Robert Doisneau scènes de musique de Paris

Welcome all! This is “Music Monday” for March 29

Ah Paris. Beautiful, intoxicating, captivating Paris. A city of seductions and charms, hot fun, beguiling people, and joie de vivre. Paris is a great music city. It’s also a great love city, a great art city and a great city to photograph. Robert Doisneau knew this as well as anyone. The French photographer specialized in candid black and white shots of Paris life in the streets, cafes, nightclubs, and markets, capturing those moments in a good-humored, playful, documentary style. Children were a particularly favorite subject, as were couples kissing. Lots and lots of attractive Parisian couples kissing can be found in Doisneau’s portfolio.

But the passions and inhibitions of Parisians are found not just in public makeout sessions, but in many settings. Music is an essential element of Paris city life, and brings out the exuberance and colorful character of it people. Lucky for us, Robert Doisneau had his camera on hand to record such moments.

Traditional French music features a lot of accordion, an instrument which gets little respect in other places. But Parisians apply its unique sounds to charming, atmospheric songs which are thoroughly imbued with “Frenchness”. Listening to these tunes transports you into a Paris state-of-mind.

Doisneau’s The Accordionist:

A French accordion classic, this is Flambee Montalbanaise, performed by Gus Viseur:

Parisians have always embraced jazz music with open arms. They are, to this day, some of the most ardent jazz fans in the world. A musical import from America, jazz found a warmly welcoming audience in the French capital, and many jazz musicians claimed to have felt right at home there, even more so than in the United States. Jazz returned the favor by “saving” the spirit of Paris during the tumultuous, war-torn decades of the 20th century. Given so much turmoil and upheaval, the people of France deserved every opportunity to cut loose and forget their troubles.

Jazz venues and nightclubs thrived in Paris in the 1920s and 30s, until the Nazis invaded and condemned jazz as “degenerate music”. The clubs either shut down or were driven underground. Then in the Postwar years, jazz rose up again.

This Doisneau photograph was taken in Club Saint Germain, a cave-like basement space that opened in 1947. In a terrific shot of two patrons dancing, Doisneau seems to have captured them in mid-step. And I love the girl’s shoes!

Parisians don’t need to be inside a club to hoof it up. Dancing in the streets is just as fun. Doisneau was in the right place at the right time to snap a picture of this young couple, enjoying a twirl under the stars:

The couples above could well have been dancing to the music of Sidney Bechet, the American saxophonist/clarinetist whose New Orleans style jazz was wildly popular in Paris during the war years. Bechet himself is practically a hero in France, and he even moved there in 1950 where he remained until his death in 1959.

From the album “Jazz in Paris, Volume 22″ this is Sidney Bechet and his orchestra performing Honeysuckle Rose:

This last picture is in the top five of my favorite photographs list. I’m even tempted to order a print of this marvelous image, Doisneau’s Musician in the Rain. How ideal is this picture for this blog’s “Music Monday” series? Perfect! It shows not only the cellist, but an artist at his easel in the background. Music and art together, immortalized by the great Doisneau.

“The marvels of daily life are exciting; no movie director can arrange the unexpected that you find in the street.”

- Robert Doisneau

Visit the Robert Doisneau website for more images.

Citizen Muse

Helloo, hellooooo!! Sorry I haven’t posted all week, my friends. In addition to my modeling duties, I’ve been carrying out my civic duties like the responsible patriotic American citizen that I am <– touch of sarcasm.

First I filled out my 2010 Census form which, for one person living alone in a residence, took all of 40 seconds. Gee whiz! Don’t they know I have better things to do??? That’s time out of my life!!

Then on Wednesday I had jury duty, and that experience went something like this:

showed up promptly at 8:30 AM, set off the metal detectors, was taken aside and scanned with the wand, got cleared, sat in jury room and listened to instructions, filled out a form, sat some more, read Yoga Journal cover to cover, went to the bathroom, sat down again, read an article about polygamy in National Geographic, went outside to smoke a cigarette, came back and watched “Jurassic Park” which was playing on the TV, broke for lunch, ate a bagel, wandered around, chatted with a security guard, came back, sat down, listened to Abbey Road on my iPod, sent stupid text messages on my Blackberry, closed my eyes and took a nap, was awoken by the court officer who announced to the room, “The following people are dismissed from jury duty”. Among the names he read off was “Claudia Hajian”, which he incorrectly pronounced as “Ha-jeen”. I got up, turned in my jury card, retrieved my camera which had been confiscated at the front desk, and walked out of the Queens County courthouse on Sutphin Boulevard around 2:45.

