Sly Stone hit some lofty heights in the early days of his career. For a while it seemed he could do no wrong. It didn't really last beyond the early 70s. In 2011 he put out an album called I'm Back!, but it didn't really prove he was. That's true in a lot of cases. The downside of achievement is the struggle to equal it. But at least you've achieved.
As to the title of this song, it's still summer, not as hot. Bit better for sleeping.
I was listening to a DJ today and could tell by her voice that she was in her twenties. At one point she said that she had "missed the blog era". I'd known for some time that blogging wasn't the craze it once was, but it hadn't occurred to me to think of it as a bygone era, one that youngsters don't recall. Welcome to my fossil collection.
That's as good a setup as any to a music post. I've been thinking about the late 60s emergence of Neil Young as a solo artist, something of a classic reversal. Just a couple of years earlier, he had been a guitarist and secondary vocalist in Buffalo Springfield. And in that time, at least as I see it, he was in Stephen Stills's shadow. Stills, who'd turned down the chance to be a Monkee*, had a great husky voice and a precocious collection of songs. Young was clearly talented, but seemed destined to be in the background.
Once the band broke up, things changed. Stills didn't stop being a good singer or songwriter. But it started to become apparent that the gawky Canadian was just on another level. Which might be why Young didn't have a consistent interest in being the fourth side of Crosby, Stills, and Nash. He was already flying.
*The guitarist job in the Monkees went to Stills's fellow Texan Mike Nesmith, although Stills sounds a lot more Texan than Nesmith when he talks.
What happened to Syd Barrett? The short answer is drugs and madness, I guess. LSD has been used to treat certain ailments, but is less than great in treating schizophrenia. In later life he laid low and stayed out of trouble, but seemed to have sealed off the part of his brain that had started Pink Floyd.
Possibly necessary for self preservation, but sad nonetheless. He had been inspired. His gift carried him unsteadily through two solo albums, and as late as 1974 he created some interesting guitar demos, albeit not developed into anything. And of course there were early Floyd songs like "The Scarecrow", both eerie and touching.
It's been about eight and a half years since I put some Milt Jackson on this blog. Looking at that post now I see a notice on the square where the video should be telling me that it's unavailable. On the internet, as in life, pleasures are often ephemeral.
Anyway, this is the Modern Jazz Quartet, and they seem to like what they do.
I don't know or much care how Dame Edith Sitwell is ranked as a poet these days. She speaks to me, anyway. She pursued her vision with verve, and it remains infectious.
Façade came early in her career. She'd do many other great poems. But this suite with accompanying music is a terrific example of her having fun.
When I first saw the header for this video I said, "Wow, are they actually playing 'Rain', the song John Lennon wrote for the Beatles?" As it happens, the answer is "no." Or if they are, the tune has been altered beyond recognition. But they are playing something tuneful. I mean, I don't think I could play music that well with my nose. Same goes for pretty much everyone I know.
Composer Gavin Bryars started the Portsmouth Sinfonia in 1970. The idea was that the members of the orchestra shouldn't be familiar with their instruments. If they were professional musicians, they should pick another instrument rather than the one in which they specialize. Brian Eno played clarinet with them for a while and they play on his song "Put a Straw Under Baby."
It's an interesting concept. Bryars was a trained double bassist, and I don't think he would denigrate skill. But you do sometimes discover new things just by stumbling around.
I saw this clip today. Not for the first time, but something struck me about it.
As far as the music goes, the song and performance proves that the Beatles were still the Beatles even as the whole thing was imploding. But look at them. John, George, and Ringo are all dressed for winter. As well they might be, as it's late January in London. Billy Preston's coat looks pretty well insulated as well.
But Paul? He's out there bundled up in nothing more than a suit jacket. No sweater, no scarf. Either he's trying to psych the other three out―which I wouldn't put past him―or he's got special bassist powers.
I've heard it said that coffee is supercharged and tea is time-released. A kind of sprint vs. marathon effect. Truth to tell, I'm no expert. I tend to get my caffeine from coffee. When I drink tea, it's most often herbal.
Still, I love the way this song captures those qualities of tea. The first verse is gentle and a bit sleepy, but picks up speed. With the "Hallelujah, Rosa Lea" chorus, well, the caffeine hits full force.
Couple of interesting facts about Van Dyke Parks, aside from his having auditioned for the Monkees, which I believe I dealt with in another post.
A little bit after that, he was a member of the Mothers of Invention. For, like, a couple of weeks. By the time they recorded Freak Out! he was gone. It seems to have been rather easy to fall out with Frank Zappa, and he did.
