Andra Jazz is my second paradise. Rönnells Antikvariat was my first. After working for over thirty years to keep the antiquarian sinking, in the spring of 2020 I walked into the wall and had to seek my way away from the mothership. It was the beginning of my second jazz period, the first was in my youth. Without warning, my family gave me an all-analog record player when I turned 62. A model that requires extra amplification of the pickup signal. In a TV shop in Sundbyberg, I bought a compatible amplifier from a surprised old man, and believe it or not, in the garbage room behind Rönnells I found a pair of perfect Dali speakers shortly after. I took that as a sign that I was on the right track. If only I hadn't gotten rid of all my vinyl records to replace them with CDs. But I had a few vinyl records left with Genesis, Go-Betweens, Captain Beefheart which I devoured with good appetite despite my exhaustion, I had also saved a bunch of vinyl with John Coltrane who was my idol in my youth and which I still liked, but it was above all one LP that I noticed had a healing power; Miles Davis The Birth of The Cool which I bought one summer at Kringlan's department store in Södertälje when I was grading oil holes in crankshafts on a Saab-Scania.
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The record with the purple label kept spinning on my turntable and I became more and more curious about the musicians mentioned on the cover: Gerry Mulligan, Paul Desmond, George Wallington... Not having bought a vinyl record since the early 80's, I had bad track of the record stores in Stockholm, but I knew that I had Hot Records on Råsundavägen in Solna within walking distance. There I bought my first records with Cool Jazz. When I had my brain x-rayed that summer, I was praised for the images by my doctor, who didn't know that I had Gerry Mulligan's and Chet Baker's version of "Moonlight in Vermont" in my head during the entire procedure in the MRI camera. There were more records in the same vein, and visits to more stores, but I also noticed that I was increasingly flipping through the same records when I came to the jazz section, that only a few titles had been added since my last visit. Instead, I often came home with thin reissues of Tom Verlaine and XTC, records I had already disposed of once. If it hadn't been for Bromma Records' pop-up sale in Solna record exchange (wall to wall with Hot Records), my new interest in jazz would probably have cooled. But just this fall, the Bromma brothers had bought in a larger batch of jazz. After sorting out the hip records with Miles, Coltrane; rarities on Blue Note, Prestige, etc. did they still have a lot of big band and "happy" jazz from the 50s that would cost more to store than to sell off in the annual sale. One of the many lucky circumstances that eventually made me a resident of Andra Jazz was thus all the paper bags of vinyl records I found in the boxes during the sale, which were not only big band jazz but also arranged West Coast jazz with smaller combos led by Warne Marsh, Richie Kamuca, Jimmy Rowles, Shelly Man, Red Norvo. When I enthusiastically told my colleague at Rönnells, the jazz musician Magnus Granberg, about my findings, he ended each conversation by saying that I should visit Andra Jazz.
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For some reason my first visit was delayed. Perhaps I sensed that there would be no turning back once I set foot in the Mecca of used jazz records. Now if it was possible to get a foot in, for the door appeared to be bolted with a strong padlock, which, however, had been held off. From inside the shop, which was very much located on the hill at the somewhat obscure address Rödabergsgatan 9, it shone dimly behind the barred windows and according to the website the shop was open. In my diary I read that it was Saturday, April 13, 2022. I stepped up a few steps, into the semi-darkness where Charlie Parker, backed by strings, was playing "April in Paris" and a surprised voice exclaimed: "Pekka på Rönnells!". It was not Saint Peter but owner Sven Dolling's young substitute Viktor Engström who crouched, with his hair swinging, came forward after plugging in the extension cord that lights up the inner regions of the shop. I looked around and realized I didn't need to ask for the jazz section. I was already inside what appeared to be a teeming coral reef paradise compared to the fished out shallows I visited before. The close to a hundred thousand records, mostly jazz from different eras, were sorted in shelves that rose from floor to ceiling and formed labyrinthine corridors. Each shelf section had scrollable compartments at waist height, where the records were arranged alphabetically. From there, by bending over, you could also see over to the other side. But what kind of records were there in the three shelves above, and what kind of treasures were hidden in the two lower shelves and in the paper bags on the floor? The pupils moved like yo-yos behind my progressive glasses, which went down into my shirt pocket. How am I going to get through all this, I thought. And still today, after spending an average of three hours a week exploring the range, there are shelves and nooks and crannies I haven't gone through. During the time that I grazed shelves and cluttered shelves, trawled among ten-inchers, the contents of the sections I had already managed to go through have been partially replaced ... In the diary I see that the Charlie Parker plate that the friendly Viktor rolled out like a red carpet , when I arrived, my first record purchase was, together with Lennie Niehaus, Vol.5: The Sextet, with the ownership stamp "olaf van der beek" and a Lee Konitz record with arrangements by Jimmy Giuffre. Since then, the purchases have become so numerous and extensive that I dare not count because my wife will probably read this.
