage and blues and our roots."

And that enthusiasm and inspiration is evident throughout both the album and the bonus material on the Rhino release. "I hate to spook anybody but this is my favorite number; play your ass off," Morrison says in the studio before the band launches into "The Changeling" on the bonus disc. The rough-and-tumble track was the band’s choice as its first single off the album, but Elektra Records chief Jac Holzman begged to differ.

The record would end up being as deep in singles as any band would desire in this day and age of single-oriented pop: "Love Her Madly," "Riders on the Storm" and "L.A. Woman," the rollicking, locomotive, epic poem to the city of which the group is inextricably linked.

The alternate track of that latter signature tune — the definitive anthem for the City of Lost Angels — reveals the dynamic interplay between Ray Manzarek’s propulsive organ and Robby Krieger’s sinewy guitar lines. The composition cannot be improved upon, which points to another marvel of the record, which was largely recorded live with very little sweetening in the studio.

The addition of Elvis Presley’s bass player Jerry Scheff and rhythm guitarist Marc Benno helped the proceedings considerably. As good, and unmistakably unique stylists, Manzarek, Kreiger and Densmore are, they’ve been freed up to do what they do best: play with the awareness and imagination of seasoned jazz musicians, but with the energy and snarl of kick-out-the-jams rockers.

The variations from the originally released tracks, as iconic as they’ve become, is a welcome departure from every note and lick that Doors fans have come to memorize. "Do you love her madly?" exists on the alternate track here versus the established "Don’t you love her madly?" — a subtle yet significant distinction, pointing to the power and sound of a single word. Morrison revered language and poetry, and the reveries of "L.A. Woman" have as much to do with language as anything else. "Motel money murder madness" indeed.

The much-discussed recently discovered track, "She Smells So Nice," sounds like something tossed off in the studio as a warm-up. You can sense Morrison’s loose, limber — even if more than a tad lazy and hazy — mind at work.

This 40th Anniversary edition of "L.A. Woman" might not contain the riches of the re-issued Stones classic "Exile on Main Street," coming as it did with a slew of previously undiscovered tunes, but for Doors completists, it’s a must addition to their collection.

By RACHEL ABRAMS

Fresh off the release of  sophomore album “Ceremonials,” Florence + the Machine had plenty of help celebrating their performance at KROQ’s Almost Acoustic Christmas on Friday the 9^th. Guests, including bands The Naked & Famous, The Temper Trap and Mumford & Sons, showed up at Hemingway’s in Hollywood and enjoyed live DJing from the guests of honor themselves. Florence + the Machine is currently in the middle of a worldwide tour for their latest record, with the next stops planned for Europe and the UK.

For classic rock fans, one of the more rewarding developments to occur over the last two years was the takeover of the Hendrix recording vaults by kid sister Janie and Experience Hendrix L.L.C., as well as the estate's partnership with Sony Legacy. The resulting re-issues are a model of what labels should be doing with their archives: creating remastered, state-of the art packages with previously unreleased recordings, lavish photos, rewarding liner notes and meticulous credits that document who, what, where and when.

Since his death in September of 1970, Hendrix has served as a veritable gold mine for such labels as Reprise, Polydor and MCA, with his posthumous output exceeding the quality and quantity of the three studio releases produced during his lifetime (think "Rainbow Bridge," "BBC Sessions," the complete Woodstock set, et al). Sony Legacy’s "West Coast Seattle Boy" anthology is as essential as Hendrix’s stunning 1967 debut, "Are You Experienced?" And now comes the twin releases of "Hendrix in the West" and a four-disc "Winterland" box set that hit the racks on Sept. 13.

Lucky for his fans, Hendrix loved playing live, whether in front of an arena audience or jamming for radio listeners. And his engineer-producer, Eddie Kramer, an essential contributor to these reissues, worked with the guitarist documenting his performance at Woodstock and at the Fillmore East for Band of Gypsies.

Contrary to what Rolling Stone magazine published about these new releases, pound for pound (read "the most value for your dollar"), "Hendrix in the West, first issued in 1972, " is the superior collection, with "the West" of the title loosely interpreted, given that these live tracks spanned from San Francisco in 1968 to the Isle of Wight in 1970. Aside from seldom-documented live renditions of such classics as "I Don’t Live Today" and "Spanish Castle Magic," the CD includes definitive versions of songs made famous by Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley: "Johnny B. Goode" and "Blue Suede Shoes."

