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Rating: 
Summary: Don't Bother Me With Facts, Can't You See I'm Creating?
Review: I do not trust Lewis MacAdams. In a book brimming with details, he gets too many wrong. What's worse, because he's cool, he doesn't care. Asked by radio journalist Paul DeRienzo if he'd watched Ken Burns's monumental documentary Jazz, MacAdams confessed, "I haven't watched the bebop section because I was afraid I'd see something that showed that I said something wrong." This preference for ignorance over knowledge typifies what the author himself conceived as "a coffee-table book."The slipshod approach begins on the first page of his Preface, where MacAdams discusses the namesake of this book, Miles Davis's seminal 1949-1950 jazz recording sessions. MacAdams maintains this music "wed the sophistication of Duke Ellington with the break-neck tempos of bebop. It melded the blues with the intellectual advances of the black avant-garde." Impressive, huh? Except it's not true. What set these landmark recordings apart was their deliberate avoidance of both the hysteria of bop and the earthiness of blues. Instead, thoughtful, restrained solos were meticulously couched within unhurried, impressionistic orchestrations (even on "Israel," the album's only 12-bar blues). And as for the "intellectual advances of the black avant-garde," that's just plain silly. Most of the musicians, arrangers, and composers involved were white. MacAdams also misidentifies Denzil Best as the drummer on Birth of the Cool, and adds the scurrilous misinformation that Best OD'ed on heroin. Frederick J. Spencer, M.D., in his book Jazz and Death, reports Denzil Best suffered from a bone disease and died in hospital after fracturing his skull in a fall. Yet because OD'ing on heroin better suits MacAdams's histrionic purpose, he concocts a seamier demise. MacAdams takes similarly erring aim at saxophonist Lester Young, whose "Fu Manchu mustache and trademark porkpie hat were pieces of a mask that hid many things." Sax Rohmer's fictional fiend is usually depicted with mustaches extending down each side of his face, right? Yet in the dozens of photographs or album art I've seen of Lester Young, there are no such extensions; his neatly trimmed mustache always terminates at the corners of his mouth. Unable to cite even one of the "many things" that were allegedly hidden by Lester's "mask," MacAdams deviously lengthens Lester's mustache to make him appear more mysterious, like a schoolboy with a crayon defacing Mona Lisa. But wait, he's not done. "To most of the world," writes MacAdams, "Young appeared unruffled and fastidious." MacAdams does not reveal how he divines what most of the world perceived, nor does he explain his implication that said image was deceptive. To the contrary, the full-page photo of Young in this book shows a calm, immaculately groomed, nattily attired gentleman. Apparently when mere facts do not satisfy his narrative needs, MacAdams exercises poetic license and makes things up. For all-around erroneousness, however, nothing compares with MacAdams's assault on organized crime. First he jumbles the birth name of Salvatore Lucania with that legendary hoodlum's Americanized moniker Charles ("Lucky") Luciano and emerges with Charles Lucania, which is wrong on both counts. Then MacAdams contends the gangster was deported to Sicily "in the late '30s," which also is false. Undeterred, MacAdams identifies the man who toppled Luciano, Thomas Dewey, as New York State Attorney General. Actually, Dewey was appointed special prosecutor in 1935 and elected New York County D.A. in 1937; he was never State A.G. Still not satisfied, MacAdams asserts that after a gubernatorial pardon, "Lucky returned to the States." In reality, Luciano never left, residing since his 1936 conviction in Dannemora prison for 30-50 years. In 1946, he was pardoned expressly for the purpose of deportation FROM the United States, sailed aboard the dilapidated Liberty ship SS Laura Keene, and never returned. The nearest he ever got was Cuba, which at least is closer than MacAdams gets to the truth. Lewis MacAdams's inattention to detail bothers me. I know, I know, don't sweat the small stuff. But if you can't trust somebody on little things, how can you rely on him for the Big Picture? What makes me nervous is that the errors above are just the ones I caught. In his haste to publish this book, how many other mistakes did he make? Maybe I'm old fashioned. Perhaps nowadays it's cool to mangle history, situate people where they weren't, misspell names, misrepresent statistics, misstate events, even defame the dead. Sure, what the hell, untruth is fine, as long as you're cool about it. And by that yardstick, Lewis MacAdams is cool, man, cool.
