Norrie Paramor’s Orchestra “Amor, Amor!”

The full title of this 1961 thrift store classic includes: “Great Latin Standards” by Norrie Paramor’s Orchestra—which is effective in telling you what this record contains (great Latin standards), and you might know some of the song titles—I didn’t, but some of the tunes sound familiar. But who is Norrie Paramor—certainly that couldn’t be a real name? The liner notes on back might tell me. He’s a “unique” arranger, favored by the “international set”—and he has a “special British touch.” Not much else needs to be said. The instrumentation includes a Latin rhythm section, a solitary French horn, piano and celeste and the occasional voice of soprano, Patricia Clark. She is from Scotland (I’m resorting to the internet now) and is definitely not the woman on the album cover, who frankly looks a little demented. I mean, in a good way, and I think that’s what they had in mind—you know, “Amor, Amor!” Norrie is a nickname for Norman (I’ll have to remember that), AKA “B-Side Norrie.” I’m laughing because that’s what it says on the Wikipedia—not sure what that means. This is hot record, and would be just right for, you know, “dancing the beguine, merengue, or cha-cha.” It creates an atmosphere, and is also somewhat cinematic, so I’m not surprised to see that Norrie Paramor also did film music—and I’ve got to list a few of the films here, because it’s been a while since I’ve seen such a lineup of demented sounding titles (and no, I’m not making these up). “Serious Charge,” “A Pair of Briefs,” “The Fast Lady,” “The Wild and the Willing,” “Two and Two Make Six,” “My Lover, My Son,” “No My Darling Daughter,” and “Father Came Too!”

Ahmad Jamal “Sun Set”

The first song, “If Not for Me,” starts out particularly understated—you know the song, so when he doesn’t even finish one of the phrases, your mind finishes it, but it’s supremely pleasing in that it denies your expectations, as well as fulfills your expectations. Then there’s a part where a couple of notes are repeated to the extent that if it was a CD, you’d be certain it was skipping, even though this record came out in 1976, and CDs were still on the drawing board, right? (I don’t remember anymore.) Well… certainly when it was recorded, over a decade earlier. But it doesn’t sound like a record skip—so I guess back then, it would probably just evoke a kind of weird but interesting repetition. I know nothing about jazz, really—despite listening to years and years of Phil Schaap’s radio shows—but you don’t necessarily need to know much to enjoy it. Of course, the more you know, the better. It’s kind of funny how opposite I feel about live jazz recordings and live rock recordings. I avoid the rock ones—I can think of very few I like—too much energy with nowhere to go, not to mention inane patter (could drugs have been a factor?) But for jazz, live recordings make perfect sense.

This is a double record—a repackaging from “Chess Jazz Master Series.” It’s put together by a guy named Dan Nooger, who wrote the liner notes. It’s a release of a couple of records that were live recordings from 1958 and 1961—nearly 30 songs. The personal is the same: Ahmad Jamal, piano; Israel Crosby, bass; Vernel Fournier, drums. So… these are recordings of live shows from just before I was born and just after I was born. And for whatever reason, this is music that connects with me like I was listening to nothing but this all my life. I wonder who decided to call it “Sun Set”—rather than “Sunset” or “Chess Set”—interesting. The cover is a picture of, I suppose, a sunset (though, I might have thought moonrise) over some mountains. It’s funny—the picture is roughly the aspect ratio of a movie—but the cover opens up, and then the picture, a landscape, continues onto the back—and becomes the aspect ratio of a CinemaScope movie. I don’t know if that was intentional or not—but I’ll take it.

I don’t know that much about Ahmad Jamal, but I have a couple of his LPs—that I was able to find without mortgaging anything. No doubt I’ll pick up another one. The Big Board says he’s currently 92 years old—and he was born the same year as my dad, in roughly the same geographical area, with partly the same name (he changed his name to Ahmad Jamal in 1950, when he converted to Islam). He started playing piano at the age of 3, and by now has been releasing records for seven decades or so. I suppose by listening to this record enough times I know quite a lot about him (and his bass player and drummer). Hearing a good musician’s music is a direct connection to them—I guess that’s partly why we feel so strongly about music. And for some reason, piano, more than anything else, strikes me as a direct connection to the musician’s mind. Piano was the first instrument I tried to play—and I guess it was the first time I can recall experiencing significant failure. But that didn’t turn me against the instrument, or people who play piano. I might always consider it my one true love.

Martin Denny “Romantica”

Martin Denny “Romantica” 1961

Or, more accurately: Romantica – The Lush and Exotic Sounds of Martin Denny. From 1961. I sure can’t keep track of these Martin Denny records—which ones I like best, which ones I’ve heard, which ones I have, and which ones I’ve lost. There are a lot of them. And I’ve heard a lot. I haven’t yet heard one and thought, “What happened there?” As in, it was inferior. But I also haven’t heard one and said, “That’s way better than the rest!” But there must be both profound and subtle differences between them. (I haven’t heard any later ones.) There must be a good Martin Denny list out there. Should I look? Another time. Another rainy day. What did occur to me is that I might have reviewed this one—so I looked back—no, but I wrote about an earlier one—and wrote almost exactly what I wrote above! Am I a person who just keeps repeating himself? I guess so. I guess I should go back and read my own bullshit once in a while! So, what I decided I’d do, is take the same approach as the earlier one—I’ll listen to it and describe my feelings—the audio journey it takes me on. But first, a quick description of the cover—It’s dominated by a bare-shouldered woman who’s staring right at us, and behind her, a multidose of out-of-focus colored balls—could be pills, or lights, or beads, or balloons, or caviar. I’ll go with the caviar.

