All the factions were represented, from gay New Romantics in flowing robes and mascara to hardcore punks in torn jeans and sprayed hair. Most patrons appeared to be somewhere in between, like fashionable young people out for a good time in the prevailing style. I was the only person there with a beard. Jackson is the former drummer with Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time. Along with ex-Coleman guitarist James “Blood” Ulmer, he has been instrumental in the development of punk-funk, the meeting of avant- garde jazz with New Wave rock that is at the cutting edge of the resurgent interest in black music among whites in New York. Prior to the live show, a disco deejay adroitly mixed dance- oriented New Wave from England with ska, reggae and occasional doses of conventional disco styles. I’m not normally a big patron of the New Wave scene. Many of the “new” ideas strike me as pretentious, and the musicianship is generally too limited to sustain my interest from song to song. (There are, of course, exceptions, starting with the Clash and the Pretenders, both of whom are now being denounced as sell-outs by the parochial New Wave press.) Therefore, it may sound contradictory for me to say I enjoyed it in this context, but I did. Matter of fact, it got me movin’ and groovin’ out on the dance floor. At about 2:30 a.m., a warm-up act appeared; a lukewarm English band called The Dance with a black rhythm section ala Chic and a white female vocalist ala Debbie Harry. When Jackson still hadn’t come on by 4 ,1split. I ENTERED TO DISCOVER CECIL TAYLOR IN THE MIDST OF AN AMAZING SET BEFORE A RAPT HOUSE. BAKIR, NO LONGER TENTATIVE, STOKED THE FIRE IN HIS DRUMS WITH THE POWER OF THE WIND. LYONS SCREAMED ECSTATICALLY THROUGH HIS HORN WHILE CECIL DIPPED AND SWAYED BEHIND THE PIANO WITH THE GRACE THAT HAD ELUDED HIM THE NIGHT BEFORE. THURSDAY, AUGUST6 ■ n case you’re curious as to how I ■ passed the daylight hours between these busy nights, it’s really none of your business but the truth is that I did very little besides sleeping (not enough) and eating (too much). On this day, however, I decided to do something productive; I rode the train over to Newark, New Jersey, to meet Dan Morgenstern, the former editor of Downbeat magazine who is now in charge of the Rutgers University Institute for Jazz Studies. Morgenstern oversees a collection of 60,000 records dating back to the earliest jazz ’78s, as well as a library of books and magazines on the subject. The primary concern seems to be with posterity, but with Morgenstern’s permission, the records can be taped and the books copied. Believe me, there’s a lot of rare stuff in there. I returned to the city in time to catch Ronnie Mathews’ Septet in a free outdoor concert sponsored by the Jazzmobile at 18th and Broadway. The Jazzmobile is a portable stage used to present live music around town with funding from the Musician’s Union Trust Fund and public grants. Powered by a well-oiled rhythm section consisting of Mathews on piano, Ray Drummond on bass and Kenny Washington on drums, the group played the kind of energetic, no- nonsense straight-ahead jazz that always makes converts wherever it is heard. The crowd in the street, predominantly black and including a lot of children, appreciated it immensely. Sensing a big night ahead, I hurried down to Sweet Basil’s, a little club in the Village, for Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson’s first set. I’d have been better off taking my time. Vinson is one-of- a-kind in his dual roles as a blues singer and be-bop saxophonist, but his heart and mind must have been elsewhere this night. He offered many of his classic numbers at a level of enthusiasm scarcely above a yawn. The only redeeming feature was the piano work of Harold Mabern, a player whose deep roots in both blues and bop rival Vinson’s. (Incidentally, if Cleanhead and Mabern ever come to Oregon, don’t let them go out into the woods together. They could start a forest fire with the reflections off their shiny pates.) The blues fared much better in the hands of Johnny Copeland at Tramps, my next stop. Copeland is a transplanted Texan playing jazz-blues in the tradition of T-Bone Walker. His debut album on Rounder Records features guest appearances by saxophonists Arthur Blythe, Byard Lancaster and George Adams, but strong as the album is, it doesn’t do justice to the smoking sound Copeland gets with his group live. He approaches the familiar twelve-bar blues with an intensity that borders on the evangelical. In a Village Voice feature, Giddens called him “the most imposing urban blues stylist (in New York) in recent memory.” I came out of the club swimming in blues (and booze) and with the characteristic fortune of Mr. Magoo, walked three blocks in the wrong Well-Woman Health Care Our clinics are self-help based, which means our emphasis is on sharing health information. Routine gynecological screening, birth control, lesbian health care, and health information services are provided in a comfortable small group setting. The participatory self-help setting allows us to take an active role in our health care and learn more about our bodies as health care consumers. Fees are on a sliding scale and Medicaid is accepted. Call us for more information and appointments. 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