Archive for the Music Category

Just a gigolo

Posted in Jazz with tags , on March 30, 2011 by telescoper

Much of Thelonious Monk‘s recorded output was based on his own original compositions, which include such classics as Bemsha Swing, ‘Round Midnight, Epistrophy, Brilliant Corners and Straight, No Chaser, but this is an exception to that rule. Just a gigolo is a little ballad that he took a bit of a shine to relatively early on in his career and performed impromptu versions of it on many subsequent occasions. Monk’s unique style is a joy to listen to, and this clip gives you a chance to see him too – watching him play the piano always makes me think of a kitten playing with a ball of string. For all the genius that he was, and all the problems he had with his own mental health, he never lost sight of the child within himself.

Now this is what I call awesome


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My Sweet Lovin’ Man

Posted in Jazz with tags , , , , , on March 21, 2011 by telescoper

A high temperature and raging sore throat have confined me to the house today. I got up as usual at 7.30 but quickly realised I wasn’t going to be of much to anyone; trying to give a lecture when barely able to produce a whisper didn’t seem worth the effort. So off I went back to bed, after feeding the cat, and got up again about an hour ago.

I’ve been trying to cheer myself up by listening to – and transferring to digital using my USB turntable – some lovely old jazz records that I haven’t heard for ages. Not all of them came out well, but fortunately one of my all-time favourite records is actually on youtube anyway so I thought I’d put it up.

This is My Sweet Lovin’ Man recorded by King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band on June 22nd 1923, in Chicago. It  is a purely mechanical recording, meaning that the musicians stood shoulder-to-shoulder  blowing into a horn causing a needle to cut the record directly onto a disk;   copies would be pressed using this master which could be played back for the listener by a gramophone, usually amplified by another horn. Obviously the technology was very limited, but it’s good enough to reveal the superb musicianship involved in creating this wonderful piece of music.

I love jazz from all eras of its history, but there can’t have been many  finer collections of musicians than this. It’s led by King Oliver, who plays cornet, with the young Louis Armstrong also playing cornet alongside him. Honoré Dutrey is the trombonist and the unmistakeable clarinet sound is supplied by the great Johnny Dodds. By the way, why is Johnny Dodds’ wikipedia article so brief? He was a colossal figure in the history of jazz! I must do something about that if nobody else does…

The piece was co-written by Lil Hardin, whose lovely piano playing is unusually well recorded on this track; pianos generally proved very difficult to record with the technology available in 1923.  Lil Hardin, incidentally, became Lil Armstrong when she married Louis Armstrong in February 1924. The rhythm men are Bud Scott on banjo and Warren “Baby” Dodds (Johnny’s brother) on drums, who provide an insistent yet fluid pulse underneath the rest of the band.

King Oliver’s band never used written arrangements; the musicians worked out the ensemble segments together and then played them from memory. When Louis Armstrong joined the band,  King Oliver  at first led on cornet, with  Armstrong providing decorative embellishments,  but  later on the two cornettists  developed such an understanding that they were able to swap leads almost telepathically. Their playing together on this track is sublime. The improvised counterpoint provided by Johnny Dodds and Honoré Dutrey is also breathtakingly beautiful. Although it was recorded in Chicago, this is the classic form of New Orleans polyphony sustained throughout at the very highest level.

I think this is one of the greatest jazz records of all time, but it also reminds me that there was  a move some time ago to refer to jazz as black classical music. It never caught on, but in this case the term seems to me to be perfectly apt. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.


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Things to Come

Posted in Jazz with tags , , , , , on March 17, 2011 by telescoper

I haven’t posted anywhere near enough music by the great Dizzy Gillespie on here so I thought I’d put up this clip which shows him in 1968 leading a phenomenal big band. Things to Come was an original composition by Dizzy Gillespie but it was Gil Fuller who provided the complex, gyrating arrangement which broke new ground when it was first performed (in 1946) in terms of the technical demands it made on the musicians, especially the trumpet section, but also in the sheer excitement it generated when performed live. This clip features a later version of Dizzy Gillespie’s Big Band which re-formed for a time in the 1960s after  a fairly lengthy hiatus, but it does contain several musicians who played in its earlier manifestation, including James Moody on tenor, who sadly passed away last December, but it is Paul Jeffrey who plays the wild tenor solo on this track. Star of the show, however, is undoubtedly Dizzy Gillespie whose staggering pyrotechnics threaten to blow the roof off!


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I Mean You

Posted in Jazz with tags , , on March 8, 2011 by telescoper

Another Thelonious Monk tune, this time I Mean You, played by the superb British pianist Stan Tracey, who will be 75 later this year. He’s not very well known outside the UK, but I think he’s as good as any living jazz piano player anywhere in the world. See if you agree. This is just a fragment of a performance, recorded in London about 5 years ago, in which he demonstrates the highly unusual technique he uses to make music that’s inspired by Monk and Duke Ellington but which nevertheless manages be always uniquely Stan Tracey…


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Evidence

Posted in Jazz with tags , , on March 6, 2011 by telescoper

I’m aware that I still haven’t posted a follow-up to my introductory article about Bayesian Evidence, so I apologize to those of you out there that thought this was going to be it! In fact I’m just a bit too easy with other writing tasks at the moment to tackle that, but will get around to it as soon as I can. Yesterday’s post was about a kind of Evidence too.

