We feel like we should hold one of those old Tonight Show cards up that says "more to come" in a hand-painted font, with maybe a laughing monkey sitting at a desk.
Oh well. Where ever you may be reading this, we hope you have headphones, a good half-hour to spare, and a heart.
Lionel Hampton's out-of-print 1963 LP Bossa Nova Jazz was probably a trend-hopping maneuver designed to sell records and keep Hamp & Co. in cigarettes and scotch. That's okay, because with results like this, the vibraphonist and his studio band can keep 'em coming.
There's great woodwind work throughout -- allegedly that's Gerry Mulligan on the baritone sax. And the flute in "Una Nota Sol" ("One Note Samba") would lift the spirits of a Victorian ghost with consumption. The buoyant notes of Hampton's vibes spill across the songs, a sound once described by TMI board of trustees member, The Amazing Mrs. Kendall, as the musical equivalent of "ice cubes tumbling into a glass."
Refreshing!
[courtesy of Paul Atreides]
Showing posts with label bossa nova. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bossa nova. Show all posts
Friday, May 30, 2014
Thursday, April 30, 2009
His Name Is Wigald
WIGALD BONING
Jet Set Jazz
(Compost)
Boning establishes a strong sense of mystery throughout -- as if his live horns, bass, piano, percussion and electronics are out to turn your weekend trip down the coast into a Hitchcock espionage thriller. Most of the compositions are mid-paced mood pieces, with wordless vocals and breathy reeds set against Latin bass and percussion.
A native of Wildeshausen, Germany, the multi-instrumentalist's career began with the jazz-punk outfit KIXX. But his second career as a comedic performer on a Saturday Night Live-type television show, plus his stated desire with Jet Set to recreate the music he heard on the radio as a child, gives a clear idea of what to expect. Italian cinema soundtracks of the 1960s and '70s, bossa nova, the more accessible West Coast jazz and early synthesizer exotica all pile into his memories.
A theatrical undercurrent of travel-weariness runs beneath most of the record. And given Boning's comedy background, it's easy to imagine his globe-trotting cast of characters putting limp, begloved wrists to their foreheads, overwhelmed by all the trans-continental fun their wealth and freedom allows.
But Boning's sense of humor and use of electronics sometimes works against him. The distorted speech in "Avalanche" feels weird, and the house track "Kobra Dance" crashes when the vocals come in, making it seem even more out of place among the other songs.
His best gag is the cover art, featuring Boning clad in top hat and tails flanked by two blonde stewardess types straight from the Matt Helm casting pool -- but all three are cardboard cut-outs.
Reference material: Anybody familiar with Piero Umiliani or Nicola Conte won't be disappointed with Wigald Boning.
Jet Set Jazz
(Compost)
Boning establishes a strong sense of mystery throughout -- as if his live horns, bass, piano, percussion and electronics are out to turn your weekend trip down the coast into a Hitchcock espionage thriller. Most of the compositions are mid-paced mood pieces, with wordless vocals and breathy reeds set against Latin bass and percussion.
A native of Wildeshausen, Germany, the multi-instrumentalist's career began with the jazz-punk outfit KIXX. But his second career as a comedic performer on a Saturday Night Live-type television show, plus his stated desire with Jet Set to recreate the music he heard on the radio as a child, gives a clear idea of what to expect. Italian cinema soundtracks of the 1960s and '70s, bossa nova, the more accessible West Coast jazz and early synthesizer exotica all pile into his memories.A theatrical undercurrent of travel-weariness runs beneath most of the record. And given Boning's comedy background, it's easy to imagine his globe-trotting cast of characters putting limp, begloved wrists to their foreheads, overwhelmed by all the trans-continental fun their wealth and freedom allows.
But Boning's sense of humor and use of electronics sometimes works against him. The distorted speech in "Avalanche" feels weird, and the house track "Kobra Dance" crashes when the vocals come in, making it seem even more out of place among the other songs.
His best gag is the cover art, featuring Boning clad in top hat and tails flanked by two blonde stewardess types straight from the Matt Helm casting pool -- but all three are cardboard cut-outs.
Reference material: Anybody familiar with Piero Umiliani or Nicola Conte won't be disappointed with Wigald Boning.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Bye-bye Blossom
Her name is Blossom. She was raised in a lion's den. Her nightly occupation was stealing other women's men.
At least that's how singer, songwriter and pianist Blossom Dearie told it in "Blossom's Blues" from her self-titled Verve debut in 1956.
The lyric is standard-issue blues bragging, but when it comes from Dearie's chalk-soft voice it takes on a comic appeal. Does this woman who squeaks and toots like an alto saxophone in the upper register really mean that? Is she even capable of leading a good man astray?
What comes next in "Blossom's Blues" provides the answer, and quite efficiently at that: "I'm an evil woman / But I want to do a man some good."
That same bad girl in school-librarian's clothing fuels her hilarious delivery of Rodgers & Hart's "Ev'rything I've Got" from the same album. In it, she details all the reprehensible things about her personality and the even worse tricks she's learning (fisticuffs, knife-play, a mouth to make a sailor blush -- even witchcraft is mentioned). It's, as the title says, all she has and she's willing to share them with the right fellow.
Her girlish tone is not the babydoll come-on of a Marilyn Monroe, but a flower-soft and unassuming sound that can just as effectively deliver the sad torch songs and genuine romantic odes from the American songbook. Blossom Dearie could sell it.
