The "Chirping" Crickets

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

Surprisingly, rock and roll lost its legs shortly after jumping on stage. All the big names appeared in 1955 and 56, released legendary singles, and began cobbling albums together around them, running a race that had less to do with getting somewhere and more to do with outlasting the competition. And as the pool of talent shrank rock and roll began to look more and more like the flash in the pan that Bill Haley's arrival predicted it would be. I do not think it entirely a coincidence that one year after the American public rejected Johnny Burnette and the Rock and Roll Trio, we got the début records of two of the lightest and softest acts in the business: Ricky Nelson and Buddy Holly. As the saying goes: "we get the rock and roll we deserve" (that is how the saying goes, right?). Here these two unapologetic wimps announced themselves and the public embraced them. Hey, Johnny Burnette even wrote for Ricky Nelson!

However, there was an important difference between the two latecomers on the scene. Ricky Nelson gave birth to the horrifying genre of the teen idol, the direct effects of which echo down to the present day. Buddy Holly gave us something very different; although his début record with his band The Crickets is fundamentally flawed by production decisions of the era, I still believe it to be the most important rock record of 1957. Right here is where pop-rock was invented and the cornerstone was laid. Take a listen to the minor track 'Tell Me How' for an example. There are bright "la-la-las" and "aaaahhhs," an inconsequentially innocent love lyric, "strum" given precedence over any attempts at "rock" and a subtle shift in tone to give the chorus a small amount of drama. What does that sound like a blueprint for? The Beatles' early career. Simplistic and de-clawed as it may be, it is still exciting to hear this change.

There also wasn't much of a legacy for Buddy if he didn't adopt this style because the man couldn't make it as a rocker. Lead-in track 'Oh Boy!' makes that abundantly clear as he tries without success to appear aggressive and commanding. It's not a bad ditty but it is painfully generic and unconvincing. In comparison, 'Not Fade Away' is a glorious invention as Holly takes the Bo Diddley beat and removes the machismo, creating a contemplative and hypnotic love song that's too confident to be sung by the boy next door yet without a trace of the demanding bad boy persona that Elvis codified. Buddy also sings it in a subtle new way, with the standard rockabilly hiccup slowed down and cooled off. This is something new.

Unfortunately for the album, only one other song hits that level of brilliance - the stone cold classic 'That'll be the Day' which I personally rank on a short list of genius pop melodies. This one gets to the heart of pop music's appeal: the simplicity, the familiarity, and the immediate emotional response. I had only heard the song once or twice before I heard The Chirping Crickets and yet when it started up I felt as if I had actually grown up with this song the way I did with The Beatles and I could only play it over and over again, smiling. THAT is pop perfection. Go listen to it.

And now... we come to The Picks. The Picks were a family vocal group from New Mexico who producer Norman Petty decided would make a great addition to the Crickets' sound. Back then, it might have appeared a viable move - Holly wasn't a legend and pop-rock was so newly minted that having a barbershop trio running scales in the background wouldn't have been seen as a weird choice (some of the same decisions were made for singing legend Patsy Cline's début record that same year). In hindsight, these production choices were terrible. 'Maybe Baby' is a sweet little tune underneath the "Aah-AAH-for-me's." Notably The Picks were not overdubbed onto either of the aforementioned classics.

There are also too many slow doo-wop numbers, always a struggle for me. You have to have grown up with this stuff to get its impact, I think. First there's 'It's Too Late' with its dramatic pauses and lines like "it's a weak man who cries." The chorus is better, as it's at least curious to hear Buddy show off his singing skills as he howls at the mike. Everything else on the album is upbeat from there, saving three more of these dirges to close out the record. 'An Empty Cup (and a Broken Date)' and 'Send Me Some Lovin' just do nothing for me. However, in fairness I would love to hear the Pickless versions, as when I momentarily tune out the overdubs the songs always improve. 'Last Night' is actually rather cute, with The Picks more subdued in the background, but I had to listen to it by itself to understand that, as on the album it just represents the last oxygen leaving the room.

Two classics that are available on any Buddy Holly Best Of, some cute inconsequential pop-rockers and some badly produced doo-wop: well, it's a mixed bag. Historically important (we'll see the development of his style as we continue through the project) and filled with the good vibes that made people fall in love with Holly but I'm thinking that anyone who needs an introduction to his art would be better off with the Best Of.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

If you want a musical education there are certain records you absolutely must listen to. This is one but it's not a great record. For a lot of older folks this album is a sacred cow and I certainly wouldn't want anyone to slag off a record I formed an attachment to at an early age.

I actually managed 56 years, 46 of which being rather keen on music without ever hearing this album. I had heard the hits and tried my best to avoid ever hearing them again. Not a Buddy Holly fan going into this, not a Buddy Holly fan coming out. Listening to a very famous album for the first time, just for this review project. In the context of all the music we've been listening to from the 1950s this album seems a bit mundane but I can't listen to it with 1950s ears. I can't listen to it with teenage ears in the 1950s. I can only try to imagine and take it in on it's own merits in 2016.

The songs? A handful of catchy songs, a few real downers, one great guitar solo and some otherwise nice guitar playing. The music feels a bit under-developed to me and obviously interfered with by an interfering producer. It had potential.

What did you like about it Ticharu? ANYTHING???

Yes actually! Buddy Holly had a unique way of singing which thankfully wasn't copied much. I liked that. It's quirky and that very quirkiness kicked the door wide open for quirky oddballs. Buddy Holly inspired loads of people. He changed the course of pop music. Buddy Holly was great and maybe the next time I hear something by him I won't be so quick to turn it off.

COVER CRITIQUE; The innocent charisma-less charm of a bunch of straight A high schoolers. What can I say? It's a terrible photograph, taken in direct sun to make the boys squint at the camera. Making geeks look cool takes skill this photographer did not have. One star. Nymith

I can't find anything positive to say... Ticharu

East Coasting

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

I'm guessing the common guiding line for jazz in 1957 is that Miles Davis gets the gold, Thelonious Monk gets the silver (though for real snobs it might be the other way around) and Charles Mingus would have to tussle for the bronze with the rest of the pack. Besides which, his major statement for the year was done with The Clown and people tend to overlook East Coasting. It's non-conceptual and calming, not what we associate with Mingus, but give it a chance and it will prove itself one of the finer jazz albums of the year. If only the three great tracks from The Clown were combined with the strongest offerings on East Coasting, it WOULD be my favorite jazz album of the year, beating out Round About Midnight (to say nothing of Incomprehensib Brilliant Corners).

East Coasting moves in on the same turf as Round About Midnight - cool, moody, nocturnal jazz whispering from a corner of the room. No Coltrane to scatter sax notes like confetti, none of Art Blakey's primal audacity or Monk's stapled together geometric insanity. This lack of novelty or daring is probably why East Coasting is considered a minor record - it sounds introverted, like Mingus was for once cooling his jets rather than exploring his concepts of injustice. Chaos, suffering and dead clowns ARE a part of life but they're not all there is to it and I like this glimpse of a mellow Mingus.

With The Clown Mingus found an ensemble he was happy with and the core group of Richmond, Knepper and Hadi remain, with two major changes. First he added a trumpet player, Clarence Shaw; Shaw played on the mysteriously shelved Tijuana Moods and eventually had a huge fight with Mingus and destroyed his instrument. This is a shame as his sensitive playing style really adds a whole new layer to the Mingus sound. Second, he switched out pianist Wade Legge for Bill Evans; Evans has a bright sound to his piano work, playing to the same subdued strengths as Shaw. They're a big part of what makes this album so quietly involving.

The record begins with a romantic exploration of 'Memories of You' (the sole cover included, a sentimental chestnut from the 30s) that is slowed right down and brought to a haunting fruition. This is the music of another time, a jazz expression that is dead and honestly was dead even in the 50s, when The Lawrence Welk Show first aired and small ensembles replaced big bands. It's a farewell to the era, really beautiful.