The previously unreleased "Little Wing" from 1968 provides a pristine example of Hendrix’s ability to craft gorgeous ballads, sliding up and down on the fretboard to create voicings that sound like multiple guitarists. An absolutely incendiary version of "Fire," from the San Diego Sports Arena, is a textbook example of how Jimi used feedback to searing effect, and how there was no pace, no matter how frenetic, that he and his rhythm section — Mitch Mitchell on drums and bassists Noel Redding and Billy Cox trading places on certain tracks — couldn’t handle.

Mitchell, whose free-form, polyrhythmic style established him as the Elvin Jones to Jimi’s John Coltrane, cannot be showcased enough to these ears, and the fact that he never played with another super group in the wake of Hendrix’s death is as inexplicable as Ringo’s lack of significant activity after the Beatles’ breakup.

"Winterland," originally released as a more condensed collection in 1987, chronicles six concerts over three days at San Francisco’s storied venue. For those unfamiliar with that recording, two versions of "Tax Free," a relatively obscure, if ambitious, composition written by Bo Hansson and Janne Karlsson, is the lure in a collection meant strictly for completists. Otherwise, how many live versions of "Foxy Lady," "Purple Haze" and "Voodoo Child" does one need to own?

But then one could make the argument Jimi, like Dylan, never played a song the same way twice. And judging from the versions of "Red House" on both these collections, in a way, they never get old.

By HALLEH KIANFAR

The marriage of yoga and music came to fruition this past weekend at The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas, as they hosted the two-day Wanderlust Festival featuring Thievery Corporation. Traversing through the hotel lobby, there was a pronounced culture clash of yoga mats and slot machines.

 
  
The idiosyncratic music and yoga festival (which also stages annual festivals in Lake Tahoe, Vermont and elsewhere) kicked off with hundreds participating in poolside yoga workshops with founders John Friend and Schuyler Grant. At the other end of the spectrum, the sounds of mayhem and non-stop partygoers at the Marquee dayclub played to the backdrop of the Sangha of Yogis at the Boulevard Pool.

It was a far different scene that evening, as Wanderlust attendees revisted the transformed poolside space for a cocktail reception filled with burlesque and fire dancers as AM and Shawn Lee warmed up the open-air stage.

Later that night, Thievery Corporation rocked the stage with a full 15 member live band, providing a musical therapy of their own. The band showcased five songs from their newly released album, "Culture of Fear," with hip-hop MC Mr. Lif, Sleepy Wonder, and reggae master Ras Puma in attendance. Staring across the strip at the Paris Hotel’s Eiffel Tower, Lou Lou transfixed the audience with La Femme Parallel. The night continued with fan favorite Lebanese Blonde and the entrancing sounds of the sitar and Natalia Clavier.

For those troopers that could rally a Sunday yoga workshop, yogi masters worked their healing powers on a detox flow suited to recoup from a night of partying.

This past weekend was one of a number of unconventional music events featured at the hotel. Averaging about three main acts a month, the Cosmopolitan has placed a different view on music than neighboring luxury resorts that typically focus on resident headliners. Their first summer concert series brought everything from Deadmau5 to Adele and upcoming Bright Eyes shows on the calendar.

"Wanderlust’s mash up of organic experiences, centered around personal development and nourishment, appealed to us on a personal level and was a great fit for our resort," said Rehan Choudhry, the Cosmopolitan’s director of entertainment and special events. "We were proud to bring it to Las Vegas for the first time."

Photos: Erik Kabik

In the liner notes for Rage Against the Machine’s eponymous 1992 debut, the band took care to note that no synthesizers, keyboards or samples were used while recording the album. Though odd, it was actually a necessary disclaimer, as most casual listeners would have found it hard to believe that Tom Morello’s humble Strat was producing such wild sounds.

St. Vincent’s Annie Clark makes frequent use of synthesizers, keyboards and samples, but she could still use a similar disclaimer. Jagged and eruptive, Clark’s guitar parts often sound as though they’ve been painstakingly chopped up, modified and pasted back together in the studio from dozens of different takes. They haven’t been. For her ultra-intimate performance in Bob Clearmountain’s Berkeley Street studio in Santa Monica last night, the waifish Texan did it all live – unleashing perfectly placed bursts of distorted, impressionistic riffs, her face expressing Zen-like unawareness of her own playing until she would abruptly knock herself backwards with a loud squall. 

