David Allan Coe “Rides Again”

I remember the first time I heard David Allan Coe—and heard of David Allan Coe—it was while I was hitchhiking, somewhere in Northern Ohio, sometime around 1982 or 1983. I got a ride with a guy who was playing a DAC tape—and going on and on about how David Allan Coe was the best. I thought he said Edgar Allan Poe. “Quoth the raven nevermore, and so forth?” I asked. No. David Allan Coe. Thus the name was forever etched in my mind— and from then on pretty much permanently connected to the kind of guy who picks up hitchhikers and offers them weed. Not a bad guy at all—seemed happy to make a human connection—and didn’t break out any weird or offensive shit. I guess DAC is known as an “outlaw” country artist—which means more style-wise than any other thing—but he did, apparently, do time—and he’s not afraid to piss people off, delve into illegal subject matter, and you probably wouldn’t want to fight him (of course, I don’t want to fight anyone, thank you!) This record is curious in that there aren’t any spaces between the songs—so it kind of plays like one long song (well, two, one for each side)—which is perfectly okay, and in fact, really moves things along. It also sounds pretty much like it was recorded in one session—even in one shot—as the main guitar sound—with that kind of “flange” effect—stays constant throughout. Sound-wise, it’s a quite consistent record.

Side Two has a bit of a different feeling, though, with “Lately I’ve Been Thinking Too Much Lately”—which is my kind of song title—and it also occurs to me that it sounds a bit like a Jimmy Buffet title—and the song even sounds a bit like Jimmy Buffet—or at least like they were drinking from the same bottle. The band here is known as “The Tennessee Hat Band,” and they’re very good—tight, and with a genuine country sound. All the songs are written or co-written by DAC, with the exception of “Laid Back and Wasted” (by “D. Murphy”), which is an excellent song, and one he must be fond of. He’s a good singer—easy to listen to when he’s not cursing. The two songs that may wear out their welcome before you wear out the vinyl are: “Willie, Waylon, and Me,” and “If That Ain’t Country” (which are probably favorites of some, but this is my review)—which makes this one of those records (of which are surprisingly frequent) where I’d recommend skipping the first and last song. Start with “The House We’ve Been Calling Home,” which is maybe my favorite on the record—great song—and then lift the needle before… Oh, well, okay—if you want the full DAC experience—like I said, there are no spaces between the songs—play it all. You kind of go right to David Allan Coe County country, smoke something, drink a beer—and then it’s time to choose the next record.

Anna Moffo “Anna Moffo sings Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini & Verdi”

I don’t know anything about opera, and I may have no other recordings of opera among my hundreds of records—and I have to admit, I probably bought this one because of the cover. Also, I like the name “Anna Moffo”—which is nearly palindromic. Anyway, I like opera when I hear it, but like pasta, soccer, and philosophy, I just don’t know enough to be any kind of judge of whether it’s good, bad, competent, groundbreaking, classic, etc. As someone who doesn’t follow opera, I usually only hear it in the context of a movie—usually used during a rather dramatic montage, often depicting extreme events—though that use has become somewhat of a cliché. You can pretty much take any piece of opera and put it to a random, dramatic movie scene with the sound turned down, and it will work, at least for a bit. What’s more, I don’t even know these composers—well, a couple, only by name—but had I seen the names—Verdi, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti—out of context, I would have guessed: composer, wine, pasta shape, sports car. Or really cool bicycle. What’s with the Italians, anyway—do they make anything that isn’t cool and/or beautiful? I suppose that’s another cliché, but I mean it as a compliment, and why not?

Anna Moffo was born in Wayne, Pennsylvania, which probably sounds more backwoods than it is—but still it’s about as far from Rome as… Wayne, Pennsylvania. She went to Italy to study, and the rest is biography. Notes on the back of the album fill out her history, and status, and also mention that this record was intended to raise money for the preservation of Venice (Italy, not the bar in Kent, Ohio, which might also be a worthy restoration project). As striking in appearance as Anna Moffo was—evident in lots of photos on the internet—especially those where she has big hair or enough eye makeup to swallow up the sun—it’s kind of surprising she’s not pictured on the cover of this record. Though, admittedly, the cover is probably what prompted me to buy it—a huge plate of spaghetti with a liberal amount of bright red tomato sauce being ladled over it. It’s a good one. I wonder, however, if opera fans found it a little offensive—even if it does look delicious, vibrant, and enticing—just like this music. Still, I think Anna Moffo on the cover might have sold more records.

J. J. Johnson “First Place”

“First Place” refers to—it says right on the album cover—“The most consistent first place winner in jazz polls throughout the world.” Which, I guess, is something that will sell records—like calling a book a “best seller”—even though everyone knows that there is absolutely no correlation between what is popular and what is good—unless there’s, arguably, a negative correlation—except “everyone” does NOT know that—and in fact “everyone” is a group that people who DO know that would prefer not to be a part of. That said, this is nice jazz record—and even though pretty much everyone should be able to enjoy it, “no one” listens to jazz anymore. (So say some—I know that’s not true.) J. J. Johnson plays trombone, which is an insane instrument that you probably hear more in marching bands than jazz. Think about it, the slide trombone—it’s like a mad experiment gone wrong. What a nutso idea. If I had it all to do over, I’d love to dedicate my life to playing the slide trombone. I just took a brief hour reading about the trombone—it’s been around forever. Well, I tried and failed to play brass instruments, so I should quit dreaming. J. J. Johnson is a modern jazz trombonist, in that he embraced Be-Bop—I guess a lot of musicians felt the trombone wasn’t suited to that style, but he did it—even if he did knock over some things or put out an occasional eye. That’s my one trombone joke, sorry. He recorded like 50 records over the second half of the 20^th Century—was a composer and arranger and performer—and was the most consistent first place winner in jazz polls throughout the world.