From there we get the upbeat title track and the sprawling ten minute 'West Coast Ghost' that really functions perfectly on every level. It's dynamic, soulful and facilitates all the players - Shaw chases after the elusive Chet Baker style, with Hadi and Knepper giving him full support and the rhythm section building the song up as they go. No matter how many times Evans kicks back into the central motif, it remains exciting and fresh and I do not tire of it.

'West Coast Ghost' is the centerpiece after which comes another super-romantic outing, this time penned by Mingus ('Celia'), which functions as a bookend for the album and seems like so perfect an outro that I can never fully embrace the last two tracks - hence my wish to combine the best tracks of this album with the first three from The Clown. Perfect Mingus.

This is a surprisingly delicate showing from Mingus that I think is unfairly overlooked. It doesn't brashly stand up and yell its own importance, which only furthers my admiration for one of the most versatile musicians of the 1950s. Very well played. Don't miss it.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

I'm hearing a bit of a messy session. Moments of brilliance but it sounds to me like they only had one microphone and were crowding around it stepping forward when it came time to solo, some players able to step closer to the microphone than others. In other words, this would have been a truly great album without the horn players. Evans and Mingus blend and jive hand in glove. Can you imagine this album with Art Blakey on drums? Well that's what they should do next time around or get the horn players to just back off and try to blend with the piano, kit and bass at the back of the room.

That said, West Coast Ghost pretty much gets it right, very cool track. All in all the album still gets a pretty high rating despite the disparity in recording levels because, well... it's a fairly pleasant album.

COVER CRITIQUE; Best Mingus cover we've yet seen. No cavemen, no clowns (really weird marketing moves, when you think about it). The heavy brow of the cerebral jazz man, by a still body of water like the Lake Poets of old... He's got his bass slung over his shoulder and yet is still standing straight. Four stars. Nymith

Travel photo... Ticharu

Rock & Roll

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

As I understand it, R'n'B evolved from the urban blues market in much the same way rockabilly evolved from country swing - the youth wanted faster and edgier sounds. And Ruth Brown must have been a reigning queen hitmaker on the R'n'B market in much the same way as B.B. King was for the electric blues, as both of them got albums out well in advance of the pack. Like his album Singin' the Blues, Ruth Brown's awkwardly titled Rock and Roll is a compilation of her successful singles, ranging from the lush late 40s into the leaner sounds of the 50s.

Now when it comes to Ruth Brown, the singles are only half the story and the less interesting half. Her band sported a fuller sound than any concurrent rockabilly acts, and when they really revved up they (like Louis Prima's ensemble) could actually give those boys with the exciting but still thin electric guitar sound a run for their money. Alas, these singles don't really capture the impact of the Ruth Brown stage show - find some youtube clips from the era and you'll see that Ruth Brown was a live performer first and foremost, the band kicking into high gear while she commanded the stage with telling looks and gestures; here's a woman who was a burly, comical wildcat on stage instead of a lady.

None of that is really captured on these more modest studio takes. Everything is moderated and mostly lacks the fire of the live performances. Ruth Brown has a fun brawny delivery but the visual cues are a big part of the draw because the songs themselves are not technically overwhelming - it's a bit like average Elvis, unable to take command of a weak song.

First song is the worst. 'Lucky Lips' has to be heard to be believed - a Leiber and Stoller comedy number and an example of professional hacksmanship at its worst because no amount of humour can get past the fact that it's a goddamn Christmas song. That last bit of the chorus when the backing singers echo Ruth's "with lucky lips I'll always have a fellow in my arms" gives it away. How is this sonically different from 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town?' It isn't, and when combined with lines like "when they spin that wheel of fortune all I do is kiss my chips / and I know I've picked a winner 'cause I've got lucky lips" it ranks right up there on any Worst of the Fifties playlist you may want to create. Do you realize how many people had to say yes to this song that it became the leadoff track on Ruth Brown's first LP?

If you make it through 'Lucky Lips' and haven't died laughing, Rock and Roll gets better in that at least the other songs are real music and not a cheap parody. Random thoughts: 'Hello Little Boy' is the rowdiest, raunchiest number by far and an easy standout. On the other hand, this tame version of 'Mama He Treats Your Daughter Mean' pales compared to her Apollo performance of the same. 'Teardrops from My Eyes' was a huge hit for Ruth and a major breakthrough in the R'n'B sound, but it's still an ostensibly sad song done in a weirdly upbeat style that leaves me unsure what it's trying to convey. Meanwhile, 'It's Love Baby (24 Hours of the Day)' comes closest to bridging the gap between the Ruth Brown singing style and the dramatically emphasized Etta James style. I like the piano in 'Mambo Baby' but the "he goes... (clapping) ...all the time" part obviously doesn't translate to record. '5-10-15 Hours' gives space to the saxophonist and gets a standardized slinky feel that is a welcome change of pace.

The oddest thing is how Rock and Roll wraps things up with four old-school tracks: 'Sentimental Journey,' where Ruth Brown tries to follow Ella Fitzgerald and Dinah Washington while her backing male vocalists (especially the baritone) take the mike away from her. An unnecessary take on 'Old Man River' with more prominent backing vocalists. And to end, a sentimental, orchestrated 1949 ballad called 'So Long' that sounds like a historical relic (and is rather fascinating for that reason) and a sentimental doo-wop ballad called 'Oh What a Dream.'

Bottomline is that I'm not enamoured of this stuff but it's possible if this chronological journey had begun in the '30s or '40s instead of the '50s I would have the necessary backstory to understand Ruth Brown's impact. As is, the Rock and Roll LP comes rather out of context. These singles, which could have been towering highlights in the standards-soaked early '50s, do not have the same punch in 1957. It all has a good sound, I just feel like it could have been more energetic and with that energy every one of these songs could have been like 'Hello Little Boy.'  I would recommend it mostly on a historical basis for those who already love old school R'n'B.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

My favourite song on this LP is "Lucky Lips" but having heard it twice now I don't think I want to hear it again anytime soon... unless I really need a laugh. It's hilarious but I don't think the intention was to make people laugh.

Older music is sometimes really cool in a completely different way to how it was intended. Ruth Brown probably falls into that category. Actually describing some music as "really cool" pretty much dates me too I guess. So here we are, one dated old thing calling an even older dated old thing "really cool". Well... sort of cool... parts of it are cool, it's interesting, some of the songs are catchy. Some of the songs are salacious and they're all a little dumb... so how is that cool? Cool because no one remembers Ruth Brown. I certainly didn't!

Ruth Brown is also cool because she had a mature expressive voice that you won't run into very often and the novelty numbers hold up very well. There are a few standards tacked on the end of this record which bring the party down like right now. If you were spinning this LP at a party you'd be advised to play side one early on, get people dancing and laughing. Then after you've had enough, fed up and want everyone to leave, play side two.

COVER CRITIQUE; I love the colour scheme here. Orange, white, red, and pink. It really makes her name pop out. I do hope the U.S. Postal Service made a special stamp from that picture of her, as it was clearly the designer's subliminal intention. I also like how the folks at Atlantic put "rock & roll" in tiny letters running the wrong way - hard to read, easy to miss and showing they had the good sense to feel a little bit ashamed of marketing this as rock and roll. Three stars. Nymith

It looks like something from a series of forgotten acts from the fifties some marketing executive concocted while waiting for an important phone call. One star. Ticharu

The Clown

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

The Clown was Mingus' first followup to Pithecanthropus Erectus and is usually referred to as his second masterpiece in a row. For you to agree with that statement you are required to like Charlie Parker and love clowns. If you do, run and get this album. Prepare to be amazed. If you're indifferent to Bird and/or hate clowns (such is my case), then prepare yourself to enjoy roughly two thirds of this LP.

Four tracks again, just like on Pithecanthropus. The Pithecanthropus people were all ousted by the time the followup was being made. Some of the new guys had more luck: Dannie Richmond became a permanent fixture on drums, while Jimmy Knepper (trombone) and Shafi Hadi (sax) spent several years in the Mingus ensemble.

