One Trail Ends; Another Begins
Overall, I’m feeling pretty good around about now. I’m running on the nature trails again whenever I get the chance. Kids are all in school, doing great. I’m nearing the crunch-time last rehearsal weeks of the Senior Follies, trying to remember all of my cues and cra-a-a-zy moves, meanwhile slowly getting past my self-psychout with the song “Moon River.” The Lost Serenaders are back together, committed to keeping it going.
So, I’ve just learned a bunch of thirties & forties songs for the Follies and I’m getting back into doing close-harmony covers (mostly thirties & forties) with the Serenaders, and my CD project of originals–well, it’s just been kinda sitting there, bugging me. I’m giving CDs away, and I’ve done my one live performance of the songs with the band. And now–nothing. Not much interest in that batch of songs from anyone. The CD I just finished early this month seems as remote as Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves.”
Seems like it’s time to stop writing more songs. There are so many great ones out there. People like to hear songs they know. When we’re doing the close-harmony thing on a pop classic, we’re enjoying it, the audience is enjoying it, and we’re still doing something creative and original with music.
The original song trail has petered out, covered by brush and debris. So I’ll try a different trail for awhile and see where it leads. I’m ready.
Jazz or Classical?
My father-in-law has been a jazz guy since the mid-fifties. He collected jazz records, was an early member of the Dallas Jazz Society, and even tracked former Bird associate Buster Smith down to his hideout in Oak Cliff and wrote about that for downbeat. He and I have had many conversations about favorite jazz recordings, and have shared quite a few over the years.
So, imagine my surprise when, during his most recent visit, as he and his daughter and I talked on the couch, he announced that he really wanted to delve into classical music now. “I still like jazz,” he said, “but it seems to me that there’s so much more emotional depth and range in some classical music than in other types of music.”
I didn’t comment much, but my wife, who is going through a big Bach phase right now and has long loved classical music, was excited, and offered to make her dad some CD “samplers” of some of her favorites he may not have heard. She has now done that.
I do like classical music and love some classical works, although I don’t listen to them very much. I don’t know a lot about classical music and I can’t play it, other than some faintly-remembered guitar pieces I learned decades ago.
But doesn’t jazz music offer many examples of great emotional depth, in a wide palette of emotions? There are several Thelonious Monk tunes, particularly the version of “Pannonica” from Brilliant Corners, that perfectly express wistfulness. Ellington’s “Solitude,” Strayhorn’s “Lotus Blossom,” and Cannonball Adderley’s version of Gordon Jenkins’ “Goodbye” all bring a tear to my eye every time I listen to them.
And isn’t “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” as joyous as “Ode to Joy”? There are so many jazz performances that express utter, giddy joy. And there’s the ecstatic music of John Coltrane and Cecil Taylor. Maybe not for everyone, but those who love them find them to be very emotionally-involving.
I got a card from him in the mail today. (Yes, snail mail–another sign that he’s a guy who has class.) He starts the card with, “By my classical music comments, I think I threw you a curve. My favorite music is and will remain jazz.” I know my father-in-law would agree that jazz’s best songs are indeed very emotional. He’s just branching out a little.
My most recent rediscovery, coincidentally, is a two-fer LP of John Kirby. He was a bassist and bandleader who put together nice and tight little hoppin’ versions of classics, including classical themes. The last track on the fourth side is “Beethoven Riffs On.” Quite a few gems on these records, particularly “Royal Garden Blues” and “Jumping in the Pump Room.” Michael Brooks’ liner notes say, “There has never been such a tight, disciplined sound, combined with hair-raising musicianship and attack, before or since.”
Clarinetist Don Byron includes some John Kirby reconstructions on his album Bug Music. He also does Raymond Scott and Duke Ellington compositions and arrangements. It’s one of my favorites, but it’s so nice to hear the originals. (I also have a Raymond Scott EP from the fifties.) Classical jazz – jazzy classical.
Trailworthy Again
Last weekend I ran about twelve miles on the trails–a little over six at Oak Cliff Nature Preserve on Saturday and a little under six at Boulder Park on Sunday–which is the most trail running I’ve dared do in months. My knees feel OK, even after a couple of subsquent flat, paved runs.
In the pre-sunset hour these days it’s still around mid-nineties heat, but that’s more bearable on the dirt trails, through the woods, than on asphalt or concrete. So, more post-work trail runs.
And my most recent musical rediscovery: The Isley Brothers’ 1971 album Givin’ It Back. A discussion of the O’Jays got me thinking about a tune I hadn’t heard in decades: “Cold Bologna.” I found it on iTunes and was about to download it when I noticed what else was on the album. I figured I had to have the whole album, so I looked it up on Amazon, where the copies available were $21 and up. But an MP3 download was just $6.99. So I did that and had it in my grubby little paws in minutes.
