Lorraine Gordon at 84: Alive at the Village Vanguard

Lorraine Gordon, proprietress of theVillage Vanguard, just published a memoir at age 84. Alive at the Village Vanguard recounts a life in jazz stretching back to the 1930s. She married Alfred Lion and helped him run Blue Note Records in the 1940s. Then she married Max Gordon, owner of the Vanguard. Devoted to NYC leftie politics in the 1950s and 60s, she was a co-founder of Women’s Strike for Peace. When Max died in 1989 she took over day-to-day management of the Vanguard.

The room is considered by many to be the most venerable venue in jazz. More than 100 recordings have “Live at the Village Vanguard” in their titles. "The room really responds to some artists more than others," Gordon says. "The walls start to shake a little when there's no business and the room says forget it, the vibes aren't right. I listen to the room. The room tells me a lot."

NPR did a fine audio tribute to her. The web page features interview outtakes; MP3 downloads of jazz classics recorded at the Vanguard; a gallery of photos from the memoir, including this snapshot of Lorraine and Louis Armstrong taken in 1946; and a memoir excerpt describing the first time Lorraine heard Thelonious Monk:

Monk's room was right off the kitchen. It was a room out of Vincent Van Gogh somehow - you know, ascetic - a bed, a cot, really, against the wall, a window and an upright piano. That was it.

We all sat down on Monk's narrow bed — our legs straight out in front of us, like children. I looked up for a moment and saw a picture of Billie Holiday taped to the ceiling. The door closed. And Monk, his back to us, began to play.

He had enormous hands. Those hands almost stammered, it seemed to me, right above the keys. 'Where are they going to come down?' I kept wondering. It was just riveting to watch.

There were a lot of modern musicians I didn't understand — they were fast and terrific but not comprehensible to me, necessarily. Thelonious Monk I understood. Always. Monk was a revelation. From our very first encounter he was right in my groove.

He was always working on something new. That day we heard him composing what would turn out to be "Ruby, My Dear," one of Monk's most admired signature compositions. He didn't even have a title for it yet. I just loved the melody, so much so that I can remember thinking: 'Boy, I wish he'd name it after me - call it "Sweet Lorraine" or something.' Eventually, in the course of a later visit, Thelonious did tell me that he had titled this piece "Ruby, My Dear," and I said to him, "Oh, who's Ruby?" "No-one," Thelonious answered. "I just like the name."