'Haitian Fight Song' kicks things off with a whole minute of bass soloing from Mingus. There is an actual artistic purpose to this decision as the bass carries the underlying melody so it's not just Mingus being drunk with power and abusing his position as band leader. As for the song's tone poem abilities ... I thought at first it was about a boxing match and that made no sense at all. It turns out he based the idea on the Haitian Revolution, better explaining the gravity and steadiness of the song. He doesn't recycle ideas from 'Pithecanthropus Erectus' - high doses of chaos and shrieking would make it an inferior clone and thankfully Hadi only slips into that zone for a few moments. Mingus was trying to find new ways to express his feelings on matters of suffering and injustice and did a nice job this time out. Unlike 'Pithecanthropus,' 'Haitian Fight Song' also stands all by itself as a remarkable composition where the former tone poem really required some awareness of its intent to be effective.

However, I hold the minority opinion that 'Blue Cee' is actually the album's highlight. It's a fun track and fun does not often go with Mingus (he was called the Angry Man of Jazz, after all). No concept, just a good melodic spine, some swagger in the riff and a lot of improv that does not include any squawking of any sort. It's not ambitious but I always enjoy this track regardless of my ambient mood. Funnily enough, there were two bonus tracks that Mingus left off The Clown in favour of 'Blue Cee' because word was going round that he couldn't swing! So he looked to the blues for inspiration and I applaud his decision to show them what for.

I have not heard enough Charlie Parker to form an accurate impression of 'Reincarnation of a Lovebird.' It gets off to a slow start but certainly has effective moments and may well function as a deep-cutting tribute for those avid fans of Bird. I appreciate its intricacy and they conjured a certain moodiness that can hit you even if you've heard less Parker than I have. It definitely rewards repeated listens and has steadily grown on me but I am aware I'm not its target audience.

Lastly, 'The Clown.' A twelve minute spoken word conceptual piece on a clown realizing that the only thing people laugh at is misfortune. It ends with him dying when his stage collapses on top of him and listening to the crowd enjoying his demise. I barely made it through the "song" once and have no desire to ever revisit it. Mingus was trying to make a revelation but I don't see why this needed to be the venue. What was his complaint? That too many performers only gain renown after they die? Skip this, listen to 'Fruit Tree.' That slapstick is a cruel form of entertainment? No one with a real knee-jerk dislike of the medium will possibly want to listen to this or need its message. It doesn't even work as music. Jean Shepherd gives us the lowdown while Mingus and his crew noodle away in the background. I really do not care for it at all and honestly don't see any way I could have. I will take a lifelong rain check on this one. Sorry, Mingus.

Three out of four songs doesn't look that bad. It's a pity the bad one takes up almost a third of the record. Problematic. I would not proclaim this a masterpiece, though if you're a Mingus fan you will be rewarded for your troubles. I personally recommend the curious to just stop the player when 'Reincarnation of a Lovebird' is finished and go on to happier things. Yes, I really hate clowns.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

In the days of the record album, if you had this album in your collection you probably didn't have an aversion to clowns. You would have had to walk out of the record shop with a 12 inch photo of a clown face tucked under your arm. Maybe you wouldn't have been able to find the record in the first place as people with an aversion to clowns stuck this record to the back of the rack or maybe the folks who worked in the shop, knowing this album was pretty good covered the jacket with brown paper and warned their regular jazz customers. Or maybe clowns weren't scary in the 1950s?

These days of the MP3 you can assign any image you like to your MP3 or non at all and you can simply delete or not add the relentlessly odd title track to your playlist. Combining the 3 excellent instrumental tracks from this album with the under-valued East Coasting which came out the same year to a playlist in your iPOD would result in some very happy jazz moments for your morning commute or mid afternoon cocktail before making dinner with something more sedate.

I like this record, yes I do, 3 out of 4 tracks anyway. It has a kind of groove and there are some very lovely noisy oddball things Mingus does with a bass that are inventive and right out of left field. It's jazz that pushes the boundary for the time and still sounds really cool all these years down the line. Good stuff.

COVER CRITIQUE: Well, it's a clown so that's 0 stars. Nymith

I like clowns. Ticharu

American Ballads

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

Pete Seeger put out dozens of records on the Folkways label in the 1950s and trying to follow them all is as ridiculous as trying to keep up with all the albums jazz artists were releasing. He released children's records, political records, historical records and political historical records. I chose the more or less neutral American Ballads from 1957 as a likely starting point, though Seeger is more famous for individual songs ('Where Have All the Flowers Gone? ; 'Little Boxes') and for being on the scene than he is for any particular record. American Ballads is a misleading title as practically every song has its roots in the old country but maybe titles like 'Jesse James' and 'John Henry' gave the whole thing an American flavour for the Folkways people. At any rate, American Ballads does offer a minor compendium of many different types of balladry.

Folk heroes are represented by 'John Henry and outlaws by 'Jesse James' and 'John Hardy.' 'Jesse' is where the political undercurrent really gets out of hand as the song paints James as an economic justice warrior and modern day Robin Hood. The man was in no way fit for the lionization he received in songs like this one. "Jesse had a wife / to mourn for his life?" So did men he killed, etc. I much prefer 'John Hardy,' a more dramatic and fatalistic tale with a swifter pace and stronger melody.

Then there are the gallant love ballads in which men and women drop like flies (back in the days of yore when love caused people to mysteriously sicken and die). These in particular have no American vibe, being based solidly in the older traditions like 'Barbara Allen' (sung a capella and meant for singers with sweeter voices than Seeger was blessed with) and 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'

Deathbed laments are given a showing with 'St. James Hospital' a stark precursor to the more famous 'St. James Infirmary' that bears little similarity, being a folk song where the latter is blues. Train songs get their due with the lullabyish 'Jay Gould's Daughter' which sweeps up hobos, engineers and the death of Jay Gould the robber baron's daughter (the veiled politics of American Ballads strikes again, as his daughter dies complaining to him of hobos riding the trains - never mind that Gould had two daughters, both of whom long outlived him).

Disasters at sea! Seeger selects 'The Titanic Disaster' to commemorate, a horrible little ditty set to a sunny melody that will leave you fighting the urge to sing "husbands and wives / little children lost their lives / it was sad when that great ship went down" for the rest of the day. 'The Golden Vanity' is a more sober experience with a lulling, hypnotic melody and again pits the martyred poor against the rich.

The straight-up murder ballads are actual highlights from the record and are smartly placed at the very start. 'Pretty Polly' has Seeger's most intricately gothic banjo work and a suitably chilling tale of a girl murdered by her sweetheart while 'The Three Butchers' involves the betrayal of a good Samaritan. Fun factoid: The original English versions had the butchers as the protagonists but in the modern age where "butcher" has dark connotations, Seeger or someone else switched the roles so there's only one protagonist and precisely three men instead of an unnumbered group. Neither offers any clear motive for the awful murders they relate nor is any justice done or moral given.

That leaves only two songs to lighten the mood, which is admittedly a bit unbalanced. Five minutes of 'Gypsy Davy' with its hyper-repetitive chorus and trivial plot is a bit much, but 'Farmer's Curst Wife' is actually pretty funny and you can hear Seeger smiling as he tells the tale.

So, obviously American Ballads isn't the lightest listen (only 3 out of 14 tracks avoid a body count) and it contains only modest amounts of energy in its performances. I mean, it's only one man and his banjo and Seeger never really lets go and starts howling and thrashing and raising the dead, if you know what I mean. This was the era when folk music was considered pure and had to be kept that way. His technical skill with the banjo can't be doubted and I enjoyed American Ballads but its main use is educational. If you're already a fan of traditional music you'll get plenty out of this but it doesn't work so good as an introduction.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

A guy with a banjo singing some dopey old last century folkies shouldn't be as cool as this. Was it this cool when he recorded it? Probably not, of course not, no way! Otherwise I'd have been into it. Obviously I wasn't into this sort of thing back in the day. For one thing it's on Folkways Records. If you've ever handled a Folkways record album, they are unlovely things right down to the vinyl and they sound like they were recorded by a dust covered twentysomething in 1933 with a microphone and a box, glasses and a hat, the hipster of the day. People tried to enlighten me, tried to get me to listen to them, but I wasn't having it. "Put them in the 99 cent bin!" I said in my arrogance and ignorance.