Brought back memories of almost 40 years ago, when the album was new. So, what else is on it? Well, it’s an odd selection for the Isleys–covers, mostly of folk-rock songs. There are extended versions of Steve Stills’ “Love the One You’re With,” Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay,” and War’s “Spill the Wine,” all of which, in shorter versions, made the low end of the charts in 1971. There’s also a version of “Fire and Rain.”
The treatment’s odd, too, but enchanting. They feature an acoustic guitar on every song, which was unusual for soul groups then. Al Green did that a few years later on his great Belle Album. The acoustic strums along with the stretch-out vocals of The Isleys are, to me, a winning combo. I dig it the most.
And “Cold Bologna”–there’s a strange little number, written by Bill Withers. The verse/chorus is all around one seventh chord, played–yes–on acoustic guitar. Each verse/chorus modulates up a step. Shortest song on the seven-song album. Delightful.
Blues & the Abstract Truth
Great title–Oliver Nelson’s 1961 album that carried on with the Miles Davis Kind of Blue format. Heading to the nature trail for a run, with all of the music revue lyrics learned and my CD project performance done, I wanted to have some other music running through my head as I was running through the woods. So I put Blues and the Abstract Truth in my car CD player and listened to the absolutely perfect opening track, “Stolen Moments.” For about a half-mile, the song was lodged in there pretty well, but the last 5-and-a-half miles were cluttered with afterthoughts about my CD, the one-shot performance of it, and the quandary about where to go now.
The project began with an epiphany (hence its name, Happy Accidents) and should end or morph with a catharsis.
So, a little more about Oliver Nelson, who recorded a few other albums, with combos and with larger ensembles, but died young of a heart attack, caught up in writing and arranging music for TV shows. The All Music Guide to Jazz describes him as “a remarkable saxophonist who played with fire, speed, and creativity in a variety of styles,” but as a “good composer, though his works for larger groups were sometimes pretentious.” Blues and the Abstract Truth is a small-group work, and it shines from beginning to end–though it really is hard to top “Stolen Moments.”
I like the album almost as much as Kind of Blue, and in addition to Blue musicians Bill Evans and Paul Chambers, it features Eric Dolphy and Freddie Hubbard. Highly recommended!
So, what about the bandleader/composer? Len Lyons’ The 101 Best Jazz Albums, which includes this album in its list, says: “Oliver Nelson is a little-known tragic hero–little known by the public, a hero to many jazz musicians, and tragically swallowed up by Hollywood’s film and television industry.” Lyons even suggests that Nelson’s heart attack may have resulted from his frustrations with his music career.
“Abstract Truth”–I like the sound of that. I’ll listen to the album a few more times and try to dislodge my own musical frustrations.
Senior Follies 2009
Well, it’s that time again. Rehearsals have started for the second installment of the Senior Follies. I had such a blast last year that I auditioned again this year, and made it again. It’s a real challenge for me–a whole different type of performance than the bar band-type gig or even the singer-songwriter thing. You gotta be where you’re supposed to be every step, every note. And you gotta hit every note and remember every lyric. Great thing for us seniors that memory exercise helps us evade…uh, what was it again? Oh yeah, Alzheimer’s.
One great thing about the Follies shows is discovering or rediscovering great songs. Last year, the two discoveries I got to sing were “They Didn’t Believe Me,” a fantastic Jerome Kern song, sometimes referred to as the first “conversational” song in a musical. The other was “Are You Havin’ Any Fun?,” a little-covered, bouncy number that Bennett & Basie did a great rendition of. I’ve added both of those to my repertoire. My rediscovery was “La Vie en Rose,” a beautiful song I’d never considered singing before. I added that one, too.
This year, the songs I’m singing were all already familiar to me, but, again, they’re songs I’d never considered singing. “Young at Heart” was a surprise. It’s not easy to sing, with lots of twisty lines. I once again bow to Ol’ Blue Eyes, who makes perfection seem so easy and easy-going.
I’m also singing “Moon River,” a song I grew up being programmed to hate, since my mom and all her friend moms loved Andy Williams. I think his albums were the only non-musical cast album LPs my parents owned. Andy was indeed a square, with his Apache scarves and cardigans (as measured against Beatle boots and fringe vests).
But as I learned “Moon River” and played through it (since I’ll be accompanying myself on guitar in the show), I came to really appreciate the lyrics and the music, which are by Mercer & Mancini–two masters. It’s really an excellent song that perfectly suited the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I read that Johnny Mercer had originally titled it “Blue River.” “Moon River” works better.