So jury duty is done, and I can’t be called back for six years.

Honore Daumier’s A Criminal Case, 1860:

My good citizenship doesn’t end there. I also have my tax information bundled up and ready to go, and I plan to get it done next week. I blogged about taxes last year.

Since I am in the good graces of the federal government with my responsible behavior, I have to do the same with local government. The city of New York kindly slapped my car with a $115 parking violation. Thanks guys! My infraction? Parking too close to a fire hydrant. BUSTED! In my defense, I honestly, truly , sincerely thought I was far enough away. It looked good to me, I swear. Then again, I don’t exactly carry a tape measure around with me to check the distance of these things. But I just want you all to know I wasn’t purposely being a parking asshole.

So of course I paid my ticket, and I think my good citizenship obligations are completed, for a while at least. Now I can focus on much more enjoyable things, like early spring gardening, blogging, yoga, and of course, art modeling

Rosie the Riveter by Norman Rockwell:

Modern Times – Satie, Picasso, and Cocteau’s Crazy Parade

Welcome all! This is “Music Monday” for March 22

What do you get when a Modernist painter, an avante-garde composer, and a Surrealist playwright collaborate on a project? Well, add up the equation and you can surmise the outcome. Imagine something that is interesting, original, and a magnet for controversy.

The idea was conceived in the fertile, creative mind of Jean Cocteau who, in 1917, would write the libretto for a new ballet entitled Parade, to be performed by Sergei Diaghilev’s prestigious dance company, the Ballets Russes. Cocteau asked his friend Erik Satie to compose the music and soon Pablo Picasso was commissioned to do the costumes and set designs. That’s quite a team! I’d pay to see that theater production, wouldn’t you?

The project marked several firsts: Picasso’s first theater assigment with Ballets Russes and his first collaboration with Satie (they would work together again years later). It was also Satie’s first ballet score.

Erik Satie was mentioned here on Museworthy in a previous post where I briefly discussed his doomed relationship with artist and model Suzanne Valadon. But Erik Satie the composer is regarded today as a musical innovator who was ahead of his time. An offfbeat and eccentric man, Satie’s compositions were unorthodox creations, some would even say revolutionary. He sought to break free of musical conventions, specifically the constraints of late Romanticism, and had significant influence on his peers Claude Debussy and Maurice Ravel. Satie can be thought of as the Frank Zappa of his time.

Erik Satie:

In his personal habits and quirks, Satie was a peculiar fellow. His fondness for grey velvet suits earned him the nickname “the velvet gentleman”. He had an aversion to sunlight and only went outdoors on cloudy days. But Satie’s bizarre behavior was most evident in his food preferences. First of all, he would never talk during a meal because he was terrified that he would choke. Then, he only ate things that were white: rIce, sugar, coconut, turnips, white cheeses, egg whites, ground up animal bones, and white-fleshed fish. Damn, Satie would have had a nervous breakdown in my kitchen! Around here, green leafy vegetables and colorful fruits run the show. (Although I do have a lot of tofu which is white).

Cocteau set the story for Parade in a fairground, where circus performers, street entertainers, and carnival acts try to attract an audience. Among the characters are fire-eaters, clowns, acrobats, and a “little American girl” who is supposedly based on the Perils of Pauline silent film series. Visually, Picasso had a lot of vibrant imagery to work with. But the ballet’s most unusual feature is the use of sound effects within the music, which was virtually unheard of up to that time. A tapping typewriter, clanging milk bottles, foghorns, sirens, and gunshots are among the many odd sounds heard during the production. Satie also included wild percussion parts and a ragtime.

A sketch of Erik Satie by Picasso:

Picasso was one of many 20th century artists who did commissioned work in the theater. Salvador Dali, Marc Chagall, Andre Derain, Joan Miro, and Léon Bakst all worked on costumes and scenery, much of it for the Ballets Russes. Diaghilev’s organization always employed the best of the best, from dancers to choreographers, composers to artists.