Today I thought I’d post about yet another form of Evidence, i.e. the number of the same name by the great Thelonious Monk. Here it’s played by the Jaki Byard quartet of the 1960s, starring the wondrous Roland Kirk (in pre-Rahsaan days) who plays tenor saxophone on this track. It’s a typically eccentric composition by Monk, with characteristically fractured melodic lines and stop-start rhythms, but integrating over the parameter space defined by the chord changes, I think the best explanatory model for it is that it’s a “variation” on the jazz standard Just You, Just Me, although “variation” in this case doesn’t really describe the drastic nature of the overhaul. Anyway, Roland Kirk certainly doesn’t get lost in Monk’s labyrinth – his playing on this track is simply phenomenal. Listen to the staggering speed and originality of his improvisation during the first couple of minutes and I’m sure you’ll be wondering,  as I did, where and how he managed to breathe!


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St David’s Day Concert

Posted in Music with tags , , , , , , on March 2, 2011 by telescoper

I’ve finally found a few minutes before dinner to post a quick review of last night’s St David’s Day concert at St David’s Hall here in Cardiff.

I was very lucky with the tickets for this because when I first went on the on-line booking system there didn’t seem to be any blocks of good seats available, and I was hoping to go with a contingent of work colleagues and their partners. However, I was then distracted by work things and decided to try again later. When I logged on again, a set of front-row seats had mysteriously appeared. I snapped them all up for £20 quid each and had no problem finding buyers for them all. And so it was that we took our seats last night just a few feet from the edge of the stage for the performance, which was broadcast Live on BBC Radio 3.

The main item on the bill was the perennial Carmina Burana by Carl Orff, which accounted for the huge number of singers ranged up behind the stage. These included not only the BBC National Chorus of Wales (on the right of the stage) but also massed County Youth Choirs from all across the Principality (in the centre) and a choir of very young children from Ysgol Gymreig Pwll Coch to the left. The latter, I should say, in case I forget later, were absolutely terrific.

However, before the interval the divers choirs had a chance simply to listen to the BBC National Orchestra of Wales play Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, Op. 43 by Sergei Rachmaninov, featuring Welsh pianist Llŷr Williams. It was a pleasant enough warm-up, with flashes of virtuosic brilliance as well as lots of changes of mood, although I did think it took soloist and Orchestra quite a while to gel together. Incidentally, the “theme by Paganini” used as the basis of this piece is the same one that was used for the musical introduction to the South Bank Show, although I think quite a lot of people know that.

Anyway, it’s quite a short piece so the interval came up quickly. In the bar we found free Welsh cakes and bara brith, which was delicious, and 20 minutes later we were back in the hall for the main event.

The Carmina Burana is of course an extremely popular concert piece, but the fact that it’s so well known hasn’t resulted in it becoming a commonplace experience. It’s one of those works that can sound fresh and exciting no matter how many times you’ve heard it before. In fact, last night’s performance was gripping right from the start.

It’s probably a dangerous trick for a composer to use their best idea right at the start, but it works in this case. The opening O Fortuna made it clear to every one in the hall that we were in for a treat, as the sense of controlled power from the massed voices was quite spine-tingling. There’s only a  problem with starting  brilliantly if you can’t sustain it, but that’s not the case with the Carmina Burana. The text is taken from a curious collection of 13th century poems – mainly in ecclesiastical latin, but with smatterings of German and Provencal. Curious because, although they were written by monks, they are decidedly secular in subject matter including bawdy drinking songs and lewd lyrics about sexual lust. The music is quite varied too, using bits of plain chant alongside more modern-sounding sections. In other words, there are enough contrasts in both subject matter and musical style you keep you hooked all the way through; at least that what I felt.

As well as the massed choirs there are three solo vocalists, although the work isn’t shared equally. Baritone Christopher Maltman had by far the most to do and he certainly earned his crust. Soprano Sarah Tynan sang her pieces very nicely, especially when she was teamed up with the splendid children’s choir. Tenor Allan Clayton only had one piece to do – a song about a swan being roasted on a spit – but he didn’t fluff it when his chance finally came.

Conductor Andrew Litton (left) cut an engaging figure on the podium. Bouncing up and down with an energy that belied his rotund appearance I thought he looked like a cross between John Sessions and Jocky Wilson.  He also kept the enormous orchestral and choral forces together quite superbly and managed to conjure up an excellent performance from all concerned. When we made it to a local restaurant after the performance we found him sitting just one table away. He’d certainly earned his dinner!

Carmina Burana ends with a recapitulation of the initial number O Fortuna – best known perhaps for being used in the film The Omen – after which much applause reverberated around the hall. Rightly so, as it was a really wonderful concert.