Rating:
Summary: Don't Bother Me With Facts, Can't You See I'm Creating?
Review: I do not trust Lewis MacAdams. In a book brimming with details, he gets too many wrong. What's worse, because he's cool, he doesn't care. Asked by radio journalist Paul DeRienzo if he'd watched Ken Burns's monumental documentary Jazz, MacAdams confessed, "I haven't watched the bebop section because I was afraid I'd see something that showed that I said something wrong." This preference for ignorance over knowledge typifies what the author himself conceived as "a coffee-table book." The slipshod approach begins on the first page of his Preface, where MacAdams discusses the namesake of this book, Miles Davis's seminal 1949-1950 jazz recording sessions. MacAdams credits the title to Pete Rugolo, "who'd overseen the original sessions." In fact, Rugolo coined the title for a 1957 compilation but had nothing to do with the original project. MacAdams is on equally shaky ground describing the music, which he maintains "wed the sophistication of Duke Ellington with the break-neck tempos of bebop. It melded the blues with the intellectual advances of the black avant-garde." Impressive, huh? Except it's not true. What set these landmark recordings apart was their deliberate avoidance of both the hysteria of bop and the earthiness of blues. Instead, thoughtful, restrained solos were meticulously couched within unhurried, impressionistic orchestrations (even on "Israel," the album's only 12-bar blues). And as for the "intellectual advances of the black avant-garde," that's just plain silly. Most of the musicians, arrangers, and composers involved were white. MacAdams also misidentifies Denzil Best as the drummer on Birth of the Cool, and adds the scurrilous misinformation that Best OD'ed on heroin. Frederick J. Spencer, M.D., in his book Jazz and Death, reports Denzil Best suffered from a bone disease and died in hospital after fracturing his skull in a fall. Yet because OD'ing on heroin better suits MacAdams's histrionic purpose, he concocts a seamier demise. MacAdams takes similarly erring aim at saxophonist Lester Young, whose "Fu Manchu mustache and trademark porkpie hat were pieces of a mask that hid many things." Sax Rohmer's fictional fiend is usually depicted with mustaches extending down each side of his face, right? Yet in the dozens of photographs or album art I've seen of Lester Young, there are no such extensions; his neatly trimmed mustache always terminates at the corners of his mouth. Unable to cite even one of the "many things" that were allegedly hidden by Lester's "mask," MacAdams deviously lengthens Lester's mustache to make him appear more mysterious, like a schoolboy with a crayon defacing Mona Lisa. But wait, he's not done. "To most of the world," writes MacAdams, "Young appeared unruffled and fastidious." MacAdams does not reveal how he divines what most of the world perceived, nor does he explain his implication that said image was deceptive. To the contrary, the full-page photo of Young in this book shows a calm, immaculately groomed, nattily attired gentleman. Apparently when mere facts do not satisfy his narrative needs, MacAdams exercises poetic license and makes things up. For all-around erroneousness, however, nothing compares with MacAdams's assault on organized crime. First he jumbles the birth name of Salvatore Lucania with that legendary hoodlum's Americanized moniker Charles ("Lucky") Luciano and emerges with Charles Lucania, which is wrong on both counts. Then MacAdams contends the gangster was deported to Sicily "in the late '30s," which also is false. Undeterred, MacAdams identifies the man who toppled Luciano, Thomas Dewey, as New York State Attorney General. Actually, Dewey was appointed special prosecutor in 1935 and elected New York County D.A. in 1937; he was never State A.G. Still not satisfied, MacAdams asserts that after a gubernatorial pardon, "Lucky returned to the States." In reality, Luciano never left, residing since his 1936 conviction in Dannemora prison for 30-50 years. In 1946, he was pardoned expressly for the purpose of deportation FROM the United States, sailed aboard the dilapidated Liberty ship SS Laura Keene, and never returned. The nearest he ever got was Cuba, which at least is closer than MacAdams gets to the truth. Lewis MacAdams's inattention to detail bothers me. I know, I know, don't sweat the small stuff. But if you can't trust somebody on little things, how can you rely on him for the Big Picture? What makes me nervous is that the errors above are just the ones I caught. In his haste to publish this book, how many other mistakes did he make? Maybe I'm old fashioned. Perhaps nowadays it's cool to mangle history, situate people where they weren't, misspell names, misrepresent statistics, misstate events, even defame the dead. Sure, what the hell, untruth is fine, as long as you're cool about it. And by that yardstick, Lewis MacAdams is cool, man, cool.