For Parade, Picasso injected his Cubist genre front and center, designing 10 foot tall costumes for the dancers that were made of wood, metal, cloth, papier-mache, and other materials. Constructed in the geometric shapes of buildings and skyscrapers, the clumsy, uncomfortable costumes were intended to be awkward, with the dancers stomping around the stage robotically to express the mechanized, dehumanized modern era.

If anyone found Picasso’s costume designs a bit wacky, they’d surely be pleased with his gorgeous set designs. This is a large panel for the Parade backdrop:

Parade consists of only one-act, and the entire performance lasts a mere fifteen minutes. The score breaks down into three sections. Listen to this part, the final suite, and you will feel transported into the Modernist breakout of the early 20th century – that window of time when dying artistic tradition was pushed, forcefully and unapologetically, into retirement, by a bold new gang of iconoclasts:

The ballet premiered on May 18th, 1917 at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris. Much like the riot which famously ensued at the premiere of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring in 1913, Parade provoked similar commotion. The audience booed and hissed, and some in the crowd even started throwing oranges at the orchestra. Gee, I guess they didn’t like the typewriter/siren/gunshot stuff The poet e.e. cummings was in attendance and is reported to have verbally chastised the disrupters for their rude behavior. And Erik Satie was even slapped in the face by an angry rioter!

Critics weren’t much kinder than the masses and generally echoed the popular sentiment. Parade received unfavorable reviews, and one critic in particular, Jean Poueigh, wrote an especially scathing review. So scathing, in fact, that Satie himself retaliated in a series of postcards he mailed to Poueigh, in which he called the critic a “blockhead”, a “cretin”, and an “arse”, among other things. Insulted by Satie’s name-calling, Poueigh then sued the composer for libel. He won, and Satie was sentenced to a short punitive jail term which he somehow managed to get out of.

Picasso came out of the Parade debacle quite well. His reputation soared and he made beneficial professional contacts. The experience also allowed for Picasso to meet Olga Khokhlkova, a dancer with Ballets Russes who performed in Parade on that raucous opening night. She and Picasso married in July of 1918. Among the witnesses was none other than Parade-man himself, Jean Cocteau. I wonder if there were any clowns at the reception?

All In A Day’s Work

Studio 2, National Academy of Design, Friday March 19th, 10:25 AM:

So how was your week?

The talented artists in Sharon Sprung’s class had to sort out the twists, angles, musculature, anatomy, reflected light and shadows, and challenging foreshortened lengths of this reclining pose. I’m glad I was the one on the platform instead of standing in front of an easel. I couldn’t paint that if my life depended on it! Today was our last day of a two week pose and everything went splendidly. I love this class. It’s one of the best modeling assignments in town, in my opinion.

Don’t be deceived by the picture. I didn’t sleep a wink during the ten days of this pose. You can’t tell from the photo, but my left shoulder was crushed under the weight of my upper body and the back of my deltoid muscle was stretched forward, pulling on the shoulder blade. In other words, bring the pain!! You just can’t sleep during that kind of discomfort. And don’t even get me started on the neck. Sure I’ve done easier poses than this, but I’ve also done much more difficult ones. So no complaints. Life is good, and art modeling is cool.

I’m home now, nursing that sore left shoulder. I’m sure it will be fine by tomorrow. Besides, the weather here in New York is positively gorgeous! Spring is here!

Hendrix Unplugged

Welcome all! This is “Music Monday” for March 15th

There are some questions for which there is only one right answer. Who was the first president of the United States? George Washington. Who won the World Series in 1969? The New York Mets. What is the capital of Iceland? Reykjavik. And, who was the greatest rock guitarist of all time? Jimi Hendrix. Yes, that is the one and only right answer to that question.

I remember the first time I ever heard Jimi Hendrix’s guitar playing. I was maybe 13 or 14, listening to New York’s legendary old rock station WNEW 102.7 FM. These wonderful, interesting guitar sounds were piping across the airwaves. They weren’t loud, fast, or frantic, with no feedback or dissonance. Rather, they were sweet and melodic, like an angel was playing them. And the lyrics were really strange! Something about clowns and brooms and traffic lights. What is this song?, I wondered. And I had to know who that gifted musician was. So when the quirky, bluesy, psychedelic little rock song ended, the disc jockey Scott Muni announced to his listeners, “And that was Seattle’s native son, Jimi Hendrix, When the Wind Cries Mary.” I was, from that moment on, a die-hard Hendrix fan. One of legions.

