Posts Tagged ‘Liner Notes



19
Apr
19

Allan Sherman “My Son, the Folk Singer”

I never heard of Allan Sherman before playing this 1962 record, but apparently he went through a period of widespread success and popularity, which is why this record exists and I was able to pick up a copy for nothing. According to the internet, his popularity declined after the JFK assassination 1963—is that true? Did the masses lose their taste for frivolous humor after that time, and if so, does that partly explain why I grew up only occasionally cracking a smile—I wonder. Anyway this is essentially a comedy record comprised of goofy folk songs with lyrics that are sometimes pretty obvious and sometimes rather obscure. Kind of typical of me, I find myself annoyed by the stuff I understand, and intrigued by the stuff I don’t. I supposed if I understood the stuff I don’t understand I’d be annoyed by that too. The overall tone is that kind of humor that says “this is humor”—but I actually really like the singing style of Allan Sherman, I guess because he sounds like an urban Jewish guy to me, like the kind of co-worker who cracks you up daily. Let’s see, where is he from? Chicago, moved around a lot. I guess a lot of these songs are parodies, where you have to know the thing it’s parodying to make sense—but again, I’m wondering if I personally like stuff that doesn’t make sense to me. Anyway, it’s a live album, and the audience is finding it all hilarious—from the individual, tittering laugh, to bursts of uncontrolled laughter, to the full on roar. For me it’s pretty much torture to hear people laugh like that. Now that I think of it, I don’t much care for live recordings, in general, but live comedy is the worst. I mean, if you’re there, then it’s live, and when it’s a recording of something live, it’s not live anymore, is it—it’s just annoying. I don’t like recordings of live “specials” either, or podcasts that are recorded in front of a live audience—I can’t listen to them. The audience on this album is recorded really loudly, too, it’s just unbearable—I mean, just torture me, okay? The cover, though, is great—well, not that great, but there is a woman in a black dress holding a dead chicken, and a bagel lying on the floor, it’s goofy, and, yeah, it’s almost a good album cover.

12
Apr
19

Virgil Gonsalves Big Band Plus Six “Jazz at Monterey”

For one thing, if you see this 1959 album cover somewhere, like at thrift-store prices, you can’t NOT buy it, with the monochrome, crude pasteup of Virgil Gonsalves and an enormous baritone sax perched death-defyingly on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, facing a witch-like wind-blasted tree. He looks kind of like the guy who does your taxes or fixes your porch, but that horn is no joke. The bold red letters, JAZZ AT MONTEREY—irresistible. If I was starting a record company, I might steal the Omega Records label design outright—it’s one of the coolest I’ve seen. I’m not sure if this is considered “cool jazz” or what—someone correct me. I mean, it is cool, very cool, cool as a cadet blue DeVille—but I’m not sure if it’s/he’s the official member of any movement. In the first song (and all of them) you can imagine soundtracks—to stuff like a guy wearing sunglasses driving a convertible really fast, somebody standing on a corner, two scientists making love, captains of industry eating whole fish, dentists at war with each other, the city of tomorrow, a really good poetry reading—I don’t know. Mostly, what I am thinking about this record is that I like it.

On back, there’s really long and extensive liner notes by Johnny Adams, Jazz DJ at KIDD in Monterey—way too much to paraphrase here—I didn’t even read it all! I’ll get to it some day, because he’s going into great detail, and ends by saying: “SO… bend an ear and listen!” And this is a listening record for me, meaning I’m going to put it on again, just to listen to it, see? I also like how he says that Virgil Gonsalves “has not one direction, but many.” I feel like I can hear that in the music. I believe there is a six piece band playing on some songs and a band twice that size on other songs… but it all sounds simultaneously minimal and maximal, subtle and complex. Virgil Gonsalves, besides being the bandleader, also plays the baritone sax, which is a very cool instrument. The lineups here are pretty much piano, bass, drums, and then horns, and more horns—saxophones and trumpets. Horns, lots and lots of horns. And more horns. Did I say horns?

