Rifftides reader Mark Stryker sent this reaction to the previous entry. Mr. Stryker is the music critic of The Detroit Free Press. He has good ears.

Just a coda re: “Moonlight in Vermont,” whose unusual lyrics were written by John Blackburn. The A section words are actually in the form of a haiku, with 5-7-5 syllable pattern. Nor do the lyrics rhyme. Also, a note on the interpretation: Whiting takes a big (and to my ear unfortunate) breath leading from the bridge into the final A section, separating the words “lovely” and “evening,” which breaks up the single image in the lyric that continues over the bar line: “People who meet in this romantic setting/are so hypnotized by the lovely evening summer breeze.”
Without disrespecting Whiting’s gifts, compare to how Jo Stafford sings it.
Singing a slightly alternate lyric, she doesn’t take the breath where Whiting does, making it through the bar line before grabbing some quick air after the first word (“shadows”) of the new 8 bars. But you can tell she’s trying to keep the line focused into single, unbroken thought, and her phrasing does give the impression of a more liquid, expressive legato, especially since the arrangement slipped into rubato on the bridge.

Of course, the master of using breath-control technique, the legato line and savvy phrasing to heighten the meaning of a lyric is Frank Sinatra. “Moonlight” was always a showcase for him in that way. He takes it ‘way further than Stafford, connecting the bridge to the last A with a suspended phrase that raises the tension to a peak before a wonderful release, making it all the way to the end of the sentence in the second bar before breathing; he even ornaments the word “evening” with a little downward portamento slide. The second time through the tune he ups the ante in what for me is one of the most electric moments in all of Sinatra Land. Over a rubato accompaniment, he sneaks a breath between “hypnotized” and “by” and then suspends time f-o-r-e-v-e-r. When he finally slides into the final 8 bars, the key slides up a step (thanks, Billy May) and the combination of Sinatra’s phrasing and the arrangement has the music reaching for the stars. Wow.

News of Margaret Whiting’s death at 86 on Monday must have sent her fans to the shelves in search of her recording of “Moonlight in Vermont.” She recorded the song in 1943 when she was 19. It helped make her a star, and she stayed on the charts well into the 1960s, surviving even as rock and roll displaced scores of her pop music contemporaries.
Johnny Mercer did not write the lyric for “Moonlight in Vermont,” but when he was the creative power at Capitol Records he chose the song for Whiting. Mercer and Frank Loesser helped shape her singing from the time she was the grade school daughter of their fellow songwriter Richard Whiting. In a passage from Gene Lees’ Mercer biography Portrait of Johnny, Whiting recalled how Mercer prepared her for the record session.

“…Johnny said, ‘I want you to think, what does Vermont mean to you?’
“I said, ‘A calendar with a church in the snow.’
“He said, ‘there are more images.’
“I said, ‘Well, there’s got to be summer, winter, fall. Fall. Everybody goes to see Vermont in the fall for the leaves.’
“He said, ‘I want you to think of those pictures. I want you to think of the coming of spring. I want you to think of summer, people swimming and people walking, people having a lovely time outdoors.’
“So we go in and record it and I’m envisioning all these pictures. It gave me something to go on. That’s what he taught me and that’s what Loesser taught me. Pick up that sheet music and look at those lyrics and make them mean something. Read the lyric aloud, over and over and over. Recite it until you get it. Your own natural instincts will tell you.”

Here’s the record: Trumpeter Billy Butterfield and his orchestra, with Margaret Whiting’s vocal.

For an obituary of Margaret Whiting, go here.