My discovery this time is “Enjoy Yourself.” (Not the Jackson 5 hit.) I’d heard this 1948 novelty number before, but just paid enough attention to get the message: don’t waste away! “Enjoy yourself–it’s later than you think.” We’ve worked it out in 4-part harmony, my favorite type of singing. It’s a simple song, but sounds very nice with the harmony. Previous hit versions were done by Guy Lombardo and by Doris Day, but it was also done by the perennially-cool Louis Prima, and, much later, by Jolie Holland, Manu Chao, and The Specials. The composer, Carl Sigman, also wrote “Ebb Tide” and “Love Story,” and the lyricist, Herb Magidson, also wrote “How Long Has This Been Goin’ On” and “Gone with the Wind.”
The Senior Follies, 2009 edition, runs September 11-13 at the historic Majestic Theatre in downtown big d.
Still Kind of Blue
Was reading a recent article in New York magazine (“1959: Sex, Jazz, & Datsuns”) that makes a pretty good case that 50 years ago occurred the pivotal year that changed our history–not 1964 or 1968. Well, all were big years in American history. Not gonna lobby for one in particular.
One example of the many 1959 milestones (pun intended) is the Kind of Blue album, still the best-selling jazz album of all time. It was truly something new when it came out. When I became a fan many years later (I was only six when it came out, so cut me some slack), it still seemed revolutionary to me, compared to other things I’d been listening to.
The section on Miles and his album also recounts an incident outside a New York club where Miles Davis was performing. Davis, escorting a white woman to her cab, stopped to light a cigarette. A cop told him to move along, to which Miles replied, “I work here–that’s my name up there.” Another cop rushed over and beat Miles with a billy club; then the cops handcuffed him and hauled him into jail.
Fifty years later, a very similar incident is in the news. Now, Henry Louis Gates may have provoked his own arrest by his belligerence, but it’s hard to imagine any internationally-known white Harvard prof getting caught up in the same situation. Partly because a white cop may not be so pre-conditioned to be wary of a white man trying to get into a nice, big house. Partly because white people aren’t pre-conditioned to feeling harassed by white cops.
Fifty years later, I still listen to Kind of Blue, and I also listen to another hugely popular jazz album of about the same age, Dave Brubeck’s Time Out. I’m trying to imagine white jazzer Dave Brubeck, in front of a night club in New York, being beaten and arrested for not keeping moving. Just can’t picture it.
Trouble in Mind
Had a rough day yesterday, but went running on the pavement after work today. 92 degrees, with the heat index at 99. A wee bit too hot. I did a heat-and-knee wimp-out combo and only ran 3-&-a-half miles.
On the iPod was “Somebody to Love” by Queen, my current nominee for best vocal arrangement in pop-rock history. OK, “Bohemian Rhapsody” is a vocal tour-de-force, but it’s kind of overly ambitious. But wonderful, like “We Are the Champions” (great vocal chords in the chorus) and “Killer Queen.” Who else in the pop rock vein, since the Beach Boys, does vocal harmony that’s that inventive ? Well, OK, definitely Rufus Wainwright. No competition for the last ten-plus years. And Elliott Smith did some great layered harmonies. Grizzly Bear and Fleet Foxes have their moments.
But Queen at their best (Freddy Mercury at his best)–exquisite.
My most recent discovery: a little background info about the writer of one of my favorite songs. Richard M. Jones wrote a few other songs that were recorded, but “Trouble in Mind” is the one that’s been done many times through the decades since he wrote it. It’s one of my favorites to sing. I never knew anything about Mr. Jones.
So, I was browsing through a great old coffee table book originally published in 1967 (my edition published in 1978): New Orleans Jazz: A Family Album. So many great old photos and factoids.
Richard M. Jones was there in the exhaustive listings of New Orleans performers. There was a picture, too. He’s at the piano, smiling cautiously. He was born in Donaldsonville in 1889, died in Chicago in 1945. “Primarily a solo pianist,” it says, “Jones worked the higher class bordellos before he was 20 years old…At 13 was playing alto horn in a brass band.” Seems that around 1919, he got away from performing and was involved in music publishing and arranging, and for awhile was the “race” recording director for Okeh. And, most importantly, he wrote a jazz/blues/folk standard done by singers from Chippie Hill to Bob Wills to Nina Simone to Mose Allison: “Trouble in Mind.”
Trailing Grooves
Back on the trails, as I get more confident about my knee. I just can’t stay away from them. It’s my proxy for getting away from Dallas, right in Dallas. I may have overdone it this weekend: 6-plus miles yesterday, and almost seven today. But my knee feels OK now. Hopefully, it’ll be OK tomorrow.