29
Mar
19

Lambert, Hendricks & Ross “The Best of Lambert, Hendricks & Ross”

I feel like I had another record by them awhile back, and I feel like I wrote about it, but I can’t find it. I picked up this one fairly recently—a little against my better judgment because it’s a “best of” record—and the cover (a stylized silhouette drawing of three howling cats) made me think this was released like, yesterday. Also because it’s a very clean copy. It’s also on that most common of all labels, the red Columbia one. So I was kind of shocked to see the record came out in 1974—that’s 45 years ago! Oh, now looking at the small print… this record was previously released as their record, “The Hottest New Group in Jazz” in 1959—so it’s essentially a re-release. So, as an object, it’s brand new—that is, if 1974 was now, but, well, the music… that makes more sense to me… it sounds like 1959.

The music on this is all good, I like every song, and I can listen to this at every meal. Lambert, Hendricks & Ross are—well, you know—a vocal group consisting of Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks, and Annie Ross. (I’m not sure if they considered calling themselves: Annie, Jon & Dave.) I first heard one of the songs from this record, Annie Ross’ song, “Twisted,” when Woody Allen used it as the title song in his movie, Deconstructing Harry (1997)—along with jump cuts of Judy Davis in a murderous rage. It’s the best opening of any of his movies (well, except for maybe Manhattan). Though the very first place I ever saw her was acting, playing a singer in Robert Altman’s Short Cuts (1993). I believe you can find some old footage of her, maybe on YouTube (I’ll look), yeah, on some kind of old TV show that is made to look like a casual party, where you know, Count Basie happens to be playing and people (Annie Ross, then Lambert and Hendricks and Joe Williams) break out into some jazz singing. I’ve already said something else is the “best thing on the internet”—but really, this may be. It’s great. And this album’s not bad, either—like I said, all the songs here are good—they’re fun, and all pretty unique while fitting together like anything. My favorites here being Cloudburst, Twisted, and, really, just all of them. And Summertime (some day I will make a mix tape of all the versions I can find, and this is a particularly killer one).

I just noticed that there are some extensive liner notes on the back cover, written by Jon Hendricks, which I failed to read before, so I will now—written for this re-release in 1974 (he mentions Watergate)—really good liner notes, kind of a poetically conveyed history of the band, ending with his poem (“the shortest jazz poem ever heard.”) “Listen.” I’m going to steal that. That’s perfection, poetry-wise. But where do you go from there? I guess imperfection, which is also beautiful, and contained in all my favorite stuff. As part of his brief history of each of them, and them getting together, he tells us that he’s from Toledo, Ohio (interesting to me since I’m from non-literally a stone’s-throw from there), home of Art Tatum, among others, and also the expression “Holy Toledo”—which he says: “derives from the fact that there are only two bad weeks in show business: Holy Week and a week in Toledo. And if you happen to be booked in Toledo during Holy Week, well—’Holy Toledo!’”

25
Feb
19

Alec Templeton “Alec Templeton and his Music Boxes”

“If I were king, it would be a must that everybody have a hobby…” starts Alec Templeton’s intro, the first track of this record. And I agree, though I’d add, “but drinking and looking at pornography don’t count.” He then goes on to talk about his love for, and obsession with, collecting music boxes. I kind of like this thing of the first track being a spoken intro—kind of like an audio version of liner notes. Though you might get powerful tired of it if it’s a record you have “on repeat” (as the kids say). Though, maybe there is little danger of that here, as the remainder of this record consists of recordings of various music boxes—there are 45 tunes from 24 different ones, some of them quite grand, of course, and large, elaborate, ornate, and expensive. They all sound like music boxes. There are a few faded black and white photos of some of the boxes, but they don’t really do them justice. And some informative (written) liner notes that start out: “For the next 44 minutes, Mr. Templeton would like to take you away from the cares and tensions of today and transport you back to the gay, quiet era of not so long ago—the era of the music box…” There’s a signpost up ahead!

