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Music

Blog, Music

Wondrous Italian Clarinet Player and Some Russians in Evening Wear

Now and then I come across a song on Youtube I’d love to play on my radio show, but something vital would be missing without the visuals.  So I happily bring you here:

First, Hetty and the Jazzato Band, an Italian swing outfit. They’re all good, but the clarinet player is the coolest thing ever:

Tu Vuo’ Fa’ L’Americano

The second group is called The Sexican (I think). From the comments section I’m guessing they’re Russian though I don’t usually picture Russians doing this stuff with their bodies:

Cuarto de la Banda

Weird and expensive.

 

Blog, Music

Went to See the — No, I Can’t Say It

“Actors’ Equity Association…announced this week that it would cease using the title ‘Gypsy Robe’ to describe one of its most cherished insider rituals – the passing of a colorful patchwork garment from one chorus to another on a Broadway show’s opening night – citing the potential  offense to Roma people.” — NYT

I don’t think they completely thought this through. If it’s such a terrible word, how can the musical Gypsy ever again shame a marquee? They’ll have to change the name. But to what? I know: how about Ramblin’ Rose? They’d have to work out the copyright business with whoever wrote that song and of course there’s the massive Nat King Cole association to cope with — or no, probably not since our cultural memory has dropped to practically zero….Might have to wait till Sondheim’s dead…. But as for inserting the number itself, that should be easy. Herbie’s always needed a song of his own.

Dee Dee Bridgewater: Embraceable You

 

 

 

Blog, Music

Melodious Veep

You know the song “All in the Game”? (“Many a tear has to fall/But it’s all in the game….”)

It’s been covered by everybody, from Jimmy Witherspoon to Van Morrison to Roland Kirk.

Turns out it was written by this guy:

Charles G. Dawes, vice-president under Calvin Coolidge and recipient of the 1925 Nobel Peace Prize.

That is to say, he wrote the melody in 1911. Forty years later somebody named Carl Sigman came along and added lyrics. In 1958 Tommy Edwards took it to #1….

All in the Game

“Shine Little Glow Worm” has a similar history. But that’s for another time —

 

 

 

Blog, Books, Music

The Gone

Yesterday I got in touch with Alicia Mayer, the grandniece of Louis B. Mayer, in connection with some research I’ve been doing on some MGM movies from the 30s. I was having a hard time locating his papers, which I assumed were archived someplace. Not so. According to Ms. Mayer, his papers were all “burnt by his second wife and her lawyer.”

That puts them right up there with Cassandra Austen, Mrs. Stephen Foster and all the other maniacs who have gouged holes in our artistic heritage. But then wonderful stuff has gone missing for so many reasons….

Refused publication, James Joyce threw Stephen Hero into the fire; Nora retrieved 1/5 of it.

From 1856 to 1896 Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann exchanged more than four thousand letters, almost all of which he destroyed just before his death.

Julius Caesar wrote a play called Oedipus — who knew and where is it

Gogol burns Part II of Dead Souls — well-known — rewrites it completely and burns that too — less known

A drawing by Leonardo da Vinci representing Orpheus pursued by the Furies is ruined while being restored in 2001

Emile Zola burns all his letters from Paul Cezanne; Cezanne destroys his portrait of Zola (tiff?)

Check out Henri LeFebvre’s incantatory Missing Pieces for many, many more of the the same. It’s the eeriest book you can imagine.

Song of the Day: Scatman Crothers

 

 

 

 

Blog, Music

Gershwin Hatches the Egg

Pick hits from my program last week: In 1924, three weeks before he premiered Rhapsody in Blue and shot to fame, a show featuring the music of George Gershwin premiered on Broadway. Not the lyrics of Ira Gershwin, who at that point was still loitering around stage doors hoping to break in; words by Buddy deSylva (“April Showers,” “Look for the Silver Lining”) instead. The musical was called Sweet Little Devil, a show so obscure today that when people talk about forgotten musicals they forget this one. Nevertheless, in 2012 — 88 years after it bloomed and died — a guy named Tommy Krasker, listed as “former archivist to the Ira Gershwin estate” (wasn’t that Michael Feinstein?) resurrected the score, assembled some Broadway performers (Rebecca Luker et al) and produced the first cast recording. Granted, it’s a little vapid around the edges, but a couple of numbers really caught my ear. Given my severe technical limitations, the best pathway I can suggest is to pull up the album (Sweet Little Devil) on Spotify and go to numbers 6 (“The Jijibo”) and 14 (“Matrimonial Handicap”), which are the utmost in my opinion. In the first you can really hear that yearning, bluesy Gershwin sound which is just about to get very famous. A musical egg is hatching….