Here’s a little gem from YouTube. Footage of Jimi Hendrix, the left-handed gypsy poet, playing an acoustic 12-string version of the blues classic Hear My Train A Comin’. I love the close-ups of his magic hands. His fingers are beautiful. I can’t tell if that’s a Gibson or a custom made job. Either way it is one fine instrument. By the way, has anyone ever looked better in a fedora than Jimi? I don’t think so

Bronzino at the Met

After posing for Sharon Sprung’s painting class at the National Academy yesterday, I decided to head over to the Metropolitan Museum and catch the “Drawings of Bronzino” exhibit currently on view. I can sum up my impressions with one word: wow! Absolutely amazing. I’m so glad I dragged my sore, tired art model’s body over there to see it! What a brilliant, masterful artist Bronzino was. As I walked through the show, thoroughly awed and engrossed, I kept thinking, “This guy blows Michelangelo away!”. Now maybe that’s outrageous, even blasphemous, but I don’t care. Bronzino rocks! The sculptural quality of his forms, the volume and anatomical perfection he achieves is simply stunning. It almost takes your breath away.

According to the wall texts, most of Bronzino’s drawings were done directly from life, with many of his studio assistants providing the modeling. Almost all of these drawings were preparatory works for later paintings, particularly a huge fresco commissioned by the Medicis.

As with all special exhibitions at the Met, no photography was allowed. Otherwise I would have been clicking my camera all over the place! So instead I’ll post one drawing from the show that appears on the Met Museum website. Credit link at the bottom clicks to this drawing’s entry in the Heilbrunn Timeline. The male model here is doing a terrifically contorted pose. Very powerful.

“Agnolo Bronzino (Agnolo di Cosimo di Mariano Tori): Seated Male Nude (2005.354)”. In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art”

New Yorkers, art lovers, drawing aficionados, out of town visitors, students, teachers – go see Bronzino at the Met. It’s there until April 18th. I, for one, will definitely go back for a second look.

Two-Faced Claudia

Before I go any further, let me just state for the record that I am in no way a two-faced person. Like, not at all! I’m genuine through and through And I definitely have nothing in common with the fictional Two-Face character from the DC comics “Batman” series. Poor Harvey Dent became disfigured after having acid thrown in his face. Ewww.

However, when one is an artist’s model, you have the consistently fascinating experience of seeing all “sides” of yourself – figure and face and spirit – interpreted through artists’ eyes. Diverse artists’ eyes. Multifarious artists’ eyes. Honestly, it never gets old. It never gets boring. This occurrence of the same model divergently represented, yet similarly “present” in all the creations. Reminds us how complex and enigmatic we really are, doesn’t it?

I have two profile drawings of myself- one left side and one right side- created by two radically different artists. What intrigues me here is that somehow, incredibly, they BOTH look like me. How is that possible? Well, I can’t explain it. All I can say is that when the act of artistic creation is at play, anything is possible.

Daniel Maidman is a friend who has drawn me many times at Minerva Durham’s Spring Studio. On this particular night, I was sitting sideways in a chair with my legs slung over. I was feeling good and spry, having a strong modeling session. For the long pose I was focused and alert, staring intently at a spot on the wall. Here is how Daniel saw me that night:

And this is Fred Hatt’s depiction of me from Figureworks Gallery. Again I was sitting, but this time on the floor, in close proximity to Fred. Just a few feet away. Whoa! What’s going on here? Is this the same woman as above? Absolutely yes

Two completely different styles, techniques, and mediums. Two completely different visions. And yet I see myself quite accurately in both of them. Daniel did an amazing job of not only drawing my profile, but capturing my overall countenance, and the “active” stillness of the long pose. Fred had a much shorter pose to work with and, with his trademark style and fast hand, quickly gleaned my likeness by emphasizing prominent facial features, particularly my large eyes. A very Armenian girl!

Women’s Intonation

Welcome all! This is “Music Monday” for March 8th

Maria Callas, Leontyne Price, Cecilia Bartoli, Joan Sutherland, Angela Gheorghiu. That’s a mere sampling of some of the great female singing voices. And that’s just the opera category! Drift into other music forms and the list will expand tenfold – Edith Piaf, Patsy Cline, Judy Garland, Sarah McClachlan, Dianne Reeves, Stevie Nicks, Jill Scott, Aretha Franklin, Julie Andrews . . . I have to stop typing right there because I could conceivably gone on and on and on . . .