I could imagine (actually, I couldn’t) having a roommate who, this was his favorite record, and played it every day right after dinner. I’m afraid you’d have to kill him. I mean, this is an enjoyable record to listen to once or twice. I guess you could try to see how many tunes you can name. I have to say, that song, “A Bicycle Built for Two,” has just been forever altered for me after hearing HAL sing it while perishing in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). (Kubrick did that to a lot of music, actually—thanks, Stanley!) Talking about movies, if you are a filmmaker, this record might work really well into your resources—there could very likely be some scene in anyone’s movie where one of these music box songs is just the thing. The sound, the feeling of them, is far from neutral. I wonder why it is that we associate this music box music with some kind of ironic vision of the underlying tragedy inherent in our existence? Is it something leftover from past lives? Or just from other movies?

23
Feb
19

Skeeter Davis “The Closest Thing To Love”

Skeeter Davis probably isn’t really my favorite singer—I mean, who is?—there are so many singers I love, and who can really say their favorite anything, unless they’re making a point of it—it’s a form of hyperbole meant to make people take notice. But her singing voice just really holds some special place for me. I suppose to many people, she has a kind of corny quality, but I see (and hear) behind that. No singer doesn’t have some pain behind their singing, and many exploit that, whether consciously or not. For whatever reason, I feel like she hides the pain—it’s not anywhere near the surface—but that quality of it being so deep, so hidden, maybe that’s one of the things that appeals to me so much about her singing.

This record is a relatively late one for her, 1969, even though she kept making records for another 20 years or so. It’s more or less her 20th LP, since she put out a couple a year in the Sixties. The cover is pretty urban and sophisticated in relation to many of her early ones. She’s wearing a fur collar and hat—you kind of wonder how hot and uncomfortable that photoshoot was. Like all of her LPs, there are six songs per side, ranging from two minutes to 3:15—“Angel of the Morning”— which is the heavy one here—I mean in recognizability—you’ve heard it, no doubt, because it was a hit song for Juice Newton in 1981—though it was written by Chip Taylor in 1966, and recorded by pretty much everyone. The version here is great. The album starts with a nice song called “Keep Baltimore Beautiful” (one of many, many songs with “Baltimore” in the title). Then there is a song called “Little Arrows,” and if you want to know what kind of jauntiness really gets on my nerves, check this one out—it’s not just annoying, it’s kind of insane. I looked it up and it was hit for someone named “Leapy Lee” in 1968. At that point the rabbit-hole warning light came on, so I wisely exited the internet.

My favorite song on the record is probably “They Don’t Make Love Like They Used To,” credited to Red Lane, a Nashville songwriter—just one of those classic sounding country songs I really like. Though all the songs are really pretty good, including the couple that Skeeter Davis wrote. The other real standout is the last song on the record, the title song, “The Closest Thing to Love (I’ve Ever Seen)”—credited to Ronny Light, who also wrote the first song, and was an arranger on this record—no doubt one of those kind of amazing Nashville pros. He also wrote the liner notes on the back of the record, a kind of sweet appreciation for Skeeter Davis, signed “A Skeeter Davis Fan.” Some day maybe I’ll meet another Skeeter Davis fan—we’ll have a lot to talk about.

18
Feb
19

Gene Krupa “Gene Krupa”

I’d picked up a battered copy of this record and had it laying around for awhile (it’s got a great cover—and action photo profile of Gene Krupa playing drums, and a very modern layout)—I’m not really sure what I think about Gene Krupa one way or another, maybe thinking he was on the flashy side, or the show-biz side—you know—but this is Gene Krupa as bandleader, with his orchestra and a lot of really excellent musicians. And when I put it on, finally, I said, “Oh, no!” as it starts with a raucous, even jaunty bit—the trumpet is playing “Yankee Doodle”—but it’s a bit of a fake out, audience yelling, “No!” (I don’t know the motive, though!) And then they settle into a nice version of “After You’re Gone,” and then the second song, “Murder He Says,”—woman singer, who is that?! So I had to look, and it’s Anita O’Day—which reminded me of why, at one time, I called Anita O’Day my favorite singer—her singing has that quality on this song—I don’t know what it is—it’s: “that quality.” Then the band goes into a slow, atmospheric, instrumental version of “Tuxedo Junction.” It’s not until the end of the next number (that has a vocal by Irene Daye—pretty interesting that both Anita O’Day and Irene Daye sang with Gene Krupa) that G.K. gives us a little drum fireworks, but just a taste—then a little more on the next song, a very swinging, “Disc Jockey Jump,” and finally the song “Massachusetts” features Anita O’Day again—it’s a train song, but a good one, another great vocal. And so at this point, I’m thinking I actually hit a home run with this record—almost afraid to turn it over.

