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I was watching this record on eBay — Eric Dolphy, At The Five Spot, Volume 1, New Jazz 8260. Wasn’t necessarily planning to bid on it, although at $80 with 24 hours left it seemed like it might be attractive. I was surprised to look this morning and see that the record is up over $800. That’s the highest price I’ve seen for this record. It’s interesting to note whether we’re seeing that with other records as well — new highs — or whether this is just because the record is in great condition and it’s from a very reputable seller. Something to keep an eye on.

I’m back putting records on E-Bay as AJDoctor. I just put up a nice Jackie McLean LP and I’ve got about 35 records in all. I’ve also been watching a few interesting items the past couple of days. I was surprised to see this Tal Farlow record sell for $91. I love Tal, and I love this record, but I haven’t seen the market this strong for his LPs in a while. I was also watching this Art Blakey LP, which hit a bid of $222 but failed to meet the seller’s reserve price. I know I’ve promised before to be back blogging, so no promises this time. We’ll see how things go. 

Just as an update: I’m not posting regularly for the site yet. I’m a couple of weeks away from resuming selling on eBay and then doing regular posts. For those of you who have found — or re-found — the site, please continue to be patient. Once I’m fully up and running, I’ll be posting every day about interesting jazz collectibles, and I’ll also be selling records here off the site. I’m also hoping to resume my price guides, and get the old ones posted from 2004 and 2005.In the meantime, here are a few interesting items I’ve been watching: Hank Mobley, Blue Note 1568. This one has a $5,500 Buy-It-Now price, which is the highest we’ve ever seen. It’s certainly a rare record, and one of the big ones. I’ll be interesting to see if the seller can get the amount for it. A copy in similar condition, went for $3,500 on a Buy-It-Now price a couple of weeks ago . . . Here’s a question for you: What do you do with a sealed record? Last week a sealed copy of Bill Evans Trio 64, Verve 8578, sold on eBay for $51. Normally this is a $20 or so record. So, when you buy a record like this, do you open it and play it, or do you save it so that it stays sealed? And, if you do open it, does it then lose it’s sex appeal? . . . Here’s one to watch for today: Louis Smith, Smithville, Blue Note 1594. This one’s in nice shape. As of this writing the price is $921. We’ll see if it breaks $1,000, and by how much.  Another version of the Jutta Hipp LP with Zoot Sims, Blue Note 1530, is also up now and is more than $2,000, with a couple of days left.

After I posted yesterday’s item about the $1,000 Gil Melle record, I did a quick search of jazz records recently sold on eBay with a price tag of $2,000 or more. The result?  This copy of Jutta Hipp with Zoot Sims on Blue Note 1530 sold for $2,534, with 15 bidders. I also spent some time looking ahead on eBay for the remainder of the day. There’s a nice copy of John Coltrane’s Blue Train coming up later, and one seller has a bunch of nice 10-inch LPs, but the price tags are way high in comparison with their value.  We’ll keep you posted as we find interesting items.

You don’t see too many jazz records selling for more than $1,000. Here’s a recent Gil Melle, Patterns in Jazz, Blue Note 1517, that sold for $1,225. It helped that the record was in mint condition, was an original and was being sold by a highly reputable dealer. Back when I was doing the site regularly, there was huge discussion when a copy of Monk’s Music, Riverside 342, sold eBay for $3,061.50. Here’s what I wrote at the time:

“It looked like a bidding war among four buyers. This record was viewed 1,215 times, which is more than I recall for any other jazz record. I did a quick search of the price guide at www.jazzcollector.com. We had one copy listed with the white label. It was in VG++/VG+ condition and sold for $366 in March. Inflation? Rising prices? Condition? Is there any rational reason why this record would sell for more than $3,000?”

Even then I never got a great answer. Anyone want to try now?

I did the Jazz Collector Web site and newsletter for about a year and a half in 2004 and 2005 and abandoned my loyal readers to start another business. I almost came back a year ago, but didn’t. Now I’m trying again. This time it should stick.  – Al Perlman 

One of the great things about selling the records on eBay is making contact with a wide group of people with varied experiences. One of the customers got into a riff about the late bassist and composer Charles Mingus, which brought me back 30 years, to the time when I was a young reporter for the Syracuse New Times and was asked to interview Mingus and review his concert a local club called Jabberwocky. I went through my files and dug up the article, from 1973, when I was just 20 years old. There’s something to be said for saving everything. Anyway, here it is, just the way it appeared 30 years ago, with just a couple of paragraphs deleted for brevity.