Clark is one of the most interesting guitarists indie rock has seen in some time, and now she’s got an album's-worth of songs to match her chops.

Recorded for an October broadcast on KCRW’s “Morning Becomes Eclectic,” the show was partly a record-release party for St. Vincent’s third album, “Strange Mercy.” Long a critical darling, Clark has mounted quite a publicity blitz in the lead-up to this record: There was last month’s Spin cover, a “Letterman” appearance, and the announcements of an upcoming collaborative album with David Byrne and a song for HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire.” Whether her idiosyncratic music can find a mainstream fit is very much an open question, but for the first time she has a record capable of reaching far beyond the Pitchfork crowd.

For my part, I found Clark’s previous albums, 2007’s “Marry Me” and 2009’s “Actor,” something like the art-pop equivalent of a Faulkner novel. You knew there was great story in there somewhere, and individual passages could be breathtaking, but the attempts to impress with contrived complexity sometimes swallowed those strengths in a cold, constipated sort of muddle.

On “Strange Mercy,” Clark has learned how to tell a simple story, narratively as well as musically. Starting her nine-song set with “Cheerleader,” she sang: “I’ve had good times with some bad guys / I’ve told whole lies with a half smile,” a character description almost Cheever-like in its understatement.  And the opener’s straightforwardness carried through elsewhere. Clark can still catch her audience unaware – as she did with the sludge-metal guitar intrusions on “Chloe in the Afternoon” – but the effect was more playful than confrontational.  Unprecedentedly poppy single “Cruel” was practically begging for a dance remix, and “Year of the Tiger” took what first seemed a clichéd kung-fu-flick theme and developed it into a low-key anthem.  

The show closed with a truly savage version of “Surgeon,” a slow-burner that nodded to Debussy’s “La mer” and Bjork’s “Pagan Poetry” in equal measure. The song coasted along on a barely-there melody at first, with a fluttering guitar riff introducing a note of threat in the choruses. Clark was busy shifting the capo up and down her guitar neck throughout, as that simple figure moved across various keys and intensity levels, ending in a pulse-heightening crescendo that felt as unexpected as it was inevitable.

It seemed to sum up the guiding principle of both the show and the album: Just because a song is simple doesn’t mean it has to stand still.

Photo: Jeremiah Garcia

Even those old enough to remember 1967’s Summer of Love know Arthur Lee of Love as mostly a cult figure, not unlike Frank Zappa or Alex Chilton.

And yet the band’s "Forever Changes" is considered by many as seminal an LP of the time as the Doors’ eponymous debut, Jefferson Airplane’s "Surrealistic Pillow" and the Beatles "Sgt. Pepper." But unlike those other albums, "Forever Changes" failed to catch fire, peaking at #154 on the Billboard chart.

According to drummer Joe Blocker, who plays on the 1973 Love recording "Black Beauty," recently released and newly remastered by High Moon Records after existing as a crude bootleg circulated among the cognoscente, Lee and Love were invited to play at 1967’s Monterey Pop Festival, a pivotal event that broke the careers of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Otis Redding, and brought rock music to the forefront of the counterculture.

But, as Blocker explained, Lee was a "homebody" who didn’t like touring, and felt at the time that he had "gone as far as he could go" with the Love band of "Forever Changes." Lee, like other artists he admired such as Miles Davis and Bob Dylan, never looked back, and as that album title suggests, was forever morphing and progressing.

The Love incarnation that assembled for "Black Beauty" could not have been more different than the Love of "Da Capo" and "Forever Changes," with their heavy immersion in psychedelia and pre-prog rock whimsy. "Black Beauty" sounds live and raw, with very few overdubs in the production process. Imagine the Jimi Hendrix Experience on steroids, with Lee exhibiting the kind of range on vocals that Hendrix — whose singing always took a back seat to his playing — was never capable of.

In fact the verdict is still out as to whether Lee influenced Hendrix or the other way around.

"They knew each other from before either one of them was famous," says Blocker. "They were very close friends. Arthur was dressing like that before Jimi Hendrix was. I think that maybe Arthur was a bigger influence on him in the beginning, but in the end (Hendrix) was a big influence on Arthur."