Getting back to a guy with a banjo (stop laughing) and crusty voice, no I didn't mention the crusty voice, wow... again you could marvel at Pete's ability to sing out of tune and out of time, it's definitely part of the charm, part of the coolness. And Pete was a cool guy, have banjo will travel, will show up anywhere and sing some songs in support of a good cause.

I suspect if one was to explore the Pete Seeger catalogue, a vast treasure trove of quirky old time dusty folk songs would delight your ears. American Ballads is a fabulous place to start! I kid you not, it's a pretty cool record.

COVER CRITIQUE: Horrible cut-out of a banjo. Saloon style font. The small letters that say "sung by" ... "and his five string banjo" I actually mistook for decorative curlicues until closer inspection for this critique. Golden tan colour. Someone signed this bit of art. Very conscientious. It does paint a rather accurate picture of the starkness of the record, so it does its job. Two stars. Nymith

Folkways wasn't spending money on cover art... Ticharu

The Many Sides of Toshiko

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

Having mastered the art of blistering speed and dynamic and then the opposing art of tonal sophistication and phrasing, by 1957 Toshiko set out to combine the approaches, making the album title more than just a random marketing move. The Many Sides of Toshiko, indeed. It might even make the best all-around introduction to her work provided you can find a copy.

The Gershwin classic 'The Man I Love' starts the album with a return to the swoonworthy romantic piano of 'Laura' off the first album - a captivating choice for the leadoff track and bookended by the choice of 'Imagination' for the final number. After the rather Spartan feel of The Toshiko Trio, there's a real infusion of colour and energy this time that gives the album a fuller sound even though she's still heading a trio. This time, with Jake Hanna on drums and Gene Cherico on bass, neither of whom had any special star power in the jazz world but who clearly gelled with her sound - and Cherico remained a semi-permanent fixture, recording with her right up to the 80s.

There's a balanced mix of moods to The Many Sides. 'After You've Gone' (a song that was a number one hit in 1919!) is given a loose, playful reading that undercuts the pathos quite mischievously right to the very end. Going by sound, 'Toshiko's Fantasy' is of a swinging Arcadia where no one gets too worked up but they know the importance of the groove. The nine minutes of 'We'll Be Together Again' start in sunny optimism with Hanna supplying an endless series of drum flourishes; Toshiko then smoothly deepens the tone and the drumming disappears, Cherico stepping into the gap with a hypnotic bass riff over which Toshiko moodily creates an atmosphere of shadows. When Hanna kicks back in and energy returns it's almost a pity.

Faster material tends to include little quotations from her first album, which irked me at first until I remembered that Toshiko's Piano had basically vanished off the face of the earth by that point in time and hardly anyone could be expected to recognise it in America or Japan. Nevertheless, for those who've been lucky enough to hear Toshiko's Piano, 'Bag's Tune' is a bit superfluous. Other than that, this record is golden. I have no honest idea why Toshiko is given so little attention by the jazz community. I hope it's not because she's a woman or Japanese. Perhaps it's all to do with the prevailing idea that "lead instruments" in jazz are saxophone and trumpet, leaving Toshiko in the same sad state as Chico Hamilton, The Modern Jazz Quartet and others who thought piano, cello, vibraphone and flute could dare usurp the role.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

I like Toshiko. She plays with personality, alternates dark and light, seems to possess a musical sense of humour and has amazingly fluid fingers. Expectations being fairly high I wasn't disappointed, plenty of all those elements on this record. The "many sides", yes she could be a lounge artist, classical interprenator (I made that word up) avant-gardist, be-bop-hard-bop-whatcha-call-it and so much more!

That said, on this record we just have the trio, piano, bass and drums. The inventiveness holds my attention for the most part but at times it's a bit conventional and seems to run thin on ideas, repeating overly simplistic phrases. Why do I expect jazz to be packed with ideas? I hold jazz to fairly unrealistic fantasy heights in which musical genres and statements pass through the players at breathtaking speed simultaneously evoking pathos, melancholy and joy of life with memorable melodic passages that never ever repeat.

Toshiko makes me think jazz like that is possible and there are some moments here that come close.

Cover Critique: The amber-lit happy smiling face of Toshiko. I always prefer aloof mystique but it doesn't look fake. The artist as approachable human being. Three stars. Nymith

She's happy, I'm happy, play it again! Ticharu

Gene Vincent and His Bluecaps

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

So soon into his career and there are already problems piling up. Not enough to profoundly damage the listening experience but enough to dampen my enthusiasm a little. There's no real blame to pass around (except to the record label, for not letting ANY singles on to the album and thereby stretching Vincent and the Blue Caps' songwriting to the limit). The stars were simply not aligned for the Blue Caps to remain together as a band. Just one of those things.

Gene Vincent and His Blue Caps is a simple enough rockabilly record - straightforward, no surprises (well, there is one), a bare minimum of slow numbers, just one rocker after another with catchy choruses and an atmosphere compatible with any teenage party. It's definitely a step down from Bluejean Bop; however, to condemn the record would just be petty. It has a function and it fulfills it. Considering the various problems gumming up the works, and the (second) departure of Cliff Gallup as soon as the sessions were over, it's rather amazing  how well this sendoff to the classic Blue Caps turned out. Instead of something awful, it's just good old by-numbers rockabilly, with a great band on its last legs at the helm. In a few months everyone would be gone except the drummer.

In these sessions, the band actually did better with the more laid-back material like 'Cruisin' and 'Double Talkin' Baby.' The excitement was wearing off and cries of "rock it, Blue Caps!" wouldn't bring it back, leaving rockers like 'Hold Me, Hug Me, Rock Me' undercooked and unconvincing. Contemporary singles like 'B-I-Bickey-Bi Bo Bo Go' and 'Five Days, Five Days' had fabulous conviction which would have really spiced up the album. Those fools at Capitol did it a disservice - luckily, CD reissues correct this problem.

One obvious classic is to be found: 'Cat Man.' They were really going in a new direction with this one. Tension-building Spanish styled guitars, some wild yells of "Cat Man!" and a really unsettling lyric about a predatory male whom Gene nonchalantly identifies as himself at the end of the song. And it's sung and played very straight - nothing hammy, no winks at the audience to reassure you that they don't really mean it. Two minutes of awesome. Fun fact: Nick Cave decided 'Cat Man' was effective enough in its aim to cover in the early days of The Birthday Party (and he also made use of the same "evil acrostic" bit in his later song 'Loverman,' which considering the title might actually be a subtle call back, or maybe I'm reading too much in to it). This might not be the first dark and deadly rock song in history (I'm pretty sure that's actually Chuck Berry's 'Downbound Train,' another hopeless obscurity from a typically upbeat rock and roller) but it's real close to the starting gate. Don't miss it.

Second best song has to be their smooth and slinky cover of 'Blues Stay Away From Me,' the Delmore Brothers' lazy country classic; Gene gives it his loveliest singing in the batch, Gallup has some room to move and they really transform the song (and be sure to check out Johnny Burnette's ramshackle contemporary recording, sadly left off his Coral album - record producers are such idiots).

On the negative side, Vincent did slow songs better than any rocker on the market and after the quality of his slower pop interpretations ('Wedding Bells' and the like) on Bluejean Bop, what is most surprising is how underwhelming the two ballads on the Gene Vincent album are. 'Unchained Melody' ... is 'Unchained Melody,' no more, no less. The trilling mandolin-style guitars give it a more sophisticated sound than contemporary string arrangements but you really have to be a soul singer to bring some kind of life to 'Unchained Melody' and as much as I love Gene Vincent's voice, I have to stand by Bobby Hatfield on this one. The other ballad, 'I Sure Miss You,' is from his earliest 1956 session, which probably explains why it descends into an Elvis impression with Gene's hushed, breathy falsetto ignored in imitation of the star of the day. Fascinating from an art evolution standpoint (in less than two months he gave totally confident readings of 'Weddings Bells' and 'Peg o My Heart') but disappointing in terms of this album.