Also, at the time he recorded Song Cycle he was highly influenced by Mexican keyboardist and composer Juan Garcia Esquivel. The above song doesn't really sound like Esquivel, but there is a similar sense of playing around with the listener's stereo equipment and headspace.
Tom Lehrer finally slipped this mortal coil this past weekend, aged 97. It was a fairly lowkey news item, in part because this was at the end of the week when we also lost Ozzy, the Hulkster, and Theo Huxtable.
But there's another reason, implicit in Harry Briggs's memorial piece. Which, as a side note, mentions Lehrer having "no interest" in Stephen Sondheim, which is a little strange since Sondheim introduced him in what may have been his last live performance. But never mind. No, as Briggs notes, Lehrer "effectively vanished from the public eye half a century ago."
The idea that satire became obsolete the day that Henry Kissinger won the Nobel Peace Prize makes a good cover for Lehrer's retirement from songwriting. But it's more that satire is a limited resource. Mark Russell spent decades doing concerts, crafting parody songs for every political occasion. On one level you have to admire his persistence, but how much of this stuff lasted?
Lehrer recorded four albums, with his first live album being basically just the second studio album plus an audience. Then two more songs in the 70s for The Electric Company. But the best of these songs struck at the heart of basic situations to reveal what was appalling and funny about them. He had no need to keep up with the political Joneses.
You don't hear tubas that much anymore. Or at least you don't hear them in that many places. Jazz has gotten away from it, with a few exceptions. It's not often played in rock the way sax has made a kind of home there. For the most part it's exiled to the classical world and high school marching bands. But the tuba can definitely induce a mood.
I won't go into too much detail over how I came to hear this song, although WFMU is involved. And I'm always happy to listen to it.
Rachel Freund, as far as I can tell, doesn't have any of her music on YouTube. But there is an article up on her and her husband. It sounds like they're doing right by the musicians and aspiring musicians in their neck of the woods.
Funny, Sacramento certainly isn't the first city I think of in relation to polka.
Funny how words and phrases can shift on you.
Merriam-Webster dates the term "new wave" to 1960. They don't seem to have a reason to lie about that. For now I'm not going to go into the question of when Merriam does have reason to lie about something. But assuming this point of etymology to be accurate, the phrase dates to the time of the French Nouvelle Vague, i.e. Truffaut, Godard, etc.
Then there's new wave music. New wave rock became a current term in 1977 when it became apparent that punk itself wasn't going to make commercial inroads, at least not in America. It remained in use until about halfway through the 80s. Not necessarily referring to the same thing, though. I love Talking Heads and Elvis Costello. Duran Duran and A Flock of Seagulls are also fun. But the latter two were not doing what the former two did. The culture had changed, with language hard pressed to catch up.
"New wave" was used up to 1984 to describe new music. After that it faded out. But currently a lot of people assume that any popular music from the decade that wasn't rap, hair metal, or heartland rock must be new wave. Time monkeys with words and concepts too.
It's interesting hearing songs you know redone without vocals. Some people―those who are musicians themselves―can no doubt lay out the notes or otherwise tell you what the players are doing. I can only go on impressions but I recognize things. For example there's this Joni Mitchell song.
And then there's this jazz cover by pianist Leslie Pintchik, about whom I know very little.
A couple of things to point out: By For the Roses Mitchell had already started incorporating jazz elements, which she'd been building up since she was a teenage hepcat. The original of "Banquet" isn't particularly jazzy, though.
Both versions of the song have heavy doses of piano, of course. In Pintchik's version it takes some of what were vocal lines in Mitchell's original. Jazz musicians are often said to learn the lyrics of songs they play even if they don't sing them, just to get the feel. This seems to be a case where the leader and band did that.
Bach on vibraphone. Specifically, "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." This gentleman whose hands are the only thing we see of him can play it. I suspect Milt Jackson could have as well, given the classical inclinations of the Modern Jazz Quartet. Of course maybe if Bach had lived a couple of centuries later he would have been a jazzman himself. "That cat with a wig can really lay down a groove."
San Francisco pianist had a full career during his too-short life. As well as―for much of his adult life―an even fuller mustache. So how would he have felt about everyone remembering him for Peanuts Christmas music?
Well, I can't speak for him. But his compositions and interpretations for A Charlie Brown Christmas show an inventiveness and love that you don't achieve without putting some of your soul into the work. This riff on a 19th century German carol very much included. So yeah, I think he'd be cool with this being his legacy.
Merry Christmas, friends.
I've only seen a little of Peter Gunn. Seemed like a setup with potential, so I may check it out again. Just haven't gotten around to it.
Definitely can't fault the music. Blake Edwards had already found Henry Mancini, who would go on to do the Pink Panther music, of course. He was doing some really atmospheric stuff.