Songs like "Midnight Sun" on "Black Beauty" sound as if they sprung from Hendrix’s cosmic mindset, and one could only imagine how the Experience might have evolved had Lee been the group’s lead singer and co-songwriter.

The all-black dynamic that sprung from the Love of "Black Beauty" — anchored by Love’s aggressive R&B voice, Melvan Whittington’s metallic, Hendrix-like flourishes, and Robert Rozelle’s grounding bass lines — was much more in tune with what black rockers like Sly Stone and the Chambers Brothers were doing at the time.

"Arthur wanted to play more music that was the kind of music he grew up listening to," explains Blocker, who joined the group when he was a 17-year-old CalArts student. "Arthur was from Memphis, he (was) a country boy. So he wanted to play more stuff that he grew up with."

Blocker, who also recorded three records with the recently departed Gil Scott-Heron, contends that "after Jimi Hendrix there have been no successful black rock acts, unless you count Lenny Kravitz.

"To look at rock and roll and for it to be held up as such a glorious extension of American music, you have to ask yourself: ‘How could a music that is born out of black music, the blues and R&B — how is it possible that there could be no successful black acts in that music?"

Lee managed to bridge the gap between R&B, funk, hard rock and flower-power pop — a quality that might have left him drifting in the margins, even when Top 40 radio was mixing Motown, Memphis soul, the British Invasion and the pre-adult contemporary of Burt Bacharach. For many, Lee wasn’t quite funky enough for people who liked James Brown or George Clinton, or psychedelic enough for fans who embraced the Airplane, the Dead or Cream.

"When you lay tiles, you’ve got the grout in the middle," says Blocker. "Those artists are the way that you get from one thing to another."

Why Lee seemed to disappear between the cracks of rock’s glory days is as much a mystery as his obscure status. Some attribute his low profile to drub abuse. Certainly the series of misfortunes that beset Lee — a record deal with Columbia Records that went south and the disintegration of the Buffalo Records label slated to release "Black Beauty — would have caused many lesser artists to spiral into oblivion, no matter how gifted.

But footage of Lee as late as 2003 playing the Glastonbury Festival (where he belted out a mind-blowing "Seven and Seven Is") three years before his death reveal an artist still at the height of his powers.

"Ain’t nothing tragic about him," explains Blocker, "he’s one of the happiest people I’ve ever known. I mean, he loved the music, but left up to him, he’d write some songs, rehearse them, go in the studio, record the songs and then go back home and feed the dogs and he’d be happy. But the rock ‘n’ roll circus, going out on the road, doing too many interviews — he really wasn’t into it."

  One would be hard-pressed to make sweeping comparisons between Sick of Sarah, appearing this Saturday night (Sept. 3) at the Roxy, and other all-female rock bands. They’re not quite as punk as the Runaways, as alternative as Sleater-Kinney or as pop as the Bangles. But one thing they are not is "girlie," which managed to surprise many of their peers on the recently wrapped, testosterone-fueled Vans Warped Tour, where they held the distinction of being the only pure XX-chromosome act on the bill.

"Word spread really fast that there was an all-female band on the tour," recalls the band’s bassist, Jamie Holm. "And I think a lot of the guys came out wondering what our sound was going to be like. Because of our image and our appearance they assumed the worst and even apologized for it. They were like, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t think I was going to enjoy you guys as much as I did, but you’re awesome, I respect you.’"

Holm cites such artists as Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Emily Haines of Metric and groups like Band of Horses and Mumford and Sons as inspirations, but her eclectic tastes belie the hard-driving, guitar-bass-drums simplicity of Sick of Sarah, propelled by the muscular percussion of Jessica Forsythe, a powerful addition to the band last year (they formed in 2005), and Abisha Uhl’s power-pop vocals.

Their latest album, "2205" — their second full-length recording following their eponymous debut LP in 2008, which contains the infectious single "Bittersweet" — received the requisite boost in sales in the wake of Vans, as well as recent treks through the U.K. and Canada. Their profiles on Facebook and Twitter also helped spread the news.

"One thing that we’ve really gotten into is posting a lot of tour footage on YouTube," says Holm. "We have a lot of dedicated fans who just absolutely love to see what we’re doing all the time."

And even though these gals are based in and around Minneapolis, they consider the Roxy their home away from home. "Every time we go to L.A. we always play the Roxy," says Holm, who lived in the City of Angels for about two-and-a-half years. "Everyone’s out there, including all of our management. Some friends of mine are the stage managers (at the Roxy). So to me it’s a really homey place and we always have a great turnout there, so I love it."