But when it comes down to it there's nothing really "bad" about this record; no staggering mistakes or corny marketing maneuvers like 'Bop Street.' Okay, 'Pink Thunderbird' is a very silly song, but it has a great chorus attached and came from the most energetic of the final October sessions. The verdict on Gene Vincent and His Blue Caps is that it sounds great if you're having a rockabilly party but on closer inspection is spread a little thin. Leave aside unfair expectations. It would have been wonderful had the Blue Caps moved in new directions, kept it together and gotten an experimental groove on but the times weren't conducive to such a thing. Rockers had to go on tour, get on TV, scale the charts. Gallup was a family man losing interest in the rock and roll lifestyle (you can't blame him) and that reflects in his playing. He turned to school maintenance and continued to play his guitar without seeking fame. He was probably happier for it. Rock is known to chew up the people who ascribe to it. Gene Vincent's career wasn't over but this album is a farewell to his classic Blue Caps - one of the best bands on the early rock and roll scene. Don't let them be forgotten.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

The chemistry of a band is very important. Any band, any group of musicians creates something unique. A Musician working alone might create something interesting but the magic happens with groups, especially groups with a history and a good working relationship. Recognising a unique chemistry like Gene Vincent and the Bluecaps it's a pity they couldn't have found a way to continue as a group. Take the singer out of a working band, put them with other musicians, yeah maybe. Most of the time it won't be as good. Gene Vincent and His Bluecaps, that would be the stuff.

Cliff Gallup was a great guitar player and the band gave up some real energy. Shouting "Rock Bluecaps!" a bit too frequently aside this is a really good record. Production values fall a little short OK and perhaps there was some tension and the sessions were rushed, whatever. For me these recordings hold up really well. I always get a buzz listening to Gene Vincent and his Bluecaps. This is the heart of rock 'n roll in 1957.

Cover Critique: Greasy haired, bedraggled, black-clad rocker with his dynamic blue-clad band. Men of action! It's a trifle but some skilled marketing went into it. Four stars. Nymith

Stormy Weather

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

If you want to know who was keeping the Songbook "alive" in the rock and roll era, a quick listen to Stormy Weather will supply the answer. It's as if Lena Horne knew that the golden era was over and rather than let herself be pushed meekly into the shadows, she pushed back and recorded this feisty album - or maybe she was just venting frustration over the blacklisting that had stalled her career in the first half of the decade (her first studio album got released in 1955 but unfortunately we missed it while doing that year). 

Horne never was a jazz singer - in her youth she sang straight sentimental pop, lushly orchestrated and pleasant on the ears. After being released from Hollywood she became a premier nightclub performer and her live album At the Waldorf-Astoria became RCA's top-selling record by a female artist. The most remarkable aspect to her recording career is how she transformed herself from a pleasant but routine singer in the 1940s (another in a long line of impeccably trained mechanical songbirds) into Lena Horne, a forceful, smouldering presence with astonishingly modern phrasing. When did it happen? What was the catalyst? 

Having given a listen to the Waldorf album I suspect she learned it through the nightclub circuit. Above all else, put on a show. Give em a good time, vary the mood - be a little saucy, a little torchy; make them laugh and then sober them up. Start happy, end happy, but take them for a ride. This made her popular in her time but seems to have had the opposite effect on subsequent listeners, putting her firmly in the second tier after giants like Ella and Billie. Snobs who value "technique" above all else are only part of the reason. A lot of people reach for the old Songbook singers for some mellow, "easy listening" comfort. Those people when they put on Stormy Weather will not be pleased. Too loud, too unrestrained. This lady doesn't just croon, she bellows.

It all begins with 'Tomorrow Mountain,' an upbeat vision of a morally bankrupt paradise selected from Beggar's Holiday, a musical update on the 18th Century play The Beggar's Opera (itself the inspiration for The Threepenny Opera) that was written by John La Touche and composed by Duke Ellington. Just this backstory gives Stormy Weather an edge in its industry. But the attraction isn't the song - it's Lena's smoking delivery that blows the mind, especially when attached to ridiculous proto-psychedelic lines like "marshmallows bloom already toasted / and the clouds are made of marmalade and jam." Nobody else could have done this song justice. Lena owns it, hands down.

Vivacity is the key. Listen to her take on 'Ridin' on the Moon' and compare her full-throttle delivery to other singers of the day. Peggy Lee? Wasn't her style. Ella? Too well-mannered. Tony Bennett may have been the only one who could rival this approach but he still lacked the modernity of phrasing. The one-two punch of 'Baby Won't You Please Come Home' and 'Any Place I Hang My Hat is Home' really proves the point. You could actually lift the vocal straight out of the latter and give it a rock backing (a weird thought, but one I had) and it would fit right in.

A lot of praise has to go to husband Lennie Hayton's orchestra as well, as it possesses the crackle and attitude of the New York school of orchestration, rather than the smothering syrup of the Hollywood school. Hayton props up Lena's performances without distracting from them and even goes for some creative additions, such as channelling Moises Vivanco to give 'Out of This World' a taste of exotica. Then there's whoever's responsible for the song selection, as it's formally impeccable; leaning heavily on the bygone classics and ignoring the kitschy material that helped Lena break up any possible monotony while performing live but would have damaged the glamour image Stormy Weather was clearly going for. Instead we get the best songs by Arlen (represented five times over, no less), Gershwin, Coward, Porter - the guys who set the gold standard.

In fact, the weakest reading here is (surprisingly) of 'Summertime.' It seems like Horne was experimenting with a theatrical reading, but 'Summertime' is a sultry number at heart and this aggressive style is an uncomfortable (though interesting) fit. Trying to take it some place else is commendable though - especially when the song is a standard and the people involved aren't rock and rollers. She uses the same theatrical tactic on her signature song 'Stormy Weather,' where it makes more sense. Both of these numbers are plenty memorable, so it's not worth docking points.

To conclude: Stormy Weather is an easy pinnacle of Songbook interpretation and, as I've made abundantly clear, it gets my highest recommendation. Make this your introduction to the genre and you will never mistake it for "easy listening" music again. I know that's how it worked for me. 

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

Some music requires more effort than others. Lena Horne requires a little effort. You have to sit still and let her assault you. 

"But she seems to be shouting at me Tich! Why is she so animated?"

Because Lena Horne takes performance to a new level. It's the chew you up and spit you out performance that you crave. If you turn the stereo off before she's finished it won't happen for you.

I must admit it took me a while to build up a tolerance for this kind of full throated performance from the 1950s. At first I could only take it in small doses. Tomorrow Mountain and I needed a cup of camomile tea. It wasn't until I heard I'd Do Anything (not on this album) that I really got Lena Horne. She didn't just sing the song. She became the song. She owned it body and soul and so far as I can tell for the year 1957, she owns it too.

What was there for competition? Miles Davis was starting to formulate something worthwhile certainly. Chuck Berry was lending some depth to the Rock 'n Roll chart. Martin Denny? Take a trip to Hawaii... otherwise get hold of this Lena Horne album and enjoy the ride!

Cover Critique: The album cover wears really well, still looks sophisticated, lures you in without being tasteless. Aloof, strong, too cool. Great cover art. Ticharu

Dream Street

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

A rotten idea in the first place: turn Peggy Lee into Frank Sinatra. Because Decca executives know that's what we all really want when we listen to Peggy Lee: Frank Sinatra! Makes sense, doesn't it?

In the service of this idea, Lee's musical directors put in an order for harp (the most prominent instrument by far), vibraphone and piano and seemingly interrupted all of Lee's first takes to tell her "Peggy, take the edge off. Do it again, but gently." The songs they selected also lacked melodic potential and so the whole thing ended up a gruesomely inadequate and rather exploitative rip-off of In the Wee Small Hours that actually comes out worse, lacking that album's groundbreaking significance and wasting the talents of a singer who was still going strong in those years.