With my CD project complete, I wasn’t thinking about that set of songs while I ran the trails. I’ve been listening to a lot of Bessie Smith this week, so I was thinking about her stuff. Then, at the acoustic Jam today, whaddya know–two different people did Bessie Smith songs, “You’ve Been a Good Old Wagon” and “Reckless Blues,” the one about “When I wasn’t nothin’ but a child/All you men tried to drive me wild.” (Pretty stout stuff, eighty years later.) No one ever does Bessie at the Jam. Great to hear.
My rediscovery this week was the album Dinner Music by a lady, Carla Bley, who came along a few decades after Bessie Smith. I love Carla Bley’s music, so I snag her LPs whenever I run across them. I spotted this one, which I had not heard in ages, and brought it home for some spins. Great songs, as always colored by the fantastic trombone of Roswell Rudd. This one also has the hot chops of the members of Stuff–Richard, Tee, Eric Gale, Steve Gadd, Cornell Dupree. Also has Carla’s hubbie Michael Mantler on trumpet, and Carlos Ward on sax.
A period piece from 1973 that wears very well (but still sounds very much located in the early seventies).
Writing About Running
So, my three favorite activities are making music, running and reading.
It would be ideal if these three activities could interrelate. I read quite a bit about music–and yes, I’ve heard the quote “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture” (but who says dancing about architecture is such a bad thing?). I just finished a pretty good bio of W.C. Handy that came out last year. Not the most riveting biography I ever read, but I was quite interested in the story of the “Father of the Blues.” So those two, music and reading, for me anyway, go together.
How about music and running? When I’m on the running path, I’m always immersed in music. If I’m on a flat, paved course, I usually have my iPod, and I listen to a wide variety of music. (Most recently: Queen, Muddy Waters, Mariem Hassan, and, yes, a little King of Pop.) If I’m on the dirt trails, I’m thinking about music while I run. Music and running are a perfect fit, always entwined.
But I don’t do too much reading about running. I guess that’s because there are quite a few really great writers who love music and have figured out a way to make words about music interesting, but most of the folks who write about running are, well, jocks. There’s not a lot to say about running, I guess, really. There’s gear talk, details of training regimens, who had what time where. Unlike baseball, with its culture clashes, zen strategies, and great failures that provide the stuff of fascinating literature, there are not so many great books about the sport of running. The Murakami book What I Think About When I Think About Running is an exception. That’s because Murakami is a very good writer who happens to be an avid, longtime runner. I’ve heard nice things about a novel called Once a Runner, written by a runner, John L. Parker, Jr. Runner’s World called it “the best novel ever written about running.” (What are the runners-up?) I’ve been looking for it, hoping to find another runner who can write.
Favorite Things: Miles & Ruth & Harry
I was reading an article in Newsweek about the Miles Davis album Kind of Blue, which turns 50 this year. The article notes that the album is the top-selling jazz album of all time, and that it was so popular in the years after it came out that Miles Davis was a pop celebrity of the era. This is one of those cliche albums that you feel funny about putting on a favorites list, because everyone else has got it on their lists. Sgt. Pepper and Pet Sounds fall into that category as well. I have no hesitation about putting any of those on any all-time favorites list. They are masterpieces and, for me, they’ve stood the test of time. Quincy Jones points out that Kind of Blue sounds like it could’ve been made yesterday. I agree, but would an album like it have been made yesterday? Was an album like it made yesterday, and released into oblivion?
On my camping vacation last week (reading and hiking, but no running, due to my knee issues), I finished the wonderful book Lark and Termite and started on A Sight for Sore Eyes, a Ruth Rendell psychological thriller written in 1998. I seldom read books in that genre, but I went through a period during which I read quite a few of Rendell’s non-Wexford books, novels that invariably feature several unrelated characters whose lives very gradually become intertwined. And one of those characters always winds up being a psychopath. I enjoy these books, and Ruth Rendell is such a careful writer that they don’t seem like guilty plesasures. I picked this one up because it was on a list I saw of Entertainment Weekly’s “most readable” books of the past quarter-century. It didn’t disappoint. I went into town and bought another Rendell, The Water’s Lovely, which isn’t nearly as tension-building or labyrinthine, but nevertheless is a page-turner.
Yesterday morning, on my last day before returning to work, I put on one of my favorite LP sides of all time (yes, children, we used to think in terms of record sides): side one of Nilsson’s Nilsson Schmilsson. It’s a concept half-album of songs that seem to represent the conflicted feelings one has in the wee hours of the night and in the morning after. The songs, in order, are: “Gotta Get Up,” “Driving Along,” Early in the Morning,” “The Moonbeam Song,” and “Down.” A great mood piece. Side two is a mishmash.