But I do, and it’s starts out with “Let Me Off Uptown,” with conversational vocals, back and forth, Anita O’Day and Roy Eldridge (who then goes into a trumpet solo, of course) great song! Then “Slow Down” another nice vocal by Anita O’Day, and same with the next one, “Boogie Blues”—“Don’t the moon look lonesome shining through the trees.” And then another one—this turns out to be the Anita O’Day album I don’t have (there’s a lot of them I don’t have, like all of them). And then, what’s like a really unexpected bonus, the song “Knock Me a Kiss” sung by Roy Eldridge, which I know, of course, from Louis Jordan, who I also don’t have any records by. (Anita O’Day and Louis Jordan—reminders to get out my cassette tapes.) Anyway, overall, this is a great record with a lot of surprises. It’s only later that I see the extensive, serious liner notes on back, which covers who played and sang one what, and the recording dates—which are a-while back. Sometimes you get a record that has great promise, and it turns out to be a real bummer, but other times, like this one, you get a record not really hoping much one way or another, and it turns out to be one of the better things, at least on that given day, in your mortal possession.

11
Feb
19

Stan Kenton and his Orchestra “Cuban Fire!”

This is a totally pop-culture reference, and a dated one at that, but there’s a part of the first number here that reminds me totally of the title song of the Jonny Quest TV show from the 1960s. I guess it’s just this particular horn part, maybe a trumpet. If you watch that show now, whether you remember it or not, with the sound off, you might be shocked at how primitive the animation is. I mean, the art is good, but it’s just pretty clunky and not overly sophisticated. I don’t remember it like that at all, I think, because the sound is very sophisticated, and the score is amazing. Sound and music create a much more complete picture than image does. This record reminds me of records my dad had—he had some Stan Kenton, I think, but not this one—this is a lot more intense than what my parents normally listened to. It’s got a kind of insane album cover, all orange and black, like a highly stylized illustration of a conga player, possibly on the edge of a volcano, or Hell. On the back there’s about an hour’s worth of liner note reading (including detailed notes for each song). There are a lot of liner notes, actually—I’m going to put this on a “do on a rainy day” list—to read these liner notes—I’ve seen shorter novels.

I think this is one of those records where the best way to approach it is to go song by song (there are only six), and because each one feels like a mini-drama, describe what each song makes me visualize, or think of, or feel. The titles are in both Spanish and English, but I’m just including the Spanish (which is Greek, to me), so as not to be narratively influenced. Fuego Cubano – A guy in a white suit drinking rum and cokes at a bar, in Cuba, naturally, just kind of not sweating somehow and calmly waiting to be detained by the authorities. El Congo Valiente – A well-dressed European couple, a very shallow looking man and a beautiful woman, are dashing from airport to airport, carrying their undersized valises, trying not to miss their planes (in each airport). Recuerdos – The guy in the white suit again, but this time suavely being escorted into the bank lockbox area where he fills his valise with some unrecognizable currency, then leaves unmolested, except at the end we are made aware that this is just a flashback. Quien Sabe – Now our hero is piloting some kind of super fast and also totally silent aircraft, flying very low, passing over small islands dotting an impossibly blue sea. The mood is optimistic. Le Guera Baila – This is the couple from earlier, but this is back in time because they don’t know each other—she is at the bar and he comes in and introduces himself, orders them both a rum and coke (he drinks them both) and then she leaves. La Suerte de los Tontos – The man and the woman are making their getaway in an elaborate chase scene, first riding in the back of produce truck, then stealing a motorcycle. As both they and the authorities (in small cars) approach the dock, and the waiting yacht, there is a freeze frame, suggesting an ambiguous ending, or maybe indicating that this entire escape is all in the guy’s mind, and he’s probably dead or in prison. FIN.




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