Rating: 
Summary: Shallow and somewhat bland...
Review: I was hoping for some kind of in-depth discussion of cool and its history in the 20th century, but this is more a high-school textbook treatment of cool. So-and-so was cool and this is why he was cool. And then so-and-so was cool and this why she was cool. On and on. A few interesting spots, and a quick introduction to some of the major figures in jazz and art, but little more.
Rating: 
Summary: Cool is
Review: Lewis MacAdams does an adequate job of detailing the "birth of the cool" providing biographical sketches of many of the coolest people to have lived. The list includes Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Lester Young, Jackson Pollock, and the Holy Trinity of Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs, among others. MacAdams book is a great introduction to all these figures, although I suggest after reading this book you will seek to delve deeper into the lives, art, music, and writing of everyone detailed in the book.
Rating: 
Summary: The Birth Of The Cool
Review: Lewis MacAdams does an adequate job of detailing the "birth of the cool" providing biographical sketches of many of the coolest people to have lived. The list includes Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Lester Young, Jackson Pollock, and the Holy Trinity of Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs, among others. MacAdams book is a great introduction to all these figures, although I suggest after reading this book you will seek to delve deeper into the lives, art, music, and writing of everyone detailed in the book.
Rating:
Summary: Slapdash in details but generally on the money thematically
Review: Reviews of this book on this site have characterized it as sloppy, uninformed, and even erroneous in certain historical details. I would have to agree that the book is breezy at times, and at its worst is slapdash in its treatment of what is probably one of the most important cultural phenomena of the past fifty to sixty years, i.e., the development and growth of the idea of "cool" as a form of cultural currency. Despite the misgivings, though, I think this book's themes are right on the money. Read in conjunction with other more attentive books about the phenomenon in question (and/or the historical period), this book can be a door-opener or a good supplement, depending on your point of view.
Rating:
Summary: what is cool?
Review: There is a new commercial on the air right now for, of all things, the new domain .tv. It is simply a procession of images: a dog, a skier, a fat guy in a swimming pool. The voice-over is simply a guys saying "cool," ot "not "cool" whenever a new image is revealed. as I watched it, I couldn't help but think, "what the hell happened to cool." When pretty much everything is cool, nothing is. Lewis MacAdams' book is thus pretty timely. He takes us back to the guys who really were cool. They were outlaws, outside the mainstream. Most people thought they were freak, but they didn't care because they were cool. Anyone who has read Macadams' poetry or journalism is awaere of his talents. It is about time he put them to something larger.
Rating:
Summary: Cool is
Review: This is a pretty engrossing book - if you think you know about "cool" check it out. Lewis puts together stuff in a
very original manner and helps one to get a perspective
on what cool is.
The section on DT Suzuki and cool caught my attention.
The chapter was called "The Bodhisattvas of Cool." Did you know that Siddartha means , "He who accomplishes his goals."
The layout of the book is cool and the type changes so things stay cool.
Rating:
Summary: Cool is
Review: This is a pretty engrossing book - if you think you know about "cool" check it out. Lewis puts together stuff in a
very original manner and helps one to get a perspective
on what cool is.
The section on DT Suzuki and cool caught my attention.
The chapter was called "The Bodhisattvas of Cool." Did you know that Siddartha means , "He who accomplishes his goals."
The layout of the book is cool and the type changes so things stay cool.
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