This post is not intended to be a “battle of the sexes” debate over female versus male singing voices. I enjoy both and have many favorites. But I will just mention that there is probably more diversity to be found among female voices. I mean, consider the names I just listed above. If that isn’t an astonishingly mixed array of voices, styles, and tones then I don’t know what is. A truly great female singer has extraordinary range and a profound capacity for expression.

More relevant to this blog post is that a singing woman makes for a better art subject than a man. In the faces, the clothing, costumes and accessories, the posture and gestures, the sight of a woman performing a song is emotionally intimate and visually appealing. No offense guys!

In this painting, The Concert Singer, the American artist Thomas Eakins does an amazing job in both color and composition. From her facial expression and her stance, all the way down to the fabric and detail on the dress, Eakins created a fine work here. And I love that he included the conductor’s hand in the lower left corner. Nice touch!

Next are two stunning pastel works by Degas which actually provided the impetus and inspiration for this post. The man was a marvel at this kind of subject. Dancers rehearsing, musicians playing, concert singers and cabaret acts, Degas had a keen talent for depicting the musical and performing arts fields with great beauty.

Singer in Green:

In this one, The Concert Singer, the raised hand gesture perfectly illustrates the theatrics of a live singing performance:

One of my favorite female opera singers is mezzo-soprano Frederica Von Stade. This is her performing with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, an aria from Jacques Offenbach’s operetta La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein

Kees van Dongen captured his subject in true Fauvist style. You can almost feel the voice belting out of her. Look at that mouth! This is Soprano Singer:

Louis Welden Hawkins’ Girls Singing Music by Gabriel Fabry, 1903:

*My father would have turned 78 years old today.
Happy Birthday Daddy . . . we miss you

Weekend Soupçon

:yawn: Hey. The drowsy girl is here for a short and sweet blog post. I’m afraid it’s all I can muster in my mysteriously comatose state. How many freaking energy bars am I supposed to consume? Anyway, I have a few goodies to share and I will try to type them here with my sluggish fingers.

Thanks to Kathi and Ron for sending me this crazy story about a “nude” snowlady in New Jersey that apparently offended the sensibilities of an anonymous neighbor who lodged a “complaint” with the local police. It would be funny if it wasn’t so absurd and stupid.

Much more sensible is this article/slide show from The New York Times. It’s about a special gallery exhibit showcasing artwork created by the guards of the Metropolitan Museum. Great that they’re getting the recognition for their own talent and creativity.

A little reminder to my New York readers that the Whitney Biennial is underway. I’m going to check it out at some point. It runs through May 30th so we have plenty of time. But what I’m really looking forward to is the upcoming Picasso show at the Met. No way I will miss that!

Last but not least, I ask everyone to cross their fingers and hope that last year’s outstanding film The Cove wins the Oscar Sunday night for Best Feature Documentary. It’s favored to win the category, but the Oscars have been known to make some egregious award blunders in the past. If The Cove doesn’t win it will be a travesty, and I might just kick in my TV screen! (just kidding)

I'm too lethargic to even upload an image . . . . :yawn: . . . just doing all those links was exhausting! Grrr . . what’s wrong with me?
But I'll see you all back here for "Music Monday". Post will go up in the afternoon.
Until then . . . zzzzzz . . .

Somnolence

I have been waking up in the mornings feeling soooo groggy. Totally out of it. I’m sleeping just fine. Maybe too fine, because I can’t seem to fully wake up, even during the course of the day. A good shower normally perks me up, but it’s not doing it these days. Multiple cups of coffee have a temporary effect, but then I crash from that. At FIT yesterday, I was practically falling asleep on the platform! WTF is going on??? Maybe I need to start drinking Red Bull or something. Do you know what it’s like to walk around midtown Manhattan, crossing streets and intersections, feeling half-awake and not fully alert? That’s some dangerous stuff right there. I might get hit by a bus!