 

 

 

Blog, Music

Standing in the Shadows of Stax

Last week I came upon two major examples of The Song Behind the Song. Like so many things, they were complete news to me. They both involve R&B hits from Stax in the 60s: “Born Under a Bad Sign” and the totemic “Mustang Sally.” For decades I’d been going around believing that Albert King introduced the first (followed by the acid bath it got from Cream) and Wilson Pickett the second. I’ve been grateful to these people. I still am. But if we take these covers and lift the lid….

“Born Under a Bad Sign,” it turns out, was written by William Bell and Booker T. Jones and first recorded by Bell himself. As you may know, he was one of those almost-major figures on the Stax roster back then with a couple of important hits to his credit. This wasn’t one, in his own rendering:

Born Under a Bad Sign 1 

But Albert King made it famous. This is partly because King’s version is a lot better, as you can tell instantly from that four-note power climb at the start —

Born Under a Bad Sign 2

But it still wouldn’t be famous if it weren’t such a great song, one of those twists on the blues that seems like the blues at first but is really a fabulous thing of its own. William Bell has just released his first Stax album in 40 years, in which he revisits the song himself:

Born Under a Bad Sign 3

You can hear another 40 years of a man’s life in it for sure.

As for “Mustang Sally,” I now discover that Sir Mack Rice, who died last summer, wrote and recorded it with modest success (#15 on the R&B charts in — what else — 1965) before Wilson Pickett lit up the sky the following year:

Mustang Sally 1

Mustang Sally 2

Again, two bars of Pickett’s cover and you know that musically you’re in the presence of greatness. But without Sir Rice (knighted by his producer) we wouldn’t be.

A little research reveals that Aretha Franklin, his piano player on the demo, convinced him to change the title from “Mustang Mama.” And you thought she couldn’t get any cooler.

Truth to tell, when I want to listen to this song these days — and I can’t go too long without it — I find myself creeping back to Andrew Strong’s cover in The Commitments:   

Mustang Sally 3

Yeah, I know he’s white, but still.

 

Blog, Music

Judy Judy

Among the great women folk singers of the early to mid Sixties, Joan and Judy (Baez and Collins) come quickly to mind, but not Judy and Judy, the other two. Judy Roderick and Judy Henske were stinging and original in ways that didn’t slot in commercially at the time. They didn’t sound like angels, and they messed around in some scary blues country, and they didn’t land on Hootenanny, or not for long.  Their opportunities were thus relatively small and their bodies of work slender; but (to sort of quote Spencer Tracy) what they produced was “cherce.”

Roderick came out of Colorado, played the major coffee houses, wowed the folk elite. (“Her phrasing, tone and above all her originality are unmatched,” said Dave Van Ronk.) She put out two albums, one for Columbia, one for Vanguard, before drifting to the margins. Her monument is the second, Woman Blue (1965), title cut here:

Woman Blue

JudyRoderickWomanBlu

Tracing back to Blind Lemon Jefferson, this song (aka “I Know You Rider”) was picked up by a number of 60s artists (Grateful Dead, Hot Tuna et al) but Roderick’s version was the starkest and most influential. Her take on “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” comes straight from a cold street corner. And, unlike some of her peers, she knew how to work with a band:

Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

Judy Henske was a more raucous performer than Roderick (“Take me down to the Tin Star/Lay my body on the bar”), but in a different mood the raw depth in her singing must have made the New Christy Minstrels scatter like pigeons.  “Till the Real Thing Comes Along” has been covered with elegant skill by any number of singers over the years (“I’d work for you, slave for you/I’d work my body to the grave for you….”). Henske’s version is the only one I’ve ever heard where you instantly believe those words:

Till the Real Thing Comes Along

That’s from her High Flying Bird album (1964), varied and unclassifiable, which was exactly the problem. Known as “Queen of the Beatniks,” she was reportedly the inspiration for Annie Hall — she and Woody Allen were a duo for a while — but who knows? It fits her profile:

images

Thankfully, on the evidence of more recent work (Loose in the World, 2001), Henske went on to become a blowsy broad of the highest caliber.

For a choice slab of her early career, check out Rhino’s 2-CD retrospective, Big Judy.