In all fairness, the attempt may have been equally inspired by the previous year's rendition of 'You're My Thrill,' which in hindsight was something of a blueprint for Dream Street - a tuneless dirge with harp and bells all over it. But you know how Peggy sang THAT one? She sang it like the object of her affection was tied to a chair and she was whispering it in his ear. It was bloody well intense and unforgettable - and contrary to first impressions, contained plenty of energy, noticeably missing here.

Beyond Sy Oliver's saccharine, faux-artsy arrangements, the song selection is also to blame. Two songs from In the Wee Small Hours are placed right next to each other in the middle of the album - no way was that accidental - but the main problem is that these showtunes are played like showtunes. I've seen My Fair Lady and in the context of the film 'I've Grown Accustomed to [Her] Face' worked as an epiphany on Rex Harrison's part but here the dramatic pauses and heavy silences are kept while the visual component and story buildup are removed. It no longer makes sense as a song and becomes a slice of slow, ponderous fluff surrounded by similar (and even weaker) material. The showtune teams who wrote these songs came up with some precious little phrases, too... "I love my ceiling more / now that it is a dancing floor?" "My old flame / I can't even think of his name?" Stoner rock's got nothing on this stuff.

As with In the Wee Small Hours there is a total lack of passion and desperation despite the melancholy vibe they're clearly aiming for. Peggy even sounds disinterested. Two seperate attempts are made to raise the energy level, namely 'Something I Dreamed Last Night' (with locomotive percussion and a vibraphone break) and 'It's All Right With Me.' They're not bad songs and should work but in this environment Peggy almost seems nervous about revving it up.

So what works on an album like this? Not a lot. 'Street of Dreams' builds some tension through a good violin intro and has a certain elegance that the rest of the songs merely shadow. 'Too Late Now' transforms into a quasi-Arabian fantasia ... for some reason. It doesn't fit the song but it does make it stand out a bit in the chintzy fairyland of bells and harps that is Dream Street.

The punchline comes at the end, when standup bass ushers in a jazzy, playful take on 'So Blue' that serves the sole purpose of saying "Peggy Lee's still got it!" It sounds like an outtake from an earlier, happier session. Remember when John Lennon ended Mind Games with 'Meat City,' like he was saying "I could have rock and rolled my way through this session but chose not to?" The producers of Dream Street could be saying the same thing. Not being John Lennon, they did not get away with their choice.

I don't really have to mention that this is a completely conservative record for 1957, since In the Wee Small Hours was conservative for 1955. It may have been designed as a conscious demonstration of what "adult" music should be all about, as the rock and roll wave gained ground but it actually serves to demonstrate why the Songbook and the Singers were losing all relevancy. You want an album from 1957 that proves the opposite? Go listen to Lena Horne's Stormy Weather, a hot coal next to Dream Street's sugarcube.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

Whether you like this album or not, music is such a subjective thing, all I can say is I didn't hear what I love about Peggy Lee in this collection. It has a half-baked, under performed quality. Sure, there are some performances better than others and the low-key tone of the record might appeal in a certain mood. It actually sounds pretty good on headphones. If the producers were telling Peggy to "take the edge off", well that's exactly what made Peggy such a fabulous singer. The edge! She knew what she was doing in front of a microphone. Don't mess with a natural artist. So this album is a bit of a disappointment.

I don't doubt that producing an album for the 1957 market would be choppy waters. It worked out reasonably well for all involved would be my guess. 60 odd years after the fact and I'm disappointed with production decisions. One is tempted to say whatever!

If you're just now discovering Peggy Lee it is most likely through a collection of her best work and a few of these tracks will find there way into a collection like that. You'd have to be listening pretty close for it to make any difference. For the year 1957 The Cold Coffee Music Library ranks Dream Street a step off the mark from Peggy's usual brilliance.

Cover Critique: A copy of In the Wee Small Hours with all the noire mystique removed. This is supposed to be a themed album centered on lost love but Lee's look is one of vacant optimism. Meh. Two stars. Nymith

It looks like the Peggy Lee colouring book! Start again... Ticharu

'Round About Midnight

WHAT NYMITH SAYS:

'Round About Midnight was Miles Davis' first record on the Columbia label and his first with a then-unknown (and still extremely restrained) John Coltrane. It's a landmark jazz album and, like Time Out, a rewarding and melodic listen for jazz novices. The important thing is the atmosphere, becoming Chet Baker's only rival at capitalizing on nocturnal moods. If you don't play this album in the evening you're doing it a disservice.

The highest of the highlights is 'Round Midnight,' played with a muted trumpet and conjuring a mood so dusky and romantic that I dare say it's unrivalled. Oddly the moment that most impresses me is at 2:40 into the song, where the pace abruptly picks up and ebbs back into the flow without ever disrupting it. They also deliver a take on Cole Porter's 'All of You' that perfectly conveys the sweetness of the tune and gives the melody far more room and respect than is expected of a bop ensemble. Among instrumental renditions this is a strong candidate for the "definitive" tag.

'Bye Bye Blackbird' is the longest track and has a curious set of solos to consider: Davis sticks to the melody and offers more delicate trumpetwork and Red Garland's piano solo has a lightly swinging lilt that forms a perfect response. Both of them clearly modulated their solos to fit the tone of the song. Coltrane is the odd one out, as he steps in between them and (to quote the AllMusic Guide) "smatters notes quickly all through the melodic body of the tune." It sounds like he's playing to something in his head that doesn't have much to do with 'Bye Bye Blackbird' as such. Fans admire this technique but I don't think it's a good fit here. It works much better on the looser framework of 'Dear Old Stockholm,' a fine conclusion to the record even though something like a third of the song is given over to the bass player (Paul Chambers, who previously contributed to The Toshiko Trio and sounds a little more inspired on this outing).

Really, everything works as long as Davis and the group are keeping their cool. Where they somewhat fail to convince is as a hot ensemble. 'Ah-Leu-Cha' disrupts the elegant flow of the album without containing enough energy to compensate. Or perhaps it just "sonically" doesn't belong, as it dates to an earlier session (1955) than the other material and jumped out at me even before I read the wiki. It is 'Round About Midnight's only express inconsistency and not worth docking points over. The album is awesome to behold, deserving of its reputation even to a recent convert to jazz and an essential listen. I sing its praises because it is very rare for one of these jazz albums to "get" me after only a couple of listens. Everything from Hamilton to Mingus has taken intense bouts of concentration and intellectual battles to come to love so 'Round About Midnight stands apart and I wish to emphasize that.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS:

Miles had taste. At least that's the impression I get from this record. The Album has focus and direction which comes very close to working. His new label probably rushed things a bit. If they would have given him a bigger budget, a few more sessions and maybe a dusky sax player this album would have been... well, no sense going on about would could have been.

What it is? It's got a great atmosphere but it goes on too long. The shortish fast paced Ah-Leu-Cha is out of place. John Coltrane is out of place. But it is still a great record.

Sounds more like damnation with faint praise Ticharu!

OK, well I'm not a fan of trumpets and saxophones. They sound generally annoying to me. It's a personal thing. I can appreciate when someone plays the thing well. I don't think Miles played the thing well. I think he played it with style. Great style. Coltrane, not so much, or what style that is I just find annoying. More annoying than most. But it's still a great record.

Will I be listening to 'Round About Midnight in the regular rotation? No, probably not.

Can I recommend 'Round About Midnight? Oh yeah, knock yourself out.

Cover Critique: An amazing album cover, not quite as important as what Martin Denny did for the creation of Exotica but a step in the right direction. It uses the same technique as most 50s album covers - snap a photo of the artist and his instrument, run a filter, choose a font, go home. This time round someone knew quite well what they were doing and as an added bonus, what you see in the photograph perfectly matches what's on the record (unlike the iconic Elvis cover). This is the cool jazz king complete with veiled eyes and bored slouch. An enigma first and foremost. Doesn't it make you wonder what kind of jazz he represents? It intrigues and it would also look good hanging on a wall or propped in a corner if you're lucky enough to have the vinyl. Five stars without a doubt. Nymith

You know what you get with this album! A dude with a trumpet wearing shades in the dark... bound to be cool. Ticharu

Johnny Burnette and the Rock 'n Roll Trio

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

It took until December of 1956 but we were finally given the real deal: an entire album (or nearly) of true rock and roll, mean and nasty odes to white-trash delinquency that make Elvis and Gene sound like Buddy Holly in comparison. That Johnny Burnette went from this to teen idoldom (best known for 'You're Sixteen, You're Beautiful, and You're Mine') is the scariest  and/or funniest part of the story. But for one brief moment the intangible spirit of rock and roll was captured, I suspect by sheer accident. Why? Because no one who knew what they were doing would allow the fuzzed guitar power of 'Honey Hush' to pass them by like the Rock and Roll Trio did. Instead of recognizing the many possible futures that lay in amplification techniques, they shrugged it off as a novelty effect - good for a song or two but nothing to explore further. For that, we had to wait for the Yardbirds.