In 1979, Joni Mitchell assembled perhaps the greatest unit of jazz players to tour with a pop artist (Sting’s "Dream of the Blue Turtles" ensemble notwithstanding) in support of her "Mingus" album, a recording that many cite as the apex of Joni’s jazz period, and also the album that left many of her original adherents from her folky "Blue" days behind.

That line-up included guitarist Pat Metheny, dearly departed saxman Michael Brecker and the late, great bassist Jaco Pastorius, whose contributions to Mitchell’s high-watermark effort, "Hejira" cannot be underestimated. Anybody who missed that tour were given a second chance to capture the spirit of Mitchell’s most adventurous, and jazz-inflected work with "Joni’s Jazz" last night at the Hollywood Bowl.

The cast for this once-in-a-lifetime event was not as road-tested as Joni’s 1979 ensemble, but players like Herbie Hancock, who curated the evening as the L.A. Philharmonic’s Creative Chair for Jazz, reed player Wayne Shorter and longtime Mitchell collaborator Tom Scott on tenor are nothing to sneeze at. The results were as transfixing and magical as one could have hoped for, even if the audience wasn’t treated to Joni’s own artfully unorthodox guitar tunings, or her voice (there was no sign of Joni on the premises).

Two things about the evening stood out in dramatic relief: the difficulty of many of Joni’s songs — with their often bendy trajectories and minor-chord progressions; and the unassailable beauty and clarity of Joni’s lyrics, with their keen sense of metaphor and rich storytelling capability.

Cassandra Wilson, whose husky voice is similar to what’s Joni’s once-souring falsetto voice sounds like these days, did a wonderful job of revealing the vulnerability and heartache of "Help Me" from the LP "Court and Spark," despite the song’s seemingly buoyant exterior. Another jazz singer, Kurt Elling, gave the most straight-ahead, scat-styled interpretations to such songs as "The Dry from Des Moines" (from "Mingus") and "Black Crow" ("Hejira"), even if his delivery bordered on jazz-cat parody. (Elling brought an almost Kurt Weill sense of black humor to the proceedings, and one almost expected him to break into "Mack the Knife" at any moment.)

Chaka Khan talked about having to "grow into" many of Joni’s snake-like compositions, but her unfettered passion brought heat to the otherwise subdued "Strange Boy" and "Sweet Bird," milking the latter song’s continuing refrain of "Guesses based on what each set of time and change is touching" like an extended solo.

On the surface, Aimee Mann seemed perfectly suited to Joni’s alternately rueful and brittle musings on star-crossed romance, especially the evening’s tour-de-force touch: the performance of "The Hissing of Summer Lawns" — Joni’s daring and risky follow-up to her biggest hit album, "Court and Spark" — from beginning to end (with the exception of "Harry’s House/Centerpiece). At the time of its release in 1975, many fans were put off by the album’s dark themes of suburban alienation: desperate housewives leading soulless, medicated lives and the money-grubbing spouses who’ve reduced them to hollowed-out trophies.

While Mann’s flat vocal delivery is appropriate for her own keen writing, but her performance seemed wobbly at times (she almost sounded like a female version of Joni fellow Canadian transplant, Neil Young) and only served to underscore the dynamic range Joni exhibited in her prime.

It was left to Glen Hansard (best known as the impoverished singer from the movie "Once") to bring out the inherent musicality of some of Joni’s most complex works like "Coyote" — interpreted by some as a reflection of Joni’s cat-and-mouse affair with the young playwright Sam Shepherd in the wake of their joy ride in Bob Dylan’s chaotic Rolling Thunder Review tour — and the almost impossible "Shadows and Light," with its ecclesiastical prophesies: "Every picture has its shadows/And it has some sort of light/Blindness, blindness and sight."

There it was, like one of Joni’s paintings, the measure of her work brushed with every manner of color and texture, from cool to hot, soft to hard-edged, with Greig Leisz’s pedal steel guitar weaving it all together into a dreamy tapestry, and Shorter adding lyrical accents that more than made up for his listless playing on Hancock’s own Joni tribute album, "River: The Joni Letters."

Now if they could gather these players once again to play "Hejira" front to back my life will be complete.

(Photos courtesy of Noel Vasquez/WireImage.com)