Not that I’d dream of turning Rifftides into an educational institution, but here’s a chance to learn from a great pianist as he plays and talks about his music. Over the years, Dick Cavett has hosted his show on six networks. These two clips come from his period with the Public Broadcasting Service, 1977-1982, long before PBS began dumbing down its prime time programming with vapid fund-raising specials. But I digress.
Here, Cavett’s guest was Oscar Peterson (1925-2007). The first video recently showed up on the web and has been seen by few viewers. It is of marginal video quality but acceptable in the audio department. It has the standard promotional sildes with which Pedro Mendes starts and ends all of the videos he puts up. But who’s complaining; he puts them up. The second clip—crisp and clear—is a YouTube hit seen by more than 140,000 surfers. It continues the conversation. This is OP with Cavett in 1979.
Have a good weekend.
The nonagenarian pianist presented de Barros with every biographer’s hope, unrestricted access to his subject’s personal papers and nearly unrestricted access to her private thoughts. He made the most of it, turning exhaustive research and hundreds of hours of interviews into a true story with the sweep of a novel. From the early discovery of McPartland’s musical gift through her wartime service, her ecstatic and stormy marriage to Jimmy McPartland, her growth as a pianist, her deep affair with Joe Morello, and the radio show that made her a national figure, she has had a fascinating life. It makes a splendid read.
Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band had three fewer musicians than most big jazz outfits. Its size permitted precision, flexibility and subtlety, yet the band had the power of sprung steel. In this concert from a half century ago, the CJB is as fresh as yesterday. Arrangements by Mulligan, Bob Brookmeyer, Al Cohn and Johnny Mandel set standards to which big band writers still aspire. Bassist Buddy Clark and drummer Mel Lewis inspired Mulligan, Brookmeyer, Conte Candoli, Gene Quill and Zoot Sims to some of the best soloing of their careers. This beautifully produced issue of the complete concert is a basic repertoire item.
DR (I assume there’s one in the house), by a possibly odd coincidence, two days ago in a comment sent to a UK site devoted to War Poetry (mostly of the two WW’s) I too used that wryly transitional phrase “But I digress.” Seeing it in your piece re: OP on DC catalyzes me to ask: do you know the source for those words? (I don’t.) Could be anyone from the real WS (whichever obscure 16th century gent that might be) to your punned-it pal PD–or even, perchance, the other, more ubiquitous P.D.
I’m reminded of the Jazz pianist who, when asked if he would like a drink, answered, “No… But I digress.”
The origin of “But I digress” remains murky, at least for me. It doesn’t show up in any of the standard references—Bernstein, Ciardi, Fowler, Sisson, et al. Googling led to two guesses. From someone who identifies himself as “Don’t Ask” on a website called The Straight Dope:
From “Telemark” in the same forum:
I am reasonably sure that it isn’t from Shakespeare. Maybe someone in the Rifftides readership can tell us where it originated.
Thanks for sharing the links to Oscar Peterson’s appearance on Dick Cavett’s program.
Oscar Peterson hosted a CBC TV series for a time in Canada that was rebroadcast on A&E in the mid-1980s. He would usually play an introductory number with his trio (Ray Brown and Bobby Durham), then bring out his guest. Inevitably the show ended with an uptempo blues, which A&E would ruin with a voiceover loudly stating, “Stay tuned for Beau Bridges in ‘United States,’ coming up next.” Oscar roared when during a 2002 phone interview I told of my anger at A&E for the idiotic interruption.
I love the Cavett/Oscar Peterson video(s) and so glad you brought it to the attention of jazz fans. Reading your column reminded me of another fantastic video—it is on YouTube—Oscar and Andre Previn, talking, playing and providing both fans and musicians with priceless wisdom and joy. Have you listened to/viewed this?
Yes, I’ve watched it more than once in segments on YouTube, which is evidently the only way it can be viewed. There are seven clips in all. In some of them the sound and picture are badly out of synchronization and in one there are drastic audio and video dropouts. Still, the conversation between Previn and Peterson, and the playing by both, make weathering the technical storms more than worthwhile. The 65-minute program was broadcast on BBC Four Omnibus in 1974. Evidently, it last ran in Britain in 2009 and has never been issued as a DVD. Pity.