by Patrick Jarenwattananon

Idea: if the Jazz Journalists Association ever throws a Town Hall meeting to address "Can Jazz Be Saved?", I think we can all agree, regardless of political affiliation, that we should chip in to hire Barney Frank as our moderator.

—Vote In The Down Beat Readers Poll: I can't tell whether or not I'll vote in the Down Beat Readers Poll. [UPDATE: I have. It was fun.] Y'all are more than welcome to (link here) up through Monday — I just am generally uninterested in the results. OK, I'll concede what some commenters have said here — I'm thinking of you, Joe Phillips of Numinous — that winning important-sounding recognition makes people (presenters and journalists) look at you differently. At very least it's something that can go on your press bio. And that's of some importance.

But my problem with readers' polls is that they're often unsurprising, even more so than critics' polls. More often than not, as Christopher Weingarten reminded us, crowdsourcing just assures that the safest picks — or at least the musicians the most people have 1) heard of and 2) are able to tolerate — bubble to the top. I'm reminded of the fact that only in 1950 did Charlie Parker first get voted top alto saxophonist in the Down Beat Readers Poll — five years after his bebop breakthrough. (The Metronome poll put him as number one in 1948, but at least one audience was a little slow on the uptake.) That's the sort of result that may be useful for music historians trying to approximate the tastes of an era; as a fan who wants to be surprised, it proves Weingarten's point that considered together, crowds have terrible taste. At least with the critics' poll, you can be somewhat assured that the respondents have heard a great many albums en route to voting. Here, the dude who's bought all of three records this year and is a total Joe Lovano stan — his opinion counts as much as Ben Ratliff's. (Nothing against Lovano, who's a killer player with a stellar new album; he's just an example.)

I'm a lot more interested in how individual people justify their tastes than what those tastes are. Polls don't give you that. Plus, just thinking about thinking about all my favorite saxophonists — some of whom I'm sure to forget — and trying to rank them in Favoriteness: yeesh. (Also, choosing a [categorized musician] "of the year"? What kind of nonsense way of thinking about music is that?) So maybe if I'm bored this weekend I'll vote for some folks who deserve more shine. [UPDATE: Done and done.] But I'm [still] not going to hold my breath for the December issue.

—The Best Rashied Ali Internet Tribute: Comes courtesy of Destination: Out, who were supposed to be taking an August rerun hiatus. But players like him only die once.

—The Catalog Of Jazz Samples In Hip-Hop: I could go on browsing this for days on end. (H/T @accujazzradio)

—'U.S. Has Secret Sonic Weapon — Jazz': Is the title of a New York Times article from 1955. "What many thoughtful Europeans cannot understand is why the United States Government, with all the money it spends for so-called propaganda to promote democracy, does not use more of it to subsidize the continental travels of jazz bands and the best exponents of the music," says the article. One year later, the U.S. government took that advice to heart.

—The Laurie Verchomin Interview: All this week, Marc Myers at JazzWax has been speaking with Bill Evans' lover in his final 18 months. She was 22 when she met Evans; he would have been hovering around 50. What emerges is a candid portrait of an incredible artist who suffered from self-destructive behaviors and addictions. Verchomin is, by the way, writing a book about the experience.

—I Was Wondering About That: Finally, the off-color troll of various jazz blogs, comment sections and message boards known as "Rab Hines" is outed by the musician he's been impersonating: German trumpeter Bruno Leicht. This Internet creep is living somewhere in New Jersey, say the IP data, and is posting under many fake e-mail addresses and aliases. I was unaware that jazz could inspire such weirdos — wait, never mind.