Listening Post : Ella Fitzgerald, Rod Stewart and more
Jazz
Ella Fitzgerald, “Twelve Nights in Hollywood” (Verve,
four discs). A little bit of heaven in jazz song. As part of a glorious new series of box sets (see Oscar Peterson review, below), Verve has put together the complete 1961-62 Ella at the Crescendo on four discs, and it’s great Ella from what is, without question, her greatest period (that would be 1956-64, before too much overwork and too much showmanship took her sublimely agile and beautiful voice into territory where it would be increasingly dependent on her art. In other words, every time you hear Ella’s delightful Louis Armstrong impression, you’re hearing one of the greatest of jazz artists damaging her instrument for the sake of show business). For most of it here, her guitarist is Herb Ellis and her pianist Paul Smith, one of her greatest accompanists. Listen to her up-tempo and it’s no wonder why Lester Young called her “Lady Time” (no singer ever swung more). Listen to her take big chances, and she’s unforgettable. Her version of Cole Porter’s “My Heart Belongs to Daddy,” slows it down ruthlessly, daringly eliminates all of Porter’s semi-smutty double-entendres (did she in fact understand them?) and manages, at the end, to be sexy in a new and decidedly radical way. Prime Ella and under prime circumstances, than which little is finer.
★★★★(Jeff Simon)
Oscar Peterson, “Debut: Duo Sessions 1949-51” (Verve,
three discs). The title isn’t kidding. Part of this terrific set of Oscar Peterson’s very first duo records is his first appearance in the United States, at Carnegie Hall in 1949, as part of a Norman Granz Jazz at the Philharmonic concert. What must it have been like to hear such technical command, a la Art Tatum, for the first time? At this stage—playing in duo with bassists Ray Brown and Major Holley—he is still very much under the sway of Nat “King” Cole’s piano, which means a lot of locked hand playing and block chords. Sometimes, it means on these discs he hasn’t quite figured out yet how to play ballads his own way. In short order, he was paradoxically freer by completely adopting Cole’s trio format (he first hooked up with guitarist Herb Ellis in Buffalo). But, solo, duo, trio, jam session ox, whatever he did for the next half century, he wound up one of the greatest of jazz piano titans—arguably the hardest swinger on his instrument ever and one of the most joyous of all jazz piano virtuosos (and despite Miles Davis’ years of disparagement, a great blues player, too).★★★★(J. S.)
John Coltrane, Side Steps
(Prestige, six discs). I love John Coltrane on Prestige. The important Coltrane, heaven knows, is on Atlantic and Impulse, but Coltrane on Prestige in the mid-’50s was still a working sideman astonishing everyone. This is the third individual box set of Coltrane on Prestige (previous discs collected his records as leader and his interplay with “equals”), and it collects his work as a “sideman,” who burned the way few sidemen ever did. You could argue, in fact, that his dueling tenor appearance with Sonny Rollins on “Tenor Madness” helped push Rollins off the bandstand into one of his periods of serious contemplation and wood-shedding. Those great extended blues with Red Garland are classics, as are those masterworks he made with the great bebop composer Tadd Dameron (“On a Misty Night,” for instance). Good news is everywhere on these discs—not least the contribution of trumpet player Donald Byrd, whose playing at the time was almost a surreally bright offshoot of Clifford Brown. In Coltrane’s case, this is the ’50s brilliance that presages genius. ★★★★(J. S.)
R&B/Pop
Rod Stewart, “Soulbook” (J
Records). Rod Stewart claimed recently that he’d been waiting his entire career to record “Soulbook,” his new collection of classic soul songs. Interestingly, a healthy portion of Stewart’s fan base has been waiting with a diminishing degree of patience for their man to record some new rock songs that might measure up to his work with the Faces, or during his ’70s solo artist heyday. They’ll have to wait a bit longer; Ol’ Roderick really wanted to pay tribute to the soul singers responsible for launching his love affair with music. Why the wait, then? Apparently, Stewart— who, in interviews, comes across as a rather humble man, when it comes to his own singing talents—felt less than up to the task of filling his idols’ shoes. Happily, for the most part, he does a bang-up job throughout “Soulbook.” At his best, Stewart has always sounded like a Caucasian version of Sam Cooke. At 64, and after surviving throat cancer, Stewart is not the singer who could break your heart with “Gasoline Alley” or “Sailing,” but he definitely has soul. “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher” should not sound as good as it does here, but Stewart goes for broke and clearly, this music means the world to him. Dueting with Smokey Robinson on “Tracks of My Tears” had to be a daunting task, but somehow, Stewart’s grit and grain mixes beautifully with Robinson’s thin and high falsetto. The appearances of Mary J. Blige (“You Make Me Feel Brand New”) and Jennifer Hudson (“Let It Be Me”) feel gratuitous; far better is Stevie Wonder’s stirring harmonica work accompanying Stewart during a surprisingly virile spin on “My Cherie Amour.” Most of “Soulbook” foregoes the glitz in favor of a relatively stripped-down, supple production ethic, one that leaves plenty of room for Stewart’s emotion-soaked singing. OK, it’s not the Faces, or even “Foot Loose and Fancy Free.” But this album is clearly a labor of love for Stewart, and he accords himself well.
★★★(Jeff Miers)
Classical
Schubert, German Mass, Brahms, Marienlieder, the Regensburger Domspatzen, Georg Ratzinger, director (Ars Musici).
Yes, that’s the pope’s brother at the helm of the Regensburger Domspatzen—which, founded in 975, is among the oldest choirs in the world. The funny thing is, Georg Ratzinger’s name is in such fine print that I had been listening to this disc for a week before I noticed it. These enchanting 1990 performances, just re-released, are perfect to greet the holiday season. The Schubert, a Mass in German translation, sounds like a set of German carols. The Marienlieder have that Brahms balance of reverence and light, their lyricism a reminder that Brahms was writing them for the chorus of young women who adored him so much. It’s hard to imagine the music emerging more sweetly than it does from the timeless Domspatzen (the name means “cathedral sparrows”). The sound is artless but at the same time impeccably crafted.
★★★★ (Mary Kunz Goldman)
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