Partially blind, totally brilliant, for decades James Thurber (1894-1961) entertained readers with the incisiveness and wit of his stories and drawings. His most famous story is probably “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” which was distorted into a film that Thurber detested. Almost everything he did was for print, most of it in The New Yorker. There were exceptions. He wrote the hit play The Male Animal, appeared on stage in an adaptation of his stories called A Thurber Carnival, and collaborated with the composer David Raksin on an animated version of The Unicorn in the Garden, the most famous of more than 75 fables Thurber wrote. The fables inevitably ended with punch lines that served as morals.
This is not the anniversary of Thurber’s birth, his death or of any special occasion connected with him. It is simply a good day to watch The Unicorn in the Garden and listen to Raksin’s lovely score.

This is a classic collection of Thurber stories.

It is better to have loafed and lost, than never to have loafed at all.

It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.

One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.

Progress was all right. Only it went on too long.

There is no exception to the rule that every rule has an exception.

Flip Philipp & Ed Partyka Dectet, Hair Of The Dog (ATS). In their third album as co-leaders, Philipp and Partyka make a substantial addition to the recorded history of medium-sized jazz groups. From bands led by Fletcher Henderson through Red Norvo, Duke Ellington, Woody Herman, Miles Davis, Gerry Mulligan, James Moody, Shorty Rogers, Dave Brubeck, Teddy Charles, Rod Levitt, Bill Kirchner and Charles Mingus—among many others— arrangers for six to eleven pieces have achieved flexibility that the mass of a sixteen-piece band inhibits. Philipp is an Austrian vibraharpist active in jazz who for twenty years has been principal percussionist of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra. Partyka is an American trombonist who heads the jazz department at the University of Music and Dramatic Arts in Graz, Austria. They are gifted composers and arrangers who relish referring to styles that preceded them, but are distinctively modern in harmony and voicing. In “Woman Trouble,” Partyka uses sinuous wa-wa effects right out of Ellington and Philipp gives his Milt Jackson tribute “Groove Bag” a boogaloo sensibility, but they are not in the retro business.
The music has freshness, vigor, precision, daring and, often, a kind of wacky amiability. Philipp’s “Minors” opens with a series of downward glissandos across the band, abruptly morphs into what could be car-chase music or something adapted from Raymond Scott, then settles into lightning solos by Philipp and pianist Oliver Kent, interspersed with tightly written ensemble punctuations. Partyka’s voicings in “Hair of the Dog” give the band expansiveness that belies its medium size. They provide Jure Pukl a cushy platform for his tenor saxophone in one of several impressive solos by the young Slovenian. All of the musicians except drummer Christian Salfellner get solo time. Salfellner contributes swing and sensitivity, commodities more rare and valuable than drum solos. “Kotzen Beim Steuerberater” has an exhilarating improvised duet between Robert Bachner on euphonium and the audacious bass clarinetist Wolfgang Schiftner. Fabian Rucker’s heartfelt baritone saxophone takes center stage in Partyka’s richly orchestrated “Let it Go, Ro.” The title, an anagram, refers to the piece’s original setting as Verdi’s “La donna è mobile.” Kent, Philipp, and Rucker on bass clarinet, float through Philipp’s “Time,” arranged to languid effect by Partyka. The solos are consistent reminders of the abundant pool of jazz talent in Central Europe, but it is Partyka’s and Philipp’s writing that gives this album its lasting value.
