The George Shearing Quintet and Orchestra “White Satin”

I’ve written about many George Shearing records here, but I won’t stop until I touch on them all—he’s one of my favorites (I won’t go into that whole childhood business, again). I was thinking, if I ran one of those retro cocktail lounges—you know, classic style, very dark, no chocolate martinis!—I’d play nothing but Shearing. Well, not exactly true, but I’d stay away from digitally remixed lounge music, or cleaned up jazz standards that make you feel like you’re in a doctor’s office. One good thing about George Shearing is you can find beat-up vinyl copies of his records for next to nothing, and they sound great—and would be the absolute best sound for cocktail lounge ambience. This is another really good one, from 1960—probably one of the smoothest sounding records I own—it’s the Shearing Quintet (musicians not credited here, but includes bass, drums, guitar, and vibes) along with an orchestra conducted by Billy May. The 12 songs on this record blend into a seamless evening of silky music (I’ll keep it in mind if I’m ever dating again) including some of my favorites. “Laura,” “Dream,” “How Long Has This Been Going On,” “There’ll Be Another Spring,” “There’s a Small Hotel, and “Moonlight Becomes You.” I love his albums titles—I’ve already written about Latin Affair and Black Satin and Burnished Brass. Here’s a few more (believe it or else) that I’m still waiting to come across: Soft and Silky, Latin Lace, Satin Affair, Velvet Carpet, and Blue Chiffon. It may sound like I’m making those up, but no. And there’s plenty more.

I found this one at a thrift store, probably a dollar, and the vinyl happens to be in excellent condition, but the cover is one of the most hilariously beat up I’ve seen—it looks like it spent time in a barn, yet still cared for. The front is almost totally separated from the back, which has an informational promo sticker (with song credits) in one corner, along with a lot of cryptic markings from previous owners. The front is the usual Shearing cover, a lovely woman with a lot of hair (in this case, red), and she’s, surprise, wearing white satin and reclining on more white satin. There are more markings, some initials, a date (6-26-60—I was five months old!), a $1.99 price sticker, and hand scrawled: 25 cents, right on the woman’s shoulder! The funniest thing, though, is that someone glued a carefully cut piece of pink paper over the part of the woman’s chest that’s not covered by the dress. Naturally, I had to find a photo of the album online for comparison, and of course there isn’t that much bare skin revealed—but someone not only took offense, they were careful to make their alterations in a manner respectful to the original photograph. If you don’t know the cover, or look closely, you might be fooled, thinking the glued paper actually is an additional garment! 25 cents, ha! This album cover is priceless—it should be recognized as a masterpiece—and be hanging in the museum of found/altered art!

Frank Sinatra “Come Fly with Me”

One of those Sinatra records that make me think that if Sinatra didn’t exist in real life, he would have been a great invention by a writer and/or an artist—or a team of them. A TV show, comic, movie, comic book, etc. The album cover is perfect—a naturalistic color illustration of Frank in as sharp suit, hat, casual tie, giant cufflinks—dressed for international air travel—and he’s taking the hand of woman—we only see her hand, but I’d guess she’s attractive. They’re on the tarmac of an airport—when you used to venture outside, and up the portable steps to the airplane. In the background we see a TWA plane, the “stewardess” exiting, and further back another plane—one of those big prop planes with three tail fins (the back of the cover tells me it’s the TWA Jetstream Super Constellation). No artist credit on back. The sky shows some clouds near the horizon, but most of it is the bluest blue imaginable. Twelve songs, all pop standards that could stretch into a traveling theme. I like all of them, and they fit together well—my favorites are: the title song, “Moonlight in Vermont,” “Autumn in New York,” “Let’s Get Away from it All,” “April in Paris” (with the intro), “Brazil,” “Blue Hawaii,” and “It’s Nice to Go Trav’ling.” (I’m gonna spell it that way from now on!) The art on the back cover uses some (apparently) actual airline charts and documents, over which there’s an artist’s rendition of some pilot paraphernalia, including a logbook, on which it says: “Pilot: Frank Sinatra” and “Co-Pilot: Billy May” (the bandleader). And there’s a compass, the pointy kind for measuring distances on the charts. There’s also a clipboard with a “Flight Log” that’s got some “handwritten” air-travel related notes about six of the tunes. On the bottom it says: “(over)”—but of course, we can’t turn it over—it’s just a drawing! I suppose you’re invited to write your own.