This painting depicts it perfectly. From Hungarian artist Karoly Brocky, it’s called Sleeping Bacchante:

I better get my shit together because next week I’m starting Sharon Sprung’s morning painting class at the National Academy. I sure don’t want to be a drowsy idiot for them. Maybe I’ll ask one of the students to give me a good, hard slap in the face when I arrive. That should do it!

Kind of Blue

Welcome all! This is “Music Monday” for March 1st

Last year marked the 50th anniversary of Miles Davis’ masterful, influential, and highly-acclaimed jazz album Kind of Blue. Released on the Columbia label in August 1959, Kind of Blue is the biggest selling jazz album of all time. It is also one of the most widely respected. Much in the way  that the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s, Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and Led Zeppelin’s Zeppelin II are revered by rock and pop music fans, Kind of Blue is regarded as a similar “magnum opus” by jazz fans. A watershed achievement. An unparalleled, almost flawless example of pure musical creation.

I do not exaggerate when I say that I listen to Kind of Blue several times a week. I first listened to it as a child with who else but my father. Since then it has provided a musical accompaniment for me literally everywhere I go – riding the subway, running in the park,  doing yoga, lounging around my house, flowing out of my iTunes while I surf the internet. As I live and breathe, Kind of Blue lives and breathes with me, as it does for so many people who appreciate good music.

In a display of sheer genius and brilliant instinct, Miles Davis assembled one of the greatest ensembles for a jazz recording you could imagine, a group that comprised a virtual “dream team”  lineup of musicians: John Coltrane on tenor sax, Cannonball Adderly on alto sax, Paul Chambers on bass, Jimmy Cobb on drums, Wynton Kelly and Bill Evans on piano, and of course, Miles Davis himself on trumpet.

The album is a masterpiece of group improvisation and modal jazz,  a style which differs from bebop jazz in that it emphasizes melody over chords. Miles Davis cut his teeth in the bebop scene of the late 40s and early 50s, but he eventually became disillusioned with the bebop style. He felt that being forced to improvise within the parameters of chord changes was confining for the soloist, and sought to release melody and expression from the whirlwind tempos, and cluttered, hard-driving, manic format of bebop jazz. Hence he turned to “modality”. Simply put, modality allows for solo improvisation within “modes” – let’s say “scales”. Whereas bebop improvisation was tethered to the structure of chords and chord changes, modal jazz liberated soloists into the looser, freer, more expansive realm of melody.

The actual recording of Kind of Blue is legendary for its spontaneity. There was almost no rehearsal, very few takes, and a deliberate lack of preparation and planning. That’s the way Miles wanted it. The results are crisp, but not lightweight. Collaborative, but not crowded. Fresh, but not raw. Hip, but not avante-garde. Serious, but not heavy-handed. Those delicate balances, those exquisite nuances, are what make Kind of Blue the popular, yet highly esteemed, album that it is.

A great photograph taken during the Kind of Blue recording sessions on 30th Street in New York. From left to right, John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderly, Miles Davis, and Bill Evans:

Ambient, melancholy, almost minimalist, Kind of Blue is frequently referred to as the jazz album that even people who “don’t like jazz” can enjoy. Although I happen to love jazz passionately, I’d say that’s a fair assessment. I understand it and have no qualms with it. Kind of Blue can be called a ‘crossover” album in that respect. Highly listenable, its appeal is wide-ranging. Absent is the intense, complicated, some might say “noisy” quality of hardcore bebop. Instead, the album is subtle, elegant, hypnotic, and seductive while still  maintaining an authentically jazzy and bluesy feel.

I’d like to share my favorite track from Kind of Blue. This is “All Blues”. Miles begins playing trumpet with a Harmon mute, but at 1:46, comes in without the mute, and I think it is some his most superb recorded trumpet playing, with shadings, gradations, lyricism, and the moodiness for which he is so well known:

Regardless of one’s musical preferences, Kind of Blue has a rightful place in everyone’s music library. If you don’t have it, get it. Buy it, download it, borrow it, steal it if you have to! Put it on, dim the lights, close your eyes, and just  . . . float away. Float away and luxuriate in the subtle shifts, the musical undulations, the intelligent artistic spirit that infuses the entire album. It envelopes you. I promise it will enrich your life, and owning it will make you officially cool

Since the Kind of Blue anniversary was last year, the best links are to articles from 2009. They are terrific reading. I recommend this one from the LA Times and this one from Slate.