Wadada Leo Smith and Ed Blackwell, The Blue Mountain’s Sun Drummer (Kabell). Ed Blackwell’s drumming never lets you forget that he was from New Orleans. Blackwell, who died in 1992, was a master of polyrhythmic complexity. He helped Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry pioneer free jazz. Part of him was always the little boy listening to Paul Barbarin, Monk Hazel and other drummers whose spirit he absorbed as he grew up in the Crescent City. In this newly-released 1986 encounter, he teams with trumpeter Smith in 10 duets that together have the character of a suite. Blackwell and Smith played these spontaneous pieces in a broadcast on the radio station of Brandeis University. As he interacts with Smith, intimations of the New Orleans parade beat combine with the iconoclasm that in the 1960s Blackwell brought to modern jazz drumming and Smith to the new thing of Chicago’s Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians. “The Blue Mountain’s Sun Drummer,” the title tune, sets Smith’s clarion calls, trills and flurries of notes against Blackwell’s off-meter bass drum thuds, tom-tom bumps, glittering explosions of cymbal splashes and chattering snare patterns. Still, this music is not crowded. The two do not produce the sturm un drang that often make free jazz seem undifferentiated walls of sound. The underlying waltz feeling of “Mto: The Celestial River” is anything but intimidating.
Smith and Blackwell make use of quietness and, in some cases, silence. On flugelhorn and, briefly, flute, for “Sellassie-I,” Smith establishes a hymn-like melody and Blackwell maintains an implacable beat on his hi-hat, making spare comments and punctuations on other parts of his set. The effect is hypnotic as the piece melds into “Seven Arrows in the Garden of Light” and takes on increasing intensity. Smith reflects his orderly composer’s mind as he improvises with thematic development that is even more evident in “Buffalo People: A Blues Ritual.” He is an inventor of melodies. For all of his ability to generate thunder, Blackwell reminds us that in a close listening and playing encounter with an equally thoughtful musician, he could be lyrical. Smith is flourishing in the new century, with a number of interesting projects. It is good to have this fresh and timeless record of his collaboration with a master of modern drumming.
Bobby Hacket, Bob Haggart: V-Disc Parties (Jazz Unlimited) The glories of Hackett’s cornet and Haggart’s arrangements fill 21 tracks recorded for American service men and women during and after World War Two. The first five pieces are by a recreation of the Original Dixieland Jazz Band. They include two of the original members of the ODJB 26 years after the New Orleans band made the world’s first jazz records. Trombonist Eddie Edwards and drummer Tony Spargo were still vital, a reminder of how rapidly jazz developed in its first three decades; bebop was in its early stages when these records were made in 1943. Clarinetist Brad Gowans and pianist Frank Signorelli fill out the ODJB revival roster. There is little evidence in the Hackett ODJB sides that bop is about to pop, or in eight others he led in 1948 that Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and other boppers were now flourishing. What is evident is that among post-Beiderbecke cornetists, Hackett occupies a unique place. The perfection of his tone, flow of lyrical ideas and swing can astonish a listener. His companions on the 1948 tracks include guitarist Eddie Condon, clarinetist Peanuts Hucko, trombonist Cutty Cutshall, baritone saxophonist Ernie Carceres and drummer Morey Feld, recorded beautifully and all playing at the tops of their games.
In the eight-piece band that Haggart leads in a 1947 V-Disc session, there are more than hints of bebop. Haggart announces it with a direct quote from Gillespie’s “Oop Bop Sh’Bam” as the introduction to a novelty called “Possum Song.” His ensemble writing includes boppish licks that attest to his openness to new ideas and his ability to make them serve his music. The music is swing, but some of Haggart’s arrangements are akin to what young writers like Neil Hefti and George Handy were doing for Woody Herman and Boyd Raeburn at the time. The backgrounds he puts behind the soloists on “Haggart’s Lady” (based on “What Is This Thing Called Love,”) are echoes of Tadd Dameron’s “Hot House.” He transforms the chestnuts “Indian Love Call” and “Bye Bye Blues” into boppish original works. Haggart’s eight-piece band features Hucko, alto saxophonist Toots Mondello, the little-known tenor saxophonist Art Drellinger, pianist Stan Freeman, Haggart on bass and Chris Griffin, an overlooked trumpet hero of the big band era. Griffin’s lead and solo work here is remarkable. I don’t know how much circulation these recordings got among soldiers, sailors, Marines and Coastguardsmen in the 1940s. They deserve plenty now.

