Just a day of powerful music.

Early, early morning: the great clarinetist John Carter and the unsung trumpeter Bobby Bradford make the greatest Ornette Coleman album not actually made by Ornette, with the criminally unsung bassist Tom Williamson keeping it anchored:

I think most folks think M.I.A. is over. Has been over. But on ‘phones, listening to Matangi, I think they’re wrong. I’m with her politics, and I appreciate the abrasive sexiness:

Afternoon: folks, Wynton Marsalis can play, teach, and converse. I’ve long resented his tight-ass views, but having seen him and the Lincoln Center jazz orchestra wail, I surrender. And this comp of live performances does the impossible: justifies the hoary white icons hornin’ in on the NOLA thang. Dylan and Clapton don’t bite it, Buffett doesn’t sound like a fuck, and Lovett actually survives a “Trouble Man” rip. James Taylor is still marked for death, and Natalie Merchant needs to just stop. NOLA trad jazz can redeem almost anyone:

Early evening: If you don’t know the great Johnny Thunders solo album So Alone, shame on yer ass. Besides featuring his inimitable one-trick guitar, it perfectly captures his matchless stray cat, streetwise, born to lose, girl-crazy, doomed persona. On Record Store Day this year, one of the few attractive items was a “alternative” version of So Alone. Sucker bait–for sure. Horrible title: So Alonesome. Dubious label name: Remarquable Records. But goddamit, they even had procured some alternate album art, and subbed “Dead or Alive” and T-Rex’s “The Wizard” into the 10-song running time. Verdict: by god, it’s a must for fans of the original, and any “new” together Thunders is essential subject matter for those who are hangin’ back, bored shitless.

Short-shrift Division:

Spa 700 (with Moor Mother): 700 Bliss and Moor Mother X Mental Jewelry: Crime Waves—Listen to your mother, come on! She knows what’s up…and what’s down: