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Bebop Spoken There

Paul Edis: "One of the regulars at The Gala today called me a 'turncoat' and another a 'deserter' - that's a very northern way of displaying affection in response to the news that I'm leaving the area. 'They're vicious down there mind you'. " - (Twitter January24, 2020)

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Hudson Music: Lance's "Bebop Spoken Here" is one of the heaviest and most influential jazz blogs in the UK.

Today Monday January 27

Afternoon

Jazz

Jazz in the Afternoon - Cullercoats Crescent Club, 1 Hudleston, Cullercoats NE30 4QS. Tel: 0191 253 0242. 1:00pm. Free admission.

Evening

?????

To the best of our knowledge, details of the above events are correct but may be subject to alteration.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Miles Kington by Germaine Stanger

Nigel and Miles (Kington) met when studying at Oxford in the early 1960s. Miles was reading French and Nigel English, but their friendship came about because of jazz. Miles had learnt to play the double bass whilst at Oxford, because there were very few bass players around at the time, so he thought he'd get a few gigs. Nigel was already something of a star playing piano and alto. It was there too that they met alto/tenor player Pat Crumly. Pat was to become a significant part of the London jazz scene and occasionally came north to play with the Newcastle Big Band; which he did in 2006 when the remnants of that band played the Sting gig at the Baltic. Pat and Miles both died in 2008. Miles and Nigel shared an enduring bond of university, music, humour and the memory of an idyllic holiday spent playing near Algeciras in Spain. Nigel played piano, Miles bass, with a chap called Mike Hollis on drums. They played in a small club throughout the summer of 1962. Miles has written a lot about that holiday and perhaps, many years later, it had something to do with the formation of 'Instant Sunshine.'
When the East Side Torpedoes were recording for the BBC, at the Paris studios in Lower Regent St., we met Miles and the other members of 'Instant Sunshine' who had stayed behind to have a drink with us following their earlier recording. Miles was very supportive of any London gigs we had during the seventies and early eighties; many of which had links to Andy Hudson. Miles Kington was a lovely man, handsome, unassuming, wonderfully witty and a good friend. He is missed by people who knew him, and the many who felt they knew him through Punch, The Independent, his many books* radio and television appearances. He filed his last article for the Independent, on the day he died. Miles never lost his love of jazz. His double bass took centre stage at his private funeral, along with piles of proofs, manuscripts, magazines and newspapers. When introducing the radio serialization of Miles's book, about his cancer, (entitled 'How shall I tell the dog,') his wife Caroline said Miles had written it because Nigel had telephoned some months before his death but had failed to mention his cancer, or that it might be the last time Miles and he spoke. Miles felt denied the chance to say good bye to Nigel, so when his own cancer proved terminal he decided to write about it. In fact Nigel didn't think he was going to go to that other Algeciras in the sky quite so quickly and made very little fuss about his cancer; it wasn't funny and somehow curbed the flow of the conversation. Come to think of it Lance, I should have included Miles in Nigel's Beadnell band; Miles Kington on Double Bass, Chas Chandler on Bass guitar, Pat Crumley on Tenor sax. and Charles De Gaulle on accordion -"Really wild, General," I hope you remember the Bonzo Dog Do Dah Band?
Germaine
*One of Miles' books was "The Jazz Anthology".

1 comment :

Lance said...

Thank you Germaine - as one of those who only knew Miles through his writing - you have helped me to build a better picture of him. In particular, I enjoyed his "Franglais" column in Punch.
Who can forget the the Bonzo Dog? Adolph Hitler on vibes etc!
In fact I always think of that disc when I'm at a gig and the bandleader introduces the musicians for maybe the tenth time in a set as if our memory was so short or their playing so unmemorable that we couldn't remember their names after the ninth time.