At the end of the piece two exhibits below, I wrote that I would depend on Rifftides readers to tell us about the Emil Viklický-Scott Robinson concert the night before last. Even better, journalist and blogger Michael Steinman took his video camera to the Bohemian National Hall of the Czech Center in New York.
Viklický played a lovely Petrof grand piano. Robinson used only three of the instruments from his armory—soprano and tenor saxophones and euphonium. No ophicleide or slide soprano this time. Thanks to Mr. Steinman, here are two pieces from the concert of January 5, 2011. In his introduction to the first, Robinson talks about the pair’s long friendship. He is at a distance from the camera’s microphone; you may want to temporarily increase the volume of your speakers.

For all nine videos from the concert, go here. To explore Michael Steinman’s YouTube channel, go here. You will find previous Viklický and Robinson posts in the Rifftides archives.

Digital video surprises pop up on the web. Here is an ad hoc edition of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet. The valve trombonist is Mulligan’s frequent collaborator Bob Brookmeyer. Ray Brown, bass, and Art Blakey, drums, may have done this with Mulligan just once. YouTube tells us when, 1981. But who knows where?

Comments provide some of the most valuable content in Rifftides. We encourage everyone to submit comments. The staff decides which ones appear and is tolerant, but there are limits. We evaporate comments that would commercialize the blog by offering links to products or services, especially those of a—er—personal nature. Here is a comment allegedly in response to a post about Jelly Roll Morton. It had a link to a Las Vegas escort service. Considering some of the New Orleans parlors where Jelly played, maybe that makes a kind of sense, even if the comment itself does not.

It is very interesting for me to read this blog. Thank you for it. I like such topics and anything that is connected to them. I would like to read more on that blog soon.

Some of the sneak comments don’t have as much substance as that one. Here, however, is one reacting to reviews of Randy Weston and John McNeil that offers valuable information—if you own a bearded dragon.

I know the bearded dragon definitely does absorb some water via its
vent region and skin. Making them live and eat out of a container made of salt would be like having them ingest a lot of salt per day.

Can’t argue with that. The link was to a site selling Playdough. Maybe someone out there in cyberspace can explain the connection.
If you would like to react to what you actually read, watch or hear on Rifftides, please use the “Comments” link found at the end of each item. We would like to hear from you, unless you’re running the Bearded Dragon Playdough Escort Service.

Rifftidesers who live in or near New York City have the opportunity this week to hear and see together two musicians who have often received favorable mention in Rifftides—and elsewhere. Here is the announcement from one of them, the multi-instrumentalist Scott Robinson.

Hello everybody. 
Just wanted to let anyone who might be in New York know about the free duo concert I am doing this Wednesday with my dear friend and colleague Emil Viklický, who is making a rare stateside appearance from the Czech Republic. Emil is perhaps the most highly regarded pianist of his country and we have participated in many projects together, going back to the band we formed in college in 1977. Please come out if you can… Happy New Year to everyone!



Emil Viklický/Scott Robinson Duo
Wed., Jan. 5, 7:00 PM
Bohemian National Hall
Czech Center New York
321 E. 73 St., New York City
646-422-3399

Sorry for the late notice, but I just found out about this. The adventurous radio station KBOO-FM in Portland, Oregon, is broadcasting a six-part series about the musician Butch Morris. The second part is this evening—soon. For how to tune in, go to the end of this piece. Morris is not merely a composer, arranger, bandleader or conductor. Or he is all of those things and more. Our colleague Howard Mandel, a specialist on the avant garde, says Morris’s music “is not jazz.” Or it is. This promotional clip for a film about Morris will give you a hint.