That she sang a few of her friend and frequent collaborator Bob Dorough's spiffy songs for ABC television's "School House Rock" series makes perfect sense. What kid wouldn't respond to Dearie's gentle voice?
Here she gives the number 8 all the gravitas it deserves:
[Courtesy babiekitty1978]
Dearie never reached the mainstream, which is just as well. The rest of us can keep her like a secret. She died on Feb 7, 2009 at the age of 84. The New York Times has a fine obituary where you can learn more about her, if you don't already know her and her work.
At least that's how singer, songwriter and pianist Blossom Dearie told it in "Blossom's Blues" from her self-titled Verve debut in 1956.
The lyric is standard-issue blues bragging, but when it comes from Dearie's chalk-soft voice it takes on a comic appeal. Does this woman who squeaks and toots like an alto saxophone in the upper register really mean that? Is she even capable of leading a good man astray?
What comes next in "Blossom's Blues" provides the answer, and quite efficiently at that: "I'm an evil woman / But I want to do a man some good."That same bad girl in school-librarian's clothing fuels her hilarious delivery of Rodgers & Hart's "Ev'rything I've Got" from the same album. In it, she details all the reprehensible things about her personality and the even worse tricks she's learning (fisticuffs, knife-play, a mouth to make a sailor blush -- even witchcraft is mentioned). It's, as the title says, all she has and she's willing to share them with the right fellow.
Her girlish tone is not the babydoll come-on of a Marilyn Monroe, but a flower-soft and unassuming sound that can just as effectively deliver the sad torch songs and genuine romantic odes from the American songbook. Blossom Dearie could sell it.
That she sang a few of her friend and frequent collaborator Bob Dorough's spiffy songs for ABC television's "School House Rock" series makes perfect sense. What kid wouldn't respond to Dearie's gentle voice?
Here she gives the number 8 all the gravitas it deserves:
[Courtesy babiekitty1978]
Dearie never reached the mainstream, which is just as well. The rest of us can keep her like a secret. She died on Feb 7, 2009 at the age of 84. The New York Times has a fine obituary where you can learn more about her, if you don't already know her and her work.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Italian Sob
JOE BARBIERI
In Parole Povere
(Le Pop)
Italian singer/songwriter Joe Barbieri’s songs might pass by unnoticed in a fancy coffee shop. The tunes, the players, the after-hours mood -- it’s all very professional but not immediately impressive. Then Barbieri pours his whisper-to-a-croon voice on these songs and suddenly he’s on to something.
A piano/bass/guitar combo provide the major backing for In Parole Povere, with trumpet and strings ornamenting some tunes. Barbieri’s arrangements leave so much space that hardly a chord appears throughout the opener, “In Questo Preciso Momento.”
The French café number “Pura Ambra” defines Povere by letting an accordion, cello and acoustic guitar try to out-melancholy each other, only to be upstaged by Barbieri’s heavy-lidded delivery.
The Typing Monkey recently fired our Italian translator, so we’re unable to tell you exactly what Mr. Barbieri is singing about. But we’re not sure we want to know. Words a non-native speaker might understand could ruin the experience.
Instead, foreign ears can embrace the tragic romance tone of “Sono Una Grondaia” or the prayer-like “La Nuda Verità.” Near the end, Barbieri increases the tempo with “Microcosmo,” an almost-bossa nova that suggests the meter with brushed drums and flute.
“Leggera” and “Sia” commit the sin of sounding like the kind of ear pudding responsible for the jeers leveled at lite-jazz radio. But again, that’s where Barbieri’s exchange-student charm keeps him from trouble.
Reference materials: In an espresso and Gauloises-induced bout of cinematic ennui, perhaps you’ve wished that your M. Ward and João Gilberto albums could produce an Italian-singing hybrid? Joe Barbieri should do the trick.
In Parole Povere
(Le Pop)
Italian singer/songwriter Joe Barbieri’s songs might pass by unnoticed in a fancy coffee shop. The tunes, the players, the after-hours mood -- it’s all very professional but not immediately impressive. Then Barbieri pours his whisper-to-a-croon voice on these songs and suddenly he’s on to something.
A piano/bass/guitar combo provide the major backing for In Parole Povere, with trumpet and strings ornamenting some tunes. Barbieri’s arrangements leave so much space that hardly a chord appears throughout the opener, “In Questo Preciso Momento.”
The French café number “Pura Ambra” defines Povere by letting an accordion, cello and acoustic guitar try to out-melancholy each other, only to be upstaged by Barbieri’s heavy-lidded delivery.
The Typing Monkey recently fired our Italian translator, so we’re unable to tell you exactly what Mr. Barbieri is singing about. But we’re not sure we want to know. Words a non-native speaker might understand could ruin the experience.
Instead, foreign ears can embrace the tragic romance tone of “Sono Una Grondaia” or the prayer-like “La Nuda Verità.” Near the end, Barbieri increases the tempo with “Microcosmo,” an almost-bossa nova that suggests the meter with brushed drums and flute.
“Leggera” and “Sia” commit the sin of sounding like the kind of ear pudding responsible for the jeers leveled at lite-jazz radio. But again, that’s where Barbieri’s exchange-student charm keeps him from trouble.
Reference materials: In an espresso and Gauloises-induced bout of cinematic ennui, perhaps you’ve wished that your M. Ward and João Gilberto albums could produce an Italian-singing hybrid? Joe Barbieri should do the trick.
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