By Tom Hull

Onwards for an invaluable poll from a community of critics that gives us a map to an expansive world of jazz to explore — with hints at terra incognita.

The late Francis Davis.

This is the 20th Annual Francis Davis Jazz Critics Poll—the first real one (discounting my mid-year dabbling) since Francis died in April, 2025. His death was expected, but still a shock. A health crisis in 2022 forced him to step back and start thinking about My Poll Without Me. Having been his volunteer secretary for the previous decade, I tried to pick up the slack as best I could. I built the website, took over the mailing list, counted ballots, and struggled to write up something at the end. He insisted on overseeing every detail, and I was grateful for that. But his chronic ailments, punctuated by periodic crises, took an increasing toll. In fall 2024, he entered a hospice program, but he still took an interest in his poll. He wrote movingly about his ailments, fatigue, and decline in his 19th and final poll essay.

That could, and perhaps should, have been the end of his poll, but I still had the keys, and encouraged by his widow, Terry Gross, I tested the waters with a mid-year poll. Response was about the same as my original mid-2024 poll experiment, and many of the critics who didn’t feel organized enough to offer a mid-year list promised to catch up for the end-of-year poll. The poll had evolved from what Francis once dubbed “a free-floating crap game” to some kind of institution (if only a virtual one). Besides, when has a craps player ever stopped at 19?

While I was quite capable at running the game, I’ve always struggled with writing up the analysis once the votes were counted. I’ve never been the sort of critic that Francis was—one who could assume the role of community leader, and sum up The State of Our Union (a title that continues, “Could Be Better,” as he was representative of our community but also an inspired conscience, and a bit of a preacher). So I came up with a couple of ideas to compensate for his loss: I decided to forgo the big essay, and present the results, each chunk in its own piece. And rather than write a lot of my own commentary, I thought we might end each piece with comments, and so get more voices into the mix.

Poll organizer Tom Hull. Photo: courtesy of the artist

The pieces are:

• New Jazz Albums
• Rara Avis
• Vocal Jazz Albums
• Latin Jazz Albums
• Debut Jazz Albums
• Jazz Notables We Lost in 2025
• The Voters

The voting followed my schedule, but the commentary contributions took time, which pushed posting the poll back a week. Even so, not as many comments arrived as I had hoped for. I’d welcome more, and hope to update these files in a week or two. Many should have more to say after seeing the data, and you don’t have to have voted to contribute your responses, questions, perceptions. If you have something to add, please write to 25comments @ hullworks.net.

Notes

John Szwed: I knew Francis Davis when he wasn’t yet a writer. But that’s not quite true. He was working in a record store and was handwriting little notes in praise of some records and sticking them to the covers. Over the years he talked about writing poetry but I never saw any. One day I suggested he try publishing something. Later he told me he was taking my advice and was quitting his job and becoming a writer. I said that wasn’t quite what I said. You should try to get something published first. No, he said, if he was going to be serious he had to commit to it fulltime as a music writer. I told him that I didn’t know anyone making a living as a music writer. Maybe, he said, but that’s what I’m going to do. And he did. From the first it looked like he’d been writing for years. He had a style of his own and showed no fear about saying what he felt. A genuine self made writer.

Milo Miles: Memories float up . . . of Francis teasing his family cat Baby into a deep LP box with taps on the sides and little finger snaps. “All cats love boxes,” he noted as she snuggled inside, glowing. The most convincing demonstration imaginable.

Or how much he enjoyed a top-notch piano bar with ace sound and maybe sometimes an interlude for a vocalist. This was peace and civility that nourished the soul.

Our special scenes and locations, however, were record stores — doing a scrounge in them as we called it. Looney Tunes in Boston. Cheapo in Cambridge. Or holiest of all — the Princeton Record Exchange.

Can imagine us in one of them now. Me noting that I finally, finally got around to reading Afterglow, his book of chats with Pauline Kael and wondered what he thought of her comments that Alfred Hitchcock was more obsessed with his wine collection than movies and just what were his thoughts on this business of how many times should you see a film to know it. Or tell him that, wow, I discovered a wild and crazy album that properly called itself The New Sound and how I was sure he would kinda roll his eyes at the music but would approve of the performer’s name — Geordie Greep. Last, that I had checked out his selection for best vocal album in the final Jazz Poll he was in, Call Me Irresponsible by John DiMartino and Lucy Wijnands. That its poise, with the precise sprinkle of sparks, was ideal for him.

Glorious adventures now lost in a dream. But then — dreams are timeless, always running, with music in the air.