The Rock and Roll Trio consisted of Johnny Burnette (vocals, acoustic guitar), his older brother Dorsey (bass) and friend Paul Burlison (lead guitar). All three shared a background in amateur boxing, which tells you a lot right there. They won the Ted Mack Original Amateur Hour (the America's Got Talent of the day) three times in a row, winning them a contract with Coral Records and a bunch of promotion - TV appearances, touring with Gene Vincent and Carl Perkins (whose cousin Tony Austin became their drummer). Unfortunately none of this resulted in commercial success and within a year the band had dissolved, leaving the Burnette brothers to seek fortune elsewhere - and so they patched up their differences and struck out for California to gain the attention of Ricky Nelson, writing songs for him and finally gaining a little secondhand success. By 1960 Johnny had learned to be a teen idol himself, however his life was tragically ended in 1964 by a boating accident.

All of this means that the Coral sessions are his primary legacy and this album (available now in a much expanded 17 song edition including 'Tear It Up' and other gems from the sessions) gives you cut after cut of the raw, primal, blistering rockabilly that made his critical reputation. I had been immersed in the 50s for so long when I first played this CD that my jaw literally dropped when the first notes of 'Honey Hush' began. When Big Joe Turner cut the original it was just another piece of Big Joe Turner jump blues with the line "don't make me nervous, I'm holding a baseball bat" sounding more like moody but tasteless hyperbole than an active threat. Here we have Johnny not even bothering to sing, shouting at the top of his lungs while Burlison sets the standard for every garage band to come. People hunting for the progenitors of punk rock rarely go back further than the 1960s but if you're looking into it then you should check this out.

'Honey Hush' kicks off a golden run of tracks, culminating with the animalistic intent of 'Train Kept a-Rollin,' for which Burlison again employs some strategic amping. It is sheer primitive genius. The other songs are more straightforward rockabilly, but there again, the energy level annihilates any competition. It's all about the brawn. One of my favourites, 'Rock Billy Boogie,' is exactly the sort of generic dancefloor celebration that could have been sung by anyone from Bill Haley onwards. The joy of the Burnette delivery is that the band couldn't hone their punches at all, somehow turning this fluffy throwaway into a dark rocker (again I suspect by accident). 'Lonesome Train (On a Lonesome Track)' and 'Sweet Love on My Mind' make it clear that the persona of a desperate delinquent was made for Johnny where someone like Elvis could only ever pretend. Track after track show the Trio picking their battles and winning every one.

Of course, what is a landmark record without some headscratching embarrassment? In this case, the disastrous decision to include three ballads on the second half of the album, sequenced to deliberately kill the mood by following the knockout punch of 'Train Kept A Rollin' with the eye-watering pain of 'I Just Found Out.' Johnny Burnette at this stage in life is a clumsy, bearlike balladeer (it's a credit of sorts that by the time he got around to 'You're Sixteen' he was able to do a credible Hollywood-Elvis impersonation - say what you will, he must have really worked hard to sing that way). As soon as he painfully stammers "I-hi I just found out..." it's apparent that something went dreadfully wrong, maybe the producers trying to soften him up for the ladies (with the stammer conveying vulnerability, I guess). It doesn't work well taken out of context and taken WITHIN context it's laughable - we've just heard him sing song after song conveying lust and fury, threatening his woman with a baseball bat, and now we're supposed to buy a sudden attempt at country-boy sensitivity? The worst of them is probably 'I Love You So,' where he's backed with inane doo-wop vocals, but they all damage the listening experience. 'Chains of Love' is at least done in a ragged style that halfways suits the Trio but that doesn't mean it has a lot going for it.

It could be argued that since many of the rockers sound similar some change of pace was simply necessary to preserve the dynamic. Yes, 'Your Baby Blue Eyes' does start in an identical fashion to 'Sweet Love on My Mind' but it's about equally good so why mess with a formula that delivers results? They could never compete with the real ladies' men for romantic appeal and it was foolish to try when they had their own sound that no one else was enough of a caveman to take on. And it isn't like the ballads won the Burnette brothers any short-term publicity - the record and singles buying public were just not interested in anything they did.

Luckily, this lackluster closing chapter ends with 'Drinking Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee,' a final classic in which Johnny does a perfect impression of a rough and ready hellraiser, drawing the album to a perfect finish and letting me (mostly) forget their momentary lapse of taste and reason, probably brought on by the band trying to be tasteful and reasonable. That just isn't their strong suit. When you listen, feel free to skip the slow songs and go for the undying classics. "Pass that bottle to meeee!!!"

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

What a strange anomaly, if you were the record buying public in 1956, what do you make of this? Could music be any more primitive and raw than this? Sings like a dang Neanderthal!

Nobody bought it, nobody liked it, but what a totally brilliant record. Well, most of it is brilliant, in fact the rock 'n roll element on this album flattens the competition and if not for the ill-advised ballads a total masterpiece and quite possibly the very first hard rock album in the world. They didn't know what they had and poor Johnny just wanted to be successful and who can blame him, a guy's got to eat, but if the Rock 'n Roll Trio could have hung on for another 10 years, wow, what could have been. They would have been genuine rock stars.

OK, none of that was really possible, they would have learned to play, got better amps, etc... this album is more like a brilliant fluke that no one realised would become the blueprint for a sound. Very sad that Johnny didn't live to see it.

What does it sound like Ticharu?

It's the sound of alley-cats! It's the sound of a big ol' guitar with too many dang strings on it! How did they get that sound? It sounds like octaves to me and a most excellent analogue fuzz-tone, an over-driven something perfection and thank providence they didn't record over it!

Of the new rock 'n roll albums you could put in your collection in the way back time of 1956, Elvis was cute, had a great voice but obviously a weirdo. Gene Vincent was polished and full of energy and also had an amazing voice. Then there was Johnny Burnette. If you owned THIS album YOU were cutting edge, make no mistake. This is the heart of rock 'n roll.

The Wildest!

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

Louis Prima (1910 - 1978), the son of Italian immigrants and a popular entertainer in the 1950s, is one of the weirder artists you can acquire a taste for. With big bands diminishing since the 40s, he'd switched to a small ensemble that combined the brassy energy of jump blues with the corny glitz of showbiz. Every song that came his way would get a comic interpretation, though unlike Louis Jordan most of his material wasn't written to be humorous per say. In live shows he'd clown around on stage, backed by a woman (most famously Keely Smith) who would play into the joke by steadfastly ignoring his idiocy, keeping still and deadpan as he mugged for the audience. So The Wildest! is a Vegasy comic romp and yet it does deliver what the title so excitedly promises: revved-up, rocking jump blues, with Prima's trumpet and Sam Butera's saxophone in the spotlight. Eccentric, charming, occasionally abominable - and watching a couple of video performances before you invest in the album wouldn't hurt.

The Wildest! does get off to a slow start. Leadoff track 'Just a Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody' is Prima's signature song, a medley (though as medley's go, it's almost seamless) and a tune where Prima leaves himself just enough room to maneuver between a little silliness and a little melancholy as the musical energy builds up to more than one crescendo. It's really something special.

