Don Byas (1913–1972) may be lesser known than the counterparts he played with—Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Dizzy Gillespie, among others—but he was an enigma. He never stayed with a band for long, and eventually went solo partly to make more money and partly due to his inability to work with bandleaders. Often drinking to excess, alcohol fueled his sometimes-erratic behavior on and off the bandstand. He went through at least thirteen different groups in fifteen years of professional play before leaving for Europe in 1946. Despite his fractious personality, in Europe he found peace and contentment as a family man in the Netherlands, where he lived out his days with his second wife and their four children. He learned at least seven languages during his years in Europe, and on traveling to a new country could pick up a few phrases in short order, soon speaking to the locals and even composing songs in their native tongue. In Sax Expat: Don Byas, author Con Chapman argues that Byas’s relative obscurity arises from his choice to live in Europe, where he missed out on recording opportunities and exposure in the US that would have made him renowned and wealthier. His numerous achievements, including his solo on Count Basie’s “Harvard Blues,” which is a model of restrained invention; his interpretation of the sentimental movie theme “Laura”; and his duets with bassist Slam Stewart were included in the Smithsonian Collection of Classic Jazz and secured Byas’s place in jazz history. This biography brings to life an amazing jazz story.

In his eulogy of saxophonist Johnny Hodges (1907-70), Duke Ellington ended with the words, "Never the world's most highly animated showman or greatest stage personality, but a tone so beautiful it sometimes brought tears to the eyes--this was Johnny Hodges. This is Johnny Hodges." Hodges' unforgettable tone resonated throughout the jazz world over the greater part of the twentieth century. Benny Goodman described Hodges as "by far the greatest man on alto sax that I ever heard," and Charlie Parker compared him to Lily Pons, the operatic soprano. As a teenager, Hodges developed his playing style by imitating Sidney Bechet, the New Orleans soprano sax player, then honed it in late-night cutting sessions in New York and a succession of bands lead by Chick Webb, Willie "The Lion" Smith, and Luckey Roberts. In 1928 he joined Duke Ellington, beginning an association that would continue, with one interruption, until Hodges' death. Hodges' celebrated technique and silky tone marked him then, and still today, as one of the most important and influential saxophone players in the history of jazz. As the first ever biography on Johnny Hodges, Rabbit's Blues details his place as one of the premier artists of the alto sax in jazz history, and his role as co-composer with Ellington.

Poetry is special. It recalls for us what it was like to stop by woods on a snowy evening, how fog has little cat feet and is the hog butcher of the world, and that extraordinary man from Nantucket. It can bring wonder into our lives, if only we let it.But we don't. Face it-most of us would rather listen to an investment banker talk on his cell phone than sit next to a poet at a dinner party. Poets are liable to recollect emotions with tranquility, or say things that many have felt but none so well expressed, at any time without provocation. Then you're stuck.These stories introduce you to poets in their natural habitats-working and playing among us, undetected. Out of the office, many lead normal lives, if you consider someone who doesn't capitalize words normal. But without poets, nothing would rhyme, and even if it did, it would make sense. Which of course isn't poetry.

The first comprehensive work on the subject in over 15 years, presenting new research to delve deeper into music of the American Midwest that evolved into Kansas City jazz. Includes profiles of individual musicians.

There is no stronger tie than that which binds a father to his sons. Well, maybe the one that connects sons to their mother, but that's different. The father-son relationship is one that hums to mystic chords of foolishness and bravado; a mother comes into the room and suddenly a strain in A minor is heard, and it's time to take a bath and go to bed. For men like me who grew up without brothers, sons are another chance at a boyhood we never knew; a chance to punch your sibling in the arm and not get double-crossed by a two-timing broad for the first time in your life as your sister yells "Mom-he hit me!" down the stairs after she told you to do it! These stories are an account of my journey through my sons' first childhood as I experience my second. I've changed my kids' names to the all-purpose generic monickers "Scooter," the older of the two, and "Skipper" his younger brother, to protect their innocence. The statute of limitations on what some would call arson is apparently quite long. These tales of youthful hi-jinx under one dad's semi-adult supervision will demonstrate for you the truth of the age-old adage: You're only young once, but you can remain immature-forever.

It's difficult to recall how innocent we all were before 9/11/2001. As the year 1999 came to an end, the world worried that a single number-the "2" in "2000"-would bring modern life as we knew it to an end as a result of the problem that came to be known simply as "Y2K." Making Partner is set against this backdrop as four young people, Roderick Tribble, Melinda Pickels, Andrews de Groot and Sally Barnard, mix and match themselves within the confines of Rodman & Ward, an old-line Boston law firm that is on its last legs. John Rodman struggles to preserve the firm his Boston Brahmin father founded, while a rising generation of more aggressive lawyers seeks to grab the reins from him or leave with his clients. At the same time, Rodman must deal with the decline of his long-time partner Ned Ward, who is slipping into senility. A light-hearted romantic comedy, Making Partner will recall for the reader the way we were before the end of the last millennium. Con Chapmanis a Boston-area writer. In addition to Making Partner, he is the author of CannaCorn (Joshua Tree Publishing), and The Year of the Gerbil: How the Yankees Won (and the Red Sox Lost) the Greatest Pennant Race Ever, a history of the 1978 Red Sox-Yankees season. He is the author of twenty-six plays, ten published, which have been performed in Boston, New York, and elsewhere. He is the author of The Girl With the Cullender on Her Head and Other Wayward Women, a collection of light verse, and his poems have appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Light Quarterly and Spitball, among other publications. His humor has appeared in The Atlantic Monthly, The Boston Globe and Salon.com, and he is a frequent contributor to the Boston Herald. He blogs at conchapman.wordpres.com, and his humor is available in print and Kindle formats on amazon.com. For more information, ConChapman.com

Everyday Noir is a collection of parodies written in the hard-boiled and cynical style of detective fiction set in mundane, everyday surroundings. Instead of stakeouts and police stations, the author finds evil lurking at Girl Scout cookie sales, suburban soccer fields, faculty lounges, law firm pro bono programs--even spelling bees. Noir is where you find it. They may be fiction, but in this crazy, mixed-up world, that's about as close as any of us will ever come to the truth. Which isn't very close.

The Worcester Quahogs are a mediocre minor league baseball team owned by Bud Templeton and mismanaged by his son, Trey. To his father's surprise, Trey takes to the job with relish and uses the experience as fodder for a book about baseball that he hopes will win him literary fame.