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In the spring of 2022, I was still struggling to come back from my sick leave and resume my full-time position at Rönnells Antikvariat. I remember that Sven Dolling, who was there on my second visit, was very interested in my work with Rönnell's outward activities, for example the Klaus Dinger/NEU! exhibition I planned for the antique shop after the summer, also our merch and publishing business seemed impress him. I knew about his background on the fanzine Jörvars Gosskör, as an advertiser and that he took over Andra Jazz after the death of founder Harald Hult. When I asked if there was a find box and if he had anything with Benny Carter, his eyebrows were raised. He probably expected me to ask for something hipper. At Rönnells, I had created a stage for young improvisational musicians and arranged concerts with Sagor & Swing and Moondog. Well, he hadn't had time to decide on a bargain box, but I was able to get a unusual cranky original edition of The Soul of Ben Webster for twenty-five kroner. I still have the record up on my wall. Benny Carter had his own section in the swing department. There I found a recording with strings Alone Together, and a Barney Kessel that fit in my budget. When I paid and put the records in the gym bag, Sven realized that behind the counter he had a compilation volume with Benny Carter, Charlie Parker, Johnny Hodges and Willie Smith, Alto Sax released on Norgran Records with a fantastic cover by David Stone Martin. I stopped and must have caught some dog-like appeal in my eyes that made him melt. - "Um, you can bring that too," he said. I thanked him and promised that I would bring a signed copy of my own book Håll skeppet sjunkande! next time. When I got home, I immediately took out the disc I had received, noted that it too was stamped "olaf van der beek", put on the first track "A Foggy Day" and felt that I was well on my way to becoming Benny Carter's most devoted admirer in modern times. I have the colorful cover of Alto Sax next to me at the time of writing and thinking of all the David Stone Martin covers author Haruki Murakami missed out on during his recent visit to Andra Jazz. Sometimes I suspect that I've upset the ecological balance through my "big fishing", but to my delight, in my thorough digging I've discovered that often there are several copies of the same title in different places in the store.
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In the Netflix documentary My Octopus Teacher, a burned-out filmmaker tries to dive outside the coast of South Africa to heal and recover. He starts diving more and more often in the same kelp forest and soon becomes friends with a curious octopus. When I put glasses on this octopus in my imagination, I suddenly see Sven Dolling. Myself, I just need to put on my gaffa repaired rain gear, to step into the role of the emerging antiquarian bookseller with exhaustion problems. Symptoms that almost completely disappear when I look for forgotten gems in 50s jazz, or listen to the finds at home in my room for days on end. At breakfast I cheat a little by playing Mozart from CD at such a low volume that the loudspeaker membranes still think it's jazz. Energized by the coffee, I take out the diary and put Gil Mellé's Patterns in Jazz (Blue Note) on the turntable for inspiration. During the morning gym, I turn up the tempo with Artie Shaw And His Gramercy Five's “Sunny Side Up”. After that, the record player continues to spin in the background while I work part-time at the computer in the kitchen with the events business at Rönnells. I never have time to stiffen on the kitchen chair; when the Stan Getz record has reached the end of the road, I go and turn the side or put on a new record with Bobby Jaspar or Lucky Thompson. When I play ten-inchers, the intervals are shorter. I often find themes; it can start with me putting on my favorite 10” Jimmy Raney Plays*, then I continue with guitarists like Tal Farlow, Sal Salvador and Joe Puma. Even Chuck Wayne gets to join in before it's time for the afternoon coffee with Zoot Sims and Jutta Hipp. At evening tea I usually play Ben Webster's "My Funny Valentine" from my Norgran Records edition of Music for Loving, with a cover by David Stone Martin (poor Murakami) and, listen and wonder, without the "olaf van der Beek" stamp. That I have a habit of kissing the covers of my favorite records, I've already told Sven. However, with some caution as the original releases from the fifties have been involved in a lot. I have a wonderful life, in other words. Lately, I've started to suspect that I unconsciously induce my symptoms of exhaustion in order to continue to explore and tread my own paths within 50s jazz.I would never have been able to do that without Andra Jazz, where Harald Hult's spirit lives on, thanks to Sven Dolling.