It didn’t end quite there, however. Since it was St David’s Day there was a final rendition of the Welsh National Anthem Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau which the audience joined in. With the massed choirs belting it out as if their lives depended on it I’m not sure how much we were heard on the Radio, but I can tell you that it sounded great inside the hall.


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It Never Entered My Mind

Posted in Jazz with tags , , on February 21, 2011 by telescoper

Before going to bed I couldn’t resist a late night post of this wonderful  version of a Rodgers & Hart ballad called It Never Entered My Mind recorded by Miles Davis for the Blue Note label in the early 50s. Listening to the later Miles Davis playing a standard tune such as this is a bit like trying to recognise an old friend from a photograph of his skeleton, but here he sticks quite closely  to the original composition.  With that hauntingly melancholic tone, however,  it is  pure Miles Davis all the way through.

The composition is a standard AABA form, but with interesting harmonic movements: the A sections (which aren’t identical) consist of repeated notes followed by descending scales whereas the B section – the middle eight – starts with a drop of a minor sixth followed by an ascending scale. It’s a simple device but wonderfully effective, especially in the hands of a genius. I think this track is an absolute gem.

The other musicians featured are Horace Silver (piano), Percy Heath (bass) and Art Blakey (drums). Bonus marks to those who can put names to the other jazz legends shown in the photographs, but don’t let the task of identifying them distract you from the beautiful music…


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An Englishman in New York

Posted in Biographical, Literature, Music with tags , , , on February 20, 2011 by telescoper

Yesterday’s post about Bayesian statistics has generated over a thousand hits in just a day – highly unusual for a Saturday posting at In the Dark. I guess that proves that there’s a lot of interest out there in such matters, so I’ll return to the theme as soon as I have both the time and the energy, which might take a while because those are conjugate variables!

After yesterday’s exertions I felt like relaxing this morning, and I did so by transferring some of my old vinyl (and even shellac!) records into digital format using a USB turntable. I’m a bit frustrated by the fact that some of my favourite classic old jazz records aren’t available on Youtube and am thinking of correcting that at some point myself, despite my latent technophobia.

However, in the course of rooting about in my record collection I found a vinyl single of this record by Sting, the Ben Liebrand remix to be precise. It is, of course, a homage to the late Quentin Crisp whose book The Naked Civil Servant I read after seeing the wonderful film starring John Hurt, which was broadcast on the BBC in 1975, when I was 12. I found inspiration in both, for reasons I probably don’t need to spell out. Crisp emigrated to the United States in 1981 and lived the last years of his life in a dingy one-room apartment in New York City.

There’s another quasi-biographical connection with this record. When I was a little kid living in Benwell, my Dad used to play the drums with local jazz bands. At the time Sting (or plain Gordon Sumner as he was then known) was working as a supply teacher in the area and he played the double-bass with local groups too, including the Phoenix Jazz Band and the River City Jazz Band; the latter was certainly a band my father played with from time to time. My Dad once told me that he had played with Sting on a number of occasions, and he’d even practised in our garage, but I’m not sure how much of that is actually true.

Incidentally, in case you didn’t know, Sting got his nickname playing with jazz bands in the North-East. He always refused to wear the band uniforms but instead tended to turn up for gigs wearing a black and yellow hooped jumper which made him look a bit like a bee, hence the name.

This isn’t a jazz record, of course, but it does feature Branford Marsalis (brother of the trumpeter Wynton Marsalis) on soprano saxophone. I bought a soprano saxophone some time ago and tried to play along with the track just now – the chords aren’t very complicated so it shouldn’t have been too difficult even for an incompetent like me. However, I’m finding the soprano sax quite a recalcitrant beast which is very difficult to play in tune. I’m not sure why. I manage all right with its bigger brother the tenor sax. Perhaps it’s my embouchure? Or, as jazz musicians say, I haven’t got the chops?

I’ll just quote one particularly telling  verse from the lyrics:

Takes more than combat gear to make a man
Takes more than a license for a gun
Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can
A gentleman will walk but never run


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O Superman

Posted in Music with tags , , on February 17, 2011 by telescoper

I dozed off on the train from Reading to Cardiff earlier on, and for some reason I had a small dreamette that included this  track by the wonderful Laurie Anderson. It reached Number 2 in the UK singles charts in 1981, an amazing feat for such an offbeat track, especially one that lasts over eight minutes. I loved it at the time, while I was studying for the Cambridge Entrance Examinations, and only later discovered that it’s based on an aria from the Opera Le Cid by Jules Massenet. I don’t know why it popped into my head, but I thought I’d share it anyway…


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We have all the Time in the World

Posted in Music, The Universe and Stuff with tags , , on February 14, 2011 by telescoper

I came across this on Youtube a while ago, but I’ve been saving it up because I thought it might make a nice St Valentine’s Day gift for all lovers of astronomy (and/or someone special). Enjoy!


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