I love the album cover—it’s a bold design, nice colors, very cool. J. J. Johnson sitting in front of a tan table with a tan background—he’s wearing a suit and tie, has a ring. In front of him, his trombone, mouthpiece removed, an ashtray, matches, and a glass of liquor with no ice. Also, a hat on the table—though I can’t really tell if it’s a snap-brim or a beret. It’s a very cool album cover. On the back are three columns of zine-size, tiny print—liner notes by Nat Hentoff—in which he goes in depth at length. I’ll make a generalization that people used to read more—and that includes the liner notes on their popular albums—in 1957 than they do now. And also, maybe jazz fans read more than fans of other music. Also, there’s an ad for a Columbia Hi-Fi—a one-piece thing, on legs—I wonder if it’s like the one my parents had? (This record is on Columbia, by the way). The band is Max Roach, Paul Chambers, and Tommy Flanagan—drums, bass, piano—among the best there was, in jazz, at those instruments. The nine songs are a combination of standards and numbers I haven’t heard—including three compositions by J. J. Johnson—they all go together nicely. I’ve always liked the name J. J., by the way—because it was my dad’s name (he went by others, too, as do most J. J.s). J. J. Johnson’s name was James Louis Johnson—so why he went by J. J. and not J. L.—well, I guess, a matter of preference—I suppose anyone could go by J. J.—but if neither your first nor middle nor nick-name didn’t start with a “J”—that might be kind of weird. But still, you could do it.

Frank Sinatra “Softly, As I Leave You”

Interesting… I wrote a review of this record, October 2019—but never posted it—which makes me wonder what was going on October 2019. I don’t remember. Most likely I was hit by a wave of the ol’ midlife crisis, and seeing how this is a midlife crisis record, maybe it hit too close to home. Am I over my midlife crisis? I guess I am, at this point—seeing how the entire concept seems a bit silly at this point. Anyway, not one to waste effort, I’m going to reprint my earlier review here, and maybe edit a little:

I’m not sure why but this record immediately strikes me as a “midlife crisis” record—regardless of Sinatra’s age, or personal life—I mean it could all be an act. I mean, it is an act, of course!—but always with some personal truth behind it, right? Since this is a 1964 record, I guess he was pushing fifty when he recorded it—so it makes sense. More than anything, it’s the song selection, and none more so than “Here’s to the Losers”—which I think of as the classic Sinatra expression of a certain time period—I guess this one—and feeling—kind of jazzy, jaunty, breezy, romantic, ironic. Of course, it’s not an ode to losers, as in people like me, but to people who lose the battle to not be in love. Here’s some lines: “Here’s to those who love not too wisely, know not wisely, but too well.” Try singing that when you’re drunk. Here’s another good one: “Here’s to those who drink their dinners when that lady doesn’t show.” It alternates between men losers, and women losers, and then one for couples: “To the lonely summer lovers when the leaves begin to fall/ Here’s to the losers, a-bless them all.”

The album cover is pretty uninspired, as far as Sinatra covers go—there’s a grainy (really grainy) headshot of Sinatra looking like somebody’s dad. The cover also includes the names of four songs and three movies. One interesting thing is that the album title on top is punctuated in this way: SOFTLY, AS I LEAVE YOU SINATRA (it’s the rare comma in a song title). All caps, same font, and no break between the title and “Sinatra”—as if “Sinatra” is part of the song title and the album title. Weird. The back cover has a frame that says: “Frank Sinatra Sings All There Is To Know About Love/ Softly, As I Leave You”—like it’s the label on a can of sardines. Then a classic, vertical photo of Sinatra in the recording studio, standing, hands in pockets, hat on, his face hidden behind a microphone and music stand, standing ashtray nearby. The liner notes, by Stan Cornyn, are some of the best I’ve read in a while. It’s a detailed, poetic description of Sinatra coming into a recording session, going through a song, and finishing off with a Lucky Strike.

End of earlier review. Anyway, this is a very good record. For some reason, I feel like it would be a good one to get if you owned no Sinatra records. Maybe because it’s not one of his best—not even close—yet there is something absolute about it. One interesting thing—in the credits on back, there are arranger credits on each song, and there are multiple—I count five—different arrangers. Usually, I believe, there is one arranger per record—and so there are some real different styles here. That gives it a feeling of a greatest hits, or retrospective. So there are show tunes, movie songs, ballads, and modern pop numbers. As well as a real oddball, “Come Blow Your Horn,” in which he enunciates the lyrics like he’s laying down the law to the staff of a restaurant on opening day—it’s almost like beatnik poetry set to orchestra. They’re all interesting, and some are great. I suppose it was 1964, after all, and this record feels a bit like a transition from the classic Fifties Sinatra records to the later ones, like “That’s Life.” There may be no time in history where popular music took such a severe left turn, and one of the fascinating things about Sinatra is how he tried to adapt. One of the things I’ve always liked about him is how he can be good and bad, corny and profound, old-fashioned and modern—all on the same record—and sometimes within a single song. It’s all a matter of opinion, of course, but I’m a big lifelong fan of all of it.