“The backstage door slowly opened as the trembling young reporter marched in, looking as if he were attending his own hanging. Rumor has it that Charles Mingus eats music critics for breakfast each morning.

Mingus was sitting in the back of the room, chair propped up against the wall, looking as if he’d spent the last few years living on the Bowery. He was huge (“I eat out of nerves”). His hair looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, and his goatee was now more gray than black.

At 52, his face showed the lines of failure, of success, of racism, of bitterness, of booze, of police encounters, or marriages, of divorces. He wore baggy black pants with a matching baggy black shirt, which hung out over the pants and over his stomach. His muddied shoes may have been in style once upon a time, but not in recent memory.

The room was as crowded as a South Bronx morgue – and just as silent. Mingus’s group had just finished its first set and was unwinding. They sat on the edges of their seats, fidgeting and waiting for somebody to say something.

Charles Mingus thrives on tension. His music consists of contrasting themes, battling rhythms and shifting tempos. To fully appreciate it, a listener must be forever on his toes. In addition to being a superb bassist, Mingus is one of the finest composers in American history – four years ago he received a composition grant from the Guggenhem Foundation. In his best compositions a soft minor theme will gently caress your mind and you’ll peacefully melt into your seat. Then – bam – the tempo will shift, a sax will screech, and you’ll jump up again – only to have another shift push you back down. Up and down, up and down. Tension.

Mingus’s gospel numbers sound like releases of tension, as in a church revival meeting where everyone screams out, washing away whatever might be bothering them. A Mingus concert will often seem like a church meeting, with the audience calling out and the band responding.

The first music Mingus heard was gospel. His stepmother was a devout churchgoer and wouldn’t let him listen to anything else. He was eight years old before he heard his first jazz, and that was Duke Ellington, whom he still idolizes.

This night seemed like a bad one for him. Throughout the set he refused to look at the audience. He stood, center stage, bass in hand, puffing and sweating and playing his ass off. His band, though, was disappointing. Mingus played well, but was obviously unhappy. Twice he mumbled to the audience. Once to introduce the group members (two names were perceptible) and once to offer thanks. Nothing in between, and no encore for the screaming audience. When he spoke, he looked into the microphone.

He laughed once. Tenor sax player Goerge Adams, singing a partly ad-lib blues, threw in a chorus of “Mr. Bassman/He believes in making love.” Mingus, who considers himself a great romancer, liked that.

Mingus’s contempt, or at least apathy, was apparent as the young reporter was introduced by a Jabberwocky worker: “Charles, this fella works for a local paper. He’d like to interview you.”

“I ain’t gonna talk to him,” said Mingus, who seems to have rocks where most of us have vocal chords.

“Well, at least tell him the names of the guys in the band.” The worker shrugged and left the room.

Mingus shot at look at the reporter, leaving a visible scar. “I’ll only talk to you ‘bout this band,” he growled, “I gotta book comin’ out that’ll tell it all.”

“Is the book almost completed,” asked the reporter, trying to strike up a rapport.

“No.”

Mingus’s previous book, Beneath The Underdog, was a successful autobiography. It was published in 1971, after sitting on the shelf for 10 years. No publishing house would touch it; it was too controversial. Mingus once said the book was written for black people and, in it, he attempted to upset whites. Our white reporter had read the book.

“I’m sorry,” said the reporter with cracking voice, “but I didn’t catch the names of the piano player and the baritone player.”

Mingus took a puff on his long black cigar, fingered it and stared at it. The reporter cleared his throat.

“The drummer’s named is Dannie Richmond.” Mingus paused, waiting for the reporter to write. “The drummer’s name is Dannie Richmond. D-A-N-N . . .

“Charles,” interrupted the reporter, “I know the drummer’s name.”

“The drummer’s name is Dannie Richmond. D-A-N-N-I-E. The baritone player is mmmffffff, the pianist is mmmmmfffffff.”

The reporter asked the musicians their names. They were more cooperative – barely.

Two more people entered the room as Mingus remained king, with silence his decree. Mingus did have a Louis XVI air about him as he sat on his metal folding-chair throne. Sure King Louis was not as fat as King Charles, nor could he have held more power over his subjects.

Mingus whispered with the new arrivals. “I gotta be careful what I say – I gotta book coming out . .. Yeah, maybe. Call me tomorrow.”

King Charles released those two subjects and went back to puffing the cigar and staring at the floor. Occasionally he would pick his head up, but never did he look at the reporter. The door opened and a young black woman’s head appeared, asking of no one in particular “Which one’s Mingus?”

Mingus looked up and frowned. He also noticed the reporter, standing near the door, poised for a quick exit, busily taking notes.