Unfortunately, the album takes a nosedive immediately afterwards - '(Nothing's Too Good) for My Baby' is a novelty number, 'The Lip' is an obnoxious, tuneless, stupidly catchy novelty number and 'Body and Soul' is a good instrumental that for some reason decides to morph into 'In the Hall of the Mountain King' at the end, spoiling the whole thing. Luckily, it picks up from there. On 'Oh Marie' he calls on Sam to parrot his Italianized scat singing, speeding through it so the poor fellow has no chance of keeping up and joking "come on boy, what's the matter with you?" to general laughter. The song then skyrockets into a rave-up instrumental coda and the record's back on track.

The first half of the 'Basin Street Blues/When It's Sleepy Time Down South' medley gives Prima a minute to pay tribute to his hometown of New Orleans and blow some fine trumpet (just as Louis Armstrong did with his version). 'Buona Sera' lays on the Italian clichés, setting the serenade to a tango rhythm only to hilariously throw the whole thing out the window in favour of a faster approach. I've never been a big fan of the Prima-penned 'Jump, Jive an' Wail' because although it does jive marvellously on the instrumental breaks, the lyrical quest to find rhymes for "wail" never gets good results. The swanky adaptation of 'Night Train' is a big success as it preserves the requisite bluesy feel and the band don't try to turn it into a joke like they did with 'Body and Soul.' And of course a song like '(I'll Be Glad When You're Dead) You Rascal You' is tailor-made for a man of Prima's disposition, and the lyrics are altered to make it sound like the rascal in question was more interested in stealing some find Italian cooking than in making off with the wife. "When you're dead and in your grave / no more ravioli will you crave..." I don't think that's how the original went.

The CD reissue comes with a set of bonus tracks, several of which I'd have preferred to see on the album in place of the weaker material on side A, including 'Five Months, Two Weeks, Five Days' (whose only real difference from the era's pop-rockers is instrumental). Other little highlights are the charming and quaint 'Whistle Stop' and the bouncing barbershop tune 'Be Mine (Little Baby).' Really, if you give Louis Prima a chance he'll grow on you. The man was a lifelong entertainer and put out a record that you could dance to in 1956 - something which most others of his generation had long since given up.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

Raucous, amusing and fabulous! At the top of his game? Quite possibly. Why wouldn't you love this record? Well let me think... I can't come up with anything. It's great!

Why is it great? The band cooks for one thing. When I first heard the term "bop jazz" I thought this was the kind of thing they were talking about. A small group with a sax, piano, drums, madman, playing at a break neck speed. A more accurate term for that kind of music would be Louis Prima!

A precursor to stuff like "Absolutely Free" by The Mothers and "Gorilla" by The Bonzos, humour and presentation from a well crafted stage show make this pretty slick while still sounding spontaneous. The only thing Prima might do a little too often is the call and response shtick but the band certainly does it well and it adds to the madness.

Great stuff!

Moondog

WHAT NYMITH SAYS

Moondog, full name Louis Thomas Hardin (1916 - 1999), is one of those people you can hardly believe existed, sounding more like an urban myth than a person. He lost his sight at 16, due to a farm accident involving a dynamite cap. He trained as a musician mostly by ear, with some help from braille books on music theory. He relocated from the midwest to New York in the 40s and set up as a street busker, supporting himself reasonably well in this manner. New York inhabitants called him "the Viking of 6th Avenue" as he would stand on the street in a cloak and horned helmet (the latter to keep people from comparing him to a monk as he had rejected Christianity in favour of the Norse Gods). How did he get albums out? Artur Rodzinski, conductor of the New York Philharmonic, took a shine to him and got him recording time with jazz labels, resulting in albums such as this one and its immediate sequel More Moondog. Eventually Mr. Hardin decided to relocate to Germany, where he lived out his days from 1974 to 1999.

The most astonishing thing about the album here reviewed (besides it getting released in the first place) is how easy it is on the ears. For those who live in fear of the word "avant-garde" this could be the perfect introduction - everything gentle, no atonal shrieks or dissonant ramblings encountered and few tracks lasting for more than two minutes. The record is a combination of what can only be called musical anthropology (found sounds and the like, exemplified by tracks like 'Dance Rehearsal,' where recorder and drum form the background for a dance instructor's voice and 'Tap Dance,' where Moondog's percussion joins forces with a tap dancer's feet), world music and a hint of modern classical. It is cerebral but soothing to the emotions as well.

Lowlights are few, due to the shortness of most tracks - only the final track, 'Street Scene,' counts as a disappointment as it departs from the more alluring fly-on-the-wall sound clips and features portentous poetry readings instead. Otherwise, it's all good, from the quirky frog percussion of 'Frog Bog' to the epic (six minute) 'Surf Session,' with a lovely violin melody played over the soothing sounds of the sea. A couple of other pieces also highlight quite expressive piano ('To a Sea Horse') or violin playing ('Tree Trail' with a background of chirping birds).

Then there's the well-nigh indescribable stuff - 'Big Cat' features a calm recorder melody and exited percussion interspersed with the snarls of some savannah predator and possibly an elephant's cry. 'Lullaby' and 'Death, When You Come To Me' both feature a Japanese woman's voice, the former soothing an infant with a mostly wordless lullaby, the latter providing weird incantations over a cascade of strange and mostly unidentifiable percussion glintings, scrapings, pops and gongs. At least when Tom Waits pulls that stuff, it's a good bet the weary reviewer can describe it as rattling bones and call it a day - I have NO clue how to convey what 'Death, When You Come To Me' sounds like. Another vocal piece, 'Trees Against the Sky,' (sadly not even a minute long) is what is called a "round," where singers create an organic delay effect by singing the exact same melody while starting at different times.

It doesn't all rise to this level of interest but the bottom line is that nothing else sounded like this at the time, and I rather doubt since (except for Moondog's other output, goes without saying). Unlike with Sun Ra's offering of the same year, Moondog lives up to its promise as something truly different but the most pleasant surprise is in how well this avant-garde minimalism holds up, never overstaying its welcome and providing a calming backdrop for any morning. A thoroughly satisfying discovery.

And if you haven't had enough and want more Moondog then you're in luck because that's what you get with More Moondog, a second release from 1956 with a similar title, cover, set of songs and mood. It puts more emphasis on pure percussion than its predecessor but is still so similar that I can't really justify putting it in a seperate review. I prefer Moondog because of the stronger eclecticism and the lack of the eight minute 'Moondog Monologue,' a poetry reading much too long to fit into the flow of the album. However, here are some highlights to look out for: haunting percussion can be found on 'Conversation and Music at 51st St. and 6th Ave. (New York City)' and the droning 'Oboe Round' is like Desertshore-era Nico. 'Chant' is a chant, full of vitality, but it cuts off abruptly at 44 seconds and should have had more development. 'Ostrich Feathers Played on a Drum' gives a straight answer to the question of what that would sound like.

Most notable of the pieces is probably 'All is Loneliness,' another of Moondog's rounds, which gained a little fame nine years after the fact through a cover on Big Brother and the Holding Company's début, where it got an extra couple of lines thrown in (just to give Janis Joplin something to do, I suspect) and substituted dark trippiness for the "tribal holy rites" that was a Moondog speciality. What's surprising is that it wasn't even looser an adaptation, given the San Francisco scene and all.

WHAT TICHARU SAYS

Moondog is an interesting record that I don't really care for, I suppose that's because it sounds like a field recording... it's a little like booking a holiday, expecting to sit by the seaside because you can see the ocean in the brochure but when you get to your room (put on the record) you find the only way you'll be sat by the seaside is after a very long walk down an enormous hill, along a dark path with bitey insects, blurping frogs, crying babies, lions and yes even somebody playing a piano which sounds oddly like Carmen... did I mention the ballet lesson? Next time I'll think to book a room right next to where I want to be.

Oh but Ticharu, you missed the point of this record! Well yeah, maybe I did, but getting back to the bed and breakfast analogy, staying up the hill well away from the pleasant sea front is just the thing if you've brought your mountain bike. I put in the effort to go on vacation, ie. listen to the record, I don't want to have to make an effort to enjoy it. Sure, it can be ten tons of weird and wonderful but so much of this record just sounds like a tape recorder at the zoo. An interesting artefact?