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.

The George Shearing Quintet and Orchestra “Black Satin”

This George Shearing Quintet record is a little different than some others I have in that there is orchestra, arranged by Billy May. There’s something about it that I like almost better than any I’ve heard—it’s hard to say why. There’s something kind of odd about how that Shearing sound—his distinctive piano, coupled with vibes and guitar—sounds with the orchestra. Maybe it’s just that this was one of the records my parents had, and I heard it a lot as a kid. I don’t remember at this point exactly which Shearing records they did have, but pretty much every time I hear any of them, it takes me back to childhood more completely than anything—I can smell what the house smelled like, the carpet just after vacuuming, the late-afternoon sun coming in the west-facing picture window. There’s always something a little sad about it, but comforting, too. I could probably put this record on once a week for the rest of my life. No weak spots—but then there rarely is (that I’ve found) with Shearing. The drawing on the back cover, with the brief liner notes, is a formally dressed rich, young, white man and woman sitting on one of those round couches, like a plush couch wrapped around a post, like the ones in the lobby of the Hotel Breakers, in Sandusky. The joke here is: “Get a room,” because if you ever tried having sex on one of those round couches… what am I saying? No one’s tried that! The cover photo shows a young woman in a slim back dress with some kind of crazy beads draped around her neck that looks like a dead fish, if you squint. She’s reclining on, maybe partly under, what’s supposed to be, of course, “black satin”—but if you really look at it, it more resembles a photo-studio setup of black, plastic trash bags! I’m not sure this doesn’t represent a very bad day in a Capital records photo studio. The woman looks pretty great, like she’d just as soon kick your ass as make out—and if you use your imagination, you could comfortably put this cover photo on a movie poster about alien pod people or a punk rock album various artist collection called, “Straight Outta Da Trash.”

The George Shearing Quintet “Burnished Brass”

My parents had this 1958 record and played it a lot, along with other George Shearing—but there may be no other music that sounds like my childhood than this particular record—George Shearing Quintet “with Brass Choir”—songs arranged by Billy May. I’ll always get a weird feeling from this particular, singular, George Shearing sound—a combination of nostalgia, comfort, and a little bit of sadness and even some queasiness. I mean it’s so present from my childhood, he almost seems like a distant uncle or something. Yet I know nothing about him, except that he was blind from birth and put out an insane amount of records. Once in awhile I’ll read something, then forget it—like I forget that he was English, born in London, and came to the US after the war. I’ve tried to figure out what that “Shearing Sound” is all about—it has something to do with how what he’s playing on the piano works with the vibes and guitar—but I don’t really understand it—it’s over my head—maybe some patient music person can explain it to me someday.

George Shearing was popular enough, sold enough records, that you can find beat-up copies for nothing, and I’ll pick them up when I see them, like this one. I’ve hardly ever paid any attention to the front cover, which is a woman in a sparkly red dress lying on some golden satin sheets—she’s looking up seductively while exposing the full length of one of her long legs. On the bed with her is a trumpet, a trombone, and a French horn. I wonder if this record was subliminally responsible for me attempting the cornet as my first instrument—though I totally failed to get anywhere with it. I should have taken up the French horn—is there a cooler instrument out there, when you really think about it? I loved the picture of Shearing on the back cover so much I put it on the cover of one of my zines (an early issue of The Sweet Ride, from the Eighties). I never thought too much about the individual songs on this record—they all just kind of melt into each other with ultimate smoothness—but this is probably the first place I heard the standard, “Memories of You”—and I’ve always really loved that song. The rest of the songs, except for “Cheek to Cheek,” I couldn’t name, off-hand, but they are all so familiar, it’s like they’re DNA—the song “Burnished Brass,” for instance, with this smooth horn part that drops in and out with the piano—it could be the main theme for the documentary on my life. Yet, listening now, I feel like I might have gotten annoyed by this record, then dismissed it entirely. Now, it almost holographically recreates the space I grew up in so vividly that it’s somewhat overwhelming.