“Anything else you wanna know, man?” It was a threat. Charles Mingus could say “I love you” and make it sound like a threat.”

Mingus died on Jan. 4, 1979, about six years after this encounter took place. Despite the odd nature of our meeting and my less-than-flattering account, I really got a kick out of being backstage at the concert and being treated so contemptuously by Mingus. As a young journalist, I felt honored that Mingus thought enough of me to treat me as disrespectfully and rudely as he would have treated a more seasoned and able member of the press. And how fun it is to relive it 30 years later.

It’s always surprised me that jazz collectors seem to place only marginal value in autographed albums or other memorabilia.  There are exceptions of course: A Charlie Parker signature on a contract or a Billie Holiday inscription on a book are extraordinarily rare collectibles that fetch a small fortune whenever they appear on eBay or on auction lists from dealers.

But my experience is that autographs don’t necessarily do much to enhance the value of a collectible. To test this, I recently did a search of completed auctions on eBay in the category of jazz using the key word “autographed.” The results confirmed my theory:

An autographed copy of an original Joe Carroll record on Epic from 1956 in VG+ condition, failed to sell at a minimum bid of $24.99.

 A Hank Jones autographed record on Concord fetched one bid at $6.99.

 An LP autographed by Lionel Hampton, who had recently died, got a high bid of $4.99.

A Maxine Sullivan LP on Chiaroscuro didn’t get any bids at $6.99.

Also not getting bids were various albums with signatures by such artists as Art Hodes, Dick Johnson and Georgie Auld.  Even items you would expect to do well, didn’t: A copy of Chet Baker’s Most Important Jazz Album of 1964/1965, with a dated autograph by Baker, received a high bid of $52 and failed to meet the dealer’s reserve price: An autographed copy of Kenny Dorham/1959 in VG+ condition sold for only $41. Here was the biggest surprise of all: An original pressing of Thelonious Monk’s Brilliant Corners, autographed by Monk, in VG/VG+ condition, sold for $153.50. You would think Monk signing one of his classic albums would sell for a lot more than that.

As a collector, I love finding copies of signed records and I love that I’ve only rarely had to pay a premium for the autographs. Through the years I’ve accumulated signed LPs from such artists as Joe Albany, Benny Carter, Chris Connor, Lockjaw Davis, Herb Ellis, Maynard Ferguson, Stephane Grappelli, Woody Herman, Art Hodes, Sheila Jordan, Herbie Mann, Marion McPartland, Big Nick Nicholas, Dizzy Reece, Billy Taylor and Clark Terry, among others. I keep the autographed records separated from the rest of my collection.

Although I do love having the autographed records, I’ve never been one to actually bring a copy of a record to a concert or club and ask an artist for a signature. I personally find it kind of tacky and intrusive, although I’m sure the artists don’t view it that way. The one time I did bring a record for an autograph was when I saw Carmen McRae perform at The Blue Note with Zoot Sims in the late 1970s. I brought a copy of Carmen McRae Sings Lover Man on Columbia, one of my favorites of her many albums. Even then I didn’t have the nerve to ask for the autograph: I sent my wife back stage. She came back with the autograph but said McRae was not happy, refused to sign at first and only signed because it was an old album that she liked. That was the end of my career as an autograph hound.

It wasn’t, however, the end of my autograph hunting. Through the years I’ve found some interesting stuff in stores and online. One of my favorites is an original copy of Arthur Taylor’s A. T.’s Delight on Blue Note with the 47 West 63rd St. address in mint condition, signed by Taylor in 1980. That one would go for a pretty hefty sum.  Other favorites include a 78 of Moody’s Mood For Love signed by James Moody; Other 78s signed by Zoot Sims, J.J. Johnson and Sonny Stitt; And a copy of the book “Satchmo” signed “To Joel, From Satchmo Louis Armstrong.” I don’t know who Joel was, but my late brother’s name was Joel, so I can always fantasize.

But the all-time personal favorite from my collection is a signed album from Sonny Rollins. Rollins is one of my idols, but, more than that, what makes this autograph special to me is the context. It’s a copy of Sonny Meets Hawk from 1963. The album is signed all across the back in dark black marker and inscribed as follows:

“12/13/63. To my friend at ‘A+ P’ with Holiday wishes to you & yours Sincerely Sonny R.”

The idea of Sonny shopping at the local A+P in Brooklyn and giving this as a gift to a friendly clerk and taking the time and interest to sign it, it just makes it so real and personal. And that, I guess, is what the autographs do for me in general: Make the collectible more real and personable and one small step closer to the artist. Now, if I could just get a signature by Bird or Trane . . .