 

 

Blog, Music

Iron Womb

Last week I was putting together a set of songs for my show (Dog’s Dinner, Wed eves. 8:30-10, wmpg.org) on the subject of Mexicans, walls and so forth, for example this gem from Tom Russell:

Who’s Gonna Build Your Wall?  

In the course of my researches I discovered that the U.S. Border Patrol has been quietly commissioning pop songs for Mexican radio on the subject of illegal immigration — specifically, how trying to slip across the border will be a horrible mistake and probably get you killed. Some of these numbers, like La Bestia Norte (aka Death Train) have gotten really popular on commercial radio:

La Bestia Norte

It’s so catchy the lyrics come as a surprise:

…The threatening snake appears/

Her scales made out of iron/

Her womb as well…

And we haven’t even boarded yet.

If this stuff is selling — and it is — and if we the people are producing it — and we are — where’s the money?

Where’s the Money?

 

dt1455               dt4880

 

 

Blog, Music

Ondrej Goes to Hollywood

Ondrej Havelka and His Melody Makers, whose music I’ve featured on-air a couple of times, are like Max Raabe and His Palast Orchester only weirder and farther east. Havelka, a Czech, has been fronting a live-wire retro-swing band since 1995, sleek, chic, everything you could ask for, but what really sets Havelka apart is his videos. They’re trippy black-and-white reinventions of old movies, or what would have been old movies if they’d ever gotten made, scenes he meticulously creates and then blows apart with invasions of song and dance. He’s got all the moves. He can do the Fred Astaire cane thing, the Donald O’Connor hat thing. He’s a brilliantly skilled anarchist, just the thing I guess for an area like Eastern Europe though God knows we could use him here if only to cheer ourselves up. A couple of clips for your delectation and amusement. You’ll love these, I promise:

OPSO – Sám s děvčetem v dešti

Me to tady nebavi

Charlie, My Boy

 

Blog, Music

The Long Fingers of Claude Debussy

In the early 1960s an album called “The First Family” appeared, comedy bits making fun of the Kennedy White House. Vaughan Meader played JFK. It was the hottest record in the country for a while. (After Kennedy’s assassination, Lenny Bruce’s first words onstage were, “Vaughan Meader is screwed.”) Anyway, one cut from it satirizes the TV tour that Jackie Kennedy gave of art works in the White House. On the album she goes from painting to painting saying, “Well, there’s this one….and this one…..and this great big one here…..and this little teeny one down here….” I’m reminded of that as I sit here about to broach the subject of Debussy’s influence on Bix Beiderbecke. The young man from Davenport, Iowa is fiercely remembered as a great jazz cornetist of the 1920s, but less so for his amazing (and stranger) piano compositions which began with things like the whole-tone scale and got more complicated from there. Others have delved into the technical aspects of this influence. All I can do is point and say, “There’s the link! You can hear it!” But what a thing it is to hear:

Voiles by Debussy (from Preludes, 1910)

“Voiles” was inspired by the famous “scarf dances” of Loie Fuller….

180px-Loie_Fuller_Folies_Bergere_02

….though probably not one as fast as this:

Loie Fuller Dancing With Big Scarves, 1896

Actually Loie Fuller is sometimes erroneously credited with performances by Papinta, The Flame Dancer:

Scarf Dance Wrongly Attributed to Fuller

But that’s neither nor there. My point is, Compare “Voiles” with this:

In a Mist by Bix Beiderbecke (1927)

Not all of his contemporaries fell back in awe. In his memoirs clarinetist Mezz Mezzrow wrote: “Bix was already reaching out beyond the frontiers of jazz into some strange musical jungle where he hoped to find Christ-knows-what….Over and over he would play the peculiar ‘modern’ music that was like a signpost to him showing him where he thought he had to go. These musical tangents, leading to a dozen different detours, were all scrambled up with the jazz in Bix’s head, and that mess led him finally to compose “In a Mist.”

For the record, Bix left behind three other such messes, less famous, in the same vein. They too are wonderful:

Candlelights (1930)

Flashes (1931)

In the Dark (1931)

Unlike “In a Mist,” these recordings are not by Bix himself because he didn’t live long enough to make them.

Jazz critic Gary Giddins mentions the Debussy-Bix connection in his afterword to Dorothy Baker’s jazz novel from the 50s, Young Man With a Horn. Pick it up and blow out of Squaresville.

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