The back cover says: “…twelve selections that are ideal for a dream voyage on an ocean of serene romance.” So here we go. Oh, wow, I’m literally on the ocean, in a big ship—I guess it’s dated by modern standards—but would have seemed futuristic when I was one year old. Sixty-some years later, but the same things appeal to me: the salt air, and fish leaping from the sea, and a young woman I see who I focus right in on, as if she was top-billed in a movie or something. In typical rom-com fashion, we don’t hit it off—I guess she thinks I’m old enough to be her grandfather. I say when it comes to romance, the spirt of the heart, there is no age. Sure, as an organ, the heart wears out, but it’s all relative. She agrees to share a cocktail on the foredeck, or maybe it’s not there—I don’t know the names of ship things. We get out of the sun. The sun is intense. Did I say what ocean? Actually, I don’t know, but it’s not the North Atlantic. The weather is balmy. I guess when we reach an island with palm trees we’ll know the ballpark. The drink had pineapple juice, coconut, some other exotic fruit juice you can’t even get at Trader Joe’s. And did I mention rum? Now it is night. There’s a lot of sneaking around, due to the nature of this illicit romance. How was I supposed to know she’s both married and a spy? There’s a guy with a fez slinking around, as well. He takes me to a guy who will forge my papers so I can gain entry to the port we are destined for. While he’s at it, I ask him to change my age—subtract 20 years—why not? That’s what this voyage is doing for my heart. I may pick a new name, as well.

After the intermission, we’re running around the island, me and the woman I met on the ship. Someone is after us, and we dart, and dodge, in and out, through narrow streets, and finally into a small club and out on the back veranda. More rum drinks. I guess the woman saw my forged papers and was fooled by my new identity. I’m in decent shape for all this dashing here and there, as well. Now it’s the middle of the night and we’re telling stories to each other about our past—of course I’m making mine up and I suspect she is, too. While she goes to the bathroom (for like 45 minutes) I have a comic interlude with a man trying to sell me a trained bird that sits on his shoulder. Of course, I don’t believe he’ll part with the bird, but I go along with it and part with a few dollars. Apparently, not only did I get new papers, the guy also put some kind of spell on me to reverse aging, and I’m now a teenager, hanging out in my parents’ Tiki room, with the fishnets and glass buoys and dried starfish. The woman finally comes back from the bathroom. I suspect something funny is going on, but she assures me she is madly in love with me—or would be if I wasn’t too young for her. She says I shouldn’t be drinking all these rum drinks, but I tell her, I’ve already done my time as an old person—just trying to stay alive—but now I want to live! The thing is, I can’t remember my new name—it as too unmemorable—but I can’t remember my old one, either. Perhaps it’s time for another reinvention!

The George Shearing Quintet “Mood Latino”

It starts out with “Blue Moon,” a song I wish you’d only hear once in a blue moon—rather than all the time—I don’t hate the song, I just wish I didn’t hear it so often. But here, it’s a totally delightful way to start the record, because this particular incarnation of the “Shearing sound”—with congas and flute—is the perfect expression of this song. Percussionist Armando Peraza is all through this record, playing conga and bongos—as well as other percussionists. And there’s flute. I’m going by the liner notes on back of the record—there isn’t a musician lineup—and I’m not looking online. This is a very percussion-heavy record, actually—I really like it. There’s a mixture of standards—some that I’m not that familiar with—and Latin numbers—mambos, cha-chas, boleros. I guess you could say it’s Latin versions of Shearing, and Shearing treatment of Latin songs. The liner notes go more into depth, but I’m not going to retype/paraphrase any. You can find this record for little or no money, on vinyl, like a lot of these Fifties and Sixties Shearing records. Consider yourself lucky. It’s a great record. Also—typical Shearing album cover—a beautiful, darkhaired woman, album cover model, sitting on a tablecloth thrown over an egg crate—with no shirt. She has her back to us, looking over her shoulder. It’s funny, back in 1961, would this have been scandalous? I guess not, it’s here. If she would have been facing forward, however, it would have been considered provocative, maybe even obscene, by some. It would not have been “acceptable.” Her back was okay, front, not okay. It’s nice that we are so much more sophisticated now than those silly prudes back in 1961!

The George Shearing Quintet with Nancy Wilson “The Swingin’s Mutual!”

I heard that Nancy Wilson passed away a few days ago, and I recalled hearing her music now and then over the years, mostly on the radio. Then I remembered that—among my limited, rag-tag record collection—I have this 1961 album of her singing six songs with George Shearing. I have as many Shearing records as by any artist, because for one, you can find them, and not for a million dollars, and they’re all either pretty good or excellent. But also, I probably listened to more George Shearing than anyone as a kid because my parents had a lot of his records and seemed to play them more than anything else. That distinctive vibes along with the piano sound is probably more entrenched in my brain than fear. Nancy Wilson sings on half of these twelve songs; I would have liked it better if it was all of them, but it’s a fine album, regardless. “The Nearness of You” is a standout, and they’re all good. She must have been only in her early twenties when they recorded this, but she sounds very mature and has a lot of personality. She’s an Ohioan, and about the same age as my mother. I like to think she was maybe in Columbus when my dad was in college there. I know my dad saw George Shearing in Denver when he was in the service out there. The album cover is pretty odd, the two of them sitting back to back, both in in plastic Eames chairs, Nancy Wilson holding a Shearing album, glancing over her shoulder at George, and Shearing kind of propping himself up with her her “Something Wonderful” album (which was like her second, this being only her third). She went on to record 60 or 70 albums, no doubt covering all my favorite songs, so I’ll keep an eye out for them. The only sad thing is, unless I’m missing it, they didn’t collaborate on any more records—because, besides good music, for the album cover, they could have each held up this album cover, and started a kind of infinity mirror thing. Just an idea for one of the parallel universes.