The Rifftides staff hopes that your 2011 will be as happy as this New Year’s Eve performance by Venezuela’s Simón Bolívar Youth Orchestra. The conductor is Gustavo Dudamel, music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic.
Feliz Año Nuevo

At this time of year, those who write about music, books, plays, motion pictures, sporting events, chili cookoffs, hog-calling contests and—for all I know—goldfish breeding, are expected to compile lists of the year’s best. I have been complicit in this questionable activity, but I’ve been trying to quit.
In the case of jazz recordings, the notion is absurd that anyone can name the best. You could listen for 12 months during all of your waking hours and not hear, much less evaluate, a tenth of a year’s output of albums. After a few weeks you would be babbling, taken away in a straitjacket. As I have written here, possibly to the point of annoyance, it is impossible to keep up with jazz releases in an era when digital technology enables musicians to be their own record companies. The irony is that they flood a dwindling market.
Nonetheless, my resistance is no match for the irresistible force known as Francis Davis. Francis is the distinguished author and critic who compiles for The Village Voice its annual jazz critics poll. Once again, he persuaded me and 119 other critics (who knew that there are 120 jazz critics?) to submit lists. In the elegant introduction to his massive survey, Mr. Davis writes:

Oregon Music News has a line on its masthead listing the categories the online publication covers:
CLASSICAL, JAZZ/BLUES, ROCK/ROOTS, ACOUSTIC, INDIE, DJ/ELECTRO, SOUL/HIP-HOP, MELTING POT, FAMILY, MUSICALS
I don’t spend much time with two-thirds of those genres and although I found it enlightening to rummage through the OMN sections about them, I doubt that I will be delving deeply into, say, DJ/Electro. I’m glad it’s there for those who need it. The current lead story in the jazz section is Jack Berry’s “Saga of the not-so-lost Oregon Jazz treasure trove (part 2).” Berry updates questions about the fate of a cache of reel-to-reel audio tapes and videos recorded over the years by the late sound man Bob Thompson.
Among the musicians Thompson captured were Art Pepper, Jim Pepper, David Friesen, Dave Frishberg, Floyd Standifer, Nancy King and a few dozen other musicians better known in the Pacific Northwest than they are nationally. The recordings now belong to the Jazz Institute of Los Angeles, where they are stored with no apparent plan for their permanent preservation or eventual release. If there is other music of the quality of a clip of the late tenor saxophonist Jim Pepper, bassist David Friesen and drummer Ron Steen in a basement session, let’s hope that the institute has something in mind. To read Berry’s story and hear Friesen, Pepper and Steen play “My One and Only Love” (mistitled “Bolivar Blues”), click here.

Billy Taylor, a pianist who became a television and radio spokesman for jazz and made the music familiar to millions, died last night in a New York City hospital after suffering heart failure at home. He was 89. In his work on National Public Radio and CBS-TV’s Sunday Morning, Taylor’s playing and relaxed explanations dispelled for many listeners and viewers the notion that jazz was remote, impenetrable and difficult. He earned a doctorate in music in 1975 and chose to be called Dr. Taylor, a title that suited his professorial side. For a summary of his career and accomplishments, see the obituary by Peter Keepnews in The New York Times.
Taylor was born into a middle class North Carolina family and grew up in Washington, D.C. When he arrived in New York in 1943, he was educated, articulate and eager to build on his solid foundation in music. I spoke at length with him as I prepared the notes for the reissue of several of his early 1950s recordings in Billy Taylor Trio. An excerpt gives an idea of the intellectual curiosity he brought to his early music-making and of the difference he made in the development of jazz piano.

Many Rifftides readers may be familiar with Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” because performers including Jessica Williams, Jacques Loussier, Ximo Tébar and Herbie Mann with Bill Evans have recorded jazz or near-jazz versions of that classic of French music. It has not become a jazz standard, but it has assumed a modest place in the repertoire. For those who have not heard the piece as Satie wrote it in 1888, here it is, played by the eminent Satie interpreter Aldo Ciccolini. The performance is from a 1979 Canadian broadcast.

Jack Tracy died on Tuesday, December 21. He was 84. Jack was editor of DownBeat magazine in the 1950s and went on to a second career producing fine jazz recordings. He was a frequent Rifftides commenter. We shall miss his knowledge, pointed observations, humor and friendship.

A flurry of deadlines for other projects meant that it took a while to get the new batch of recommendations ready, but they are posted. In the center column under the legend Doug’s Picks you will find suggestions of CDs by pianists and saxophonists, a DVD documentary about a momentous event in Moscow and a book about the last days and last love of Bill Evans.

The other day a man who acted on last year’s Rifftides recommendation of Carla Bley’s Carla’s Christmas Carols let me know that he was disappointed in the album. Indeed, he was offended by it. In the review, I described the “tenderness, wit, harmonic brilliance, wide dynamic range and wry sense of nostalgia” in Bley’s arrangements of traditional holiday songs. My friend said that he likes his Christmas songs straight, without “all those minors.” I refrained from a discussion of the importance of minor chords, scales, keys and intervals.
If you don’t mind adventurism, including minors, in holiday music, Matt Wilson’s Christmas Tree-O (Palmetto) gives you plenty of it. To 14 traditional songs and a couple of modern classics the drummer brings his customary humor, infectious swing, ingenuity with assorted percussion instruments and—now and then—good-natured raucousness. Wilson’s trio mates are saxophonist-flutist-clarinetist Jeff Lederer and bassist Paul Sikivie. Lederer is on tenor sax in “Winter Wonderland” and the band has the sound and feeling of Sonny Rollins in his Way Out West and Village Vanguard trio days of the 1950s. With Wilson using bells, the music combines prayerfulness and avant garde abandon in a medley of Albert Ayler’s “Angels” and the traditional “Angels We Have Heard on High.” The liberated spirit of Christmas present continues with vigor in Vince Guaraldi’s “Christmas Time is Here.” As the three waltz with lighthearted seriousness through “The Chipmunk Song,” Lederer’s soprano sax takes the chattery title role. In “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” Lederer’s bass clarinet and Sikivie’s bass generate an atmosphere of menace that Wilson penetrates with deft brush work.
Through “Snowfall,” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, and all the others, Wilson, Lederer and Sikivie decorate familiar music with unconventional ideas. The album has the comedy of “Mele Kalikimaki” as a polka with a bonkers clarinet solo, and “Little Drummer Boy” as the bebop vehicle for a wonderfully structured short Wilson drum solo. Alternating wildness and calm, Wilson and company inject irony into Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” but the CD also has lyrical readings of “Snowfall” and “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.” This is the most stimulating Christmas collection I have heard this year.
Greta Matassa & Clipper Anderson, And to All a Good Night (Origin).
To ears accustomed to hearing the same holiday songs again and again, Matassa’s and Anderson’s repertoire is fresh. The composer and lyricist credits include familiar names—Johnny Mandel, Marilyn and Alan Bergman, Victor Young, Burt Bacharach, Henry Mancini and Irving Berlin. But the Mandel-Bergman “A Christmas Love Song,” Bacharach’s and Hal David’s “Christmas Day” or Bill Mays’ and Mark Murphy’s “November in the Snow” have not been played ad nauseum in department stores and super markets. Berlin’s “Count Your Blessings” may be the most familiar song here. Yet, despite its origin in the movie classic Holiday Inn, it is not often included in Christmas collections.
Matassa is one of the best-known vocalists on the west coast, Anderson one of the most respected bassists. They have been a team for several years, with Anderson singing and playing in live appearances. Now, on record he makes it clear that he is a substantial vocalist with admirable timbre, intonation and phrasing. In his duet with pianist Darin Clendenin on “Count Your Blessings,” for three minutes Anderson can make you forget that Bing Crosby owned the song. Matassa shines here, bringing restraint to the tender songs, art-song refinement or her signature bluesy passion to others. She polishes facets of all of those attributes in the medley of “It’s Christmas Time” and “Sleep Well, Little Children.” Clendenin and drummer Mark Ivester join Anderson’s powerful bass in the rhythm section. Susan Pascal is on vibes in three pieces. Ivester’s two young daughters add the charm of their voices to Matassa’